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She stood stock-still, barely daring to breathe.

Despite her pleading, Viyan had been dragged into the farmhouse, before being dumped unceremoniously in front of her lead captor.

To her surprise, Leyla seemed almost amused by the situation.

Viyan had expected her to rant and rave, to snarl and curse, to rain blows down on her, punishing her for rank insubordination.

But instead her inquisitor sat casually on the sofa, eyeing her carefully, as she nibbled a sausage roll.

‘Forgive me if I don’t offer you anything …’ Leyla eventually said, flicking the pastry from her chin, ‘… but as you can see, there’s not much to go around.’

Despite herself, Viyan cast an eye over the huge quantity of food laid out in front of her.

Sandwiches, pastries, crisps, cakes, even a twelve-pack of Krispy Kreme doughnuts graced the table.

The sight made Viyan tremble with desire, as her stomach ached with hunger.

She had been given nothing but slops to eat since she arrived in this godforsaken country.

A feast like this was beyond her wildest dreams and the emaciated worker longed to fall upon it, eating until she made herself sick.

Leaning forward, Leyla perused the tray of doughnuts, before selecting one. Rising to her feet, she took one ostentatious bite of it, then threw the rest in the bin, taunting her prisoner.

‘Now if you tell me what happened today,’ she said, advancing on Viyan, ‘I might let you try some. As long as you promise not to tell the others …’

Once more, Viyan’s glance strayed to the delights on the table, but she knew this was a trick. She must say nothing, deny everything. Playing dumb was the only way to save her life. So instead, she shrugged, adding a half smile, as if she wanted to understand, but couldn’t.

‘Come on, Viyan,’ her interrogator continued. ‘You’re not usually this bashful. What have you got to say for yourself?’

Her interrogator continued to smile, but there was a wicked glint in her eye, a sense of simmering anger.

When Viyan had first arrived here, when she’d set eyes on this powerful, impressive woman, she’d hoped for some kinship, some sense of solidarity.

How misguided and naive she’d been. Her captor seemed to possess no empathy.

For Leyla any sign of vulnerability or weakness merely represented an opportunity to exploit, to persecute, to hurt.

Dropping her eyes, Viyan shrugged, trying to look as confused and hapless as possible.

‘No, no, don’t play the ignorant Turk with me. You’ve worked in my house long enough for me to know that you can speak English. You’re not like the rest of those worms …’

She gestured dismissively towards the yard.

‘So, tell me what happened. What did you give to that woman?’

‘Nothing, I give nothing …’ Viyan protested.

‘Bullshit. You deliberately barged into her, you must have slipped her something, said something to her …’

‘No, no. It was an accident.’

‘Some accident,’ her captor exploded. ‘Two minutes later she’s on your bloody tail, chasing my van, chasing my workers. Who is she? What did you say to her?’

‘Please, I tell her nothing,’ Viyan bleated, trying to sound as inarticulate and terrified as possible. ‘Please believe me …’

‘But that’s just it, Viyan. I don’t believe you. I don’t believe a single word that comes out of your cunning little mouth. You’re trying to trick me and I don’t like being tricked …’

‘No, I promise. I didn’t—’

But she didn’t get to finish her sentence, the back of Leyla’s hand connecting sharply with her cheek, rocking her head back. Before she could recover, her attacker moved in for the kill, gripping her hair with one hand, whilst snatching up the bread knife from the table with the other.

‘I’m going to give you one last chance, Viyan. Tell me what you did or I will slit your throat. Do you understand?’

Wide-eyed, Viyan was frozen to the spot, unable to respond.

‘I will carve you up right here,’ her attacker promised darkly, pushing the serrated teeth against Viyan’s neck. ‘Then I’ll make the rest of them clean up the mess.’

The pair stood in the centre of the room, locked together. Viyan could hear her own pulse beating fiercely in her ears, the artery on her neck seeming to bulge as the sharp metal bit into her skin.

‘Well?’ her attacker shrieked. ‘What have you got to say to me?’

A terrible silence filled the room, only the steady tick tock of the wall clock cutting through the tension. Viyan closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then replied calmly:

‘I. Did. Nothing.’

Screaming in rage, Leyla stepped away, driving her spare hand into Viyan’s stomach, before tossing the knife angrily back onto the table.

‘Get her out of here,’ she screamed, as her accomplices hurried in to do her bidding, grasping Viyan roughly by the arms. ‘Tie her to the post and beat her. Beat her within an inch of her life. And make the others watch. I want them to feel the price of disobedience.’

Enraged, Leyla glared at her captive for a moment, before Viyan was dragged out of the house, back into the weak sunshine of the yard.

Ahead of her, she spotted the punishment post, on whose rough surface much innocent blood had been shed during the last two years.

Viyan shuddered inwardly at the awful pain that awaited her, the tearing of flesh and shattering of bone that was her due, yet despite her fear, she nevertheless felt a small thrill of triumph.

Yes, she would suffer, yes, she would be humiliated, but she had not given in, she had not confessed, she had not buckled .

She would live to fight another day.