No longer able to stop himself, Jax peered around and quickly took in his surroundings, almost subconsciously cataloguing and committing the details to memory. Three guards talking in a group not far beyond the checkpoint we just stopped at. He ducked his head a little lower and observed the scene beyond the bus’s wide front windscreen. Approximately 50 metres of road leading to another set of gates flanked by another small brick gatehouse.

The bus threatened to stall as it slowly rumbled down the road. Another guard, four in total, stationed along the road. He squinted into the setting sun crossing his vision. Just inside the first gate, he saw a low, squat brick building, no more than two floors, with four east-facing windows per floor. The reception block.

‘The birdcage,’ said the big man the driver had addressed as Marsh, who had turned round and was now looking Jax straight in the eye, one pointed finger jabbing the air. ‘That’s what they call it. Just a stretch of road between two gates. They shut one gate before the other opens, so none of the animals get out.’

Jax said nothing and looked down. There was a moment of silence. When Jax looked back up, the man’s face was contorted with rage. He was menacing: clad in muscle and with a face punctured by scars. Probably about forty years old from what Jax could tell.

‘Don’t you fucken ignore me, ya young cunt. When I talk to ya, ya fucken listen, okay,’ he snarled.

Time suddenly slowed as Jax considered his response. Usually, Jax could process in seconds what others would take minutes to fathom. But right now he couldn’t make a decision. He didn’t have enough information. He went to say something but stopped himself.

Fear was clouding his mind.

Killers wore a warning in their eyes. Jax had seen it in the army and he was seeing it now. The cuffs, the chains and the fact that the man called Marsh was on his way to a maximum-security prison obviously marked him out as dangerous, but it was his eyes that offered the starkest warning. They were cold and cruel. Vacant. Dead.

Jax didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded before returning his gaze to the floor. He tried to shake off the dread. He told himself that there was nothing to worry about. It was just tough-guy talk. He had hardly been antagonistic – the only thing he had done was look down. Surely this Marsh would not seek retribution for such a non-event? Merely looking away couldn’t make him a target. Could it?

Jax shuddered internally. He no longer had all the answers. Not in here. Not in a place where the rules of the real world no longer applied. Not here in Hell.