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The moment of truth was approaching, but still Viyan wondered if she would have the nerve to go through with it.

Following Leyla’s bitter denunciation of her indolence and disobedience earlier, her minder had been told to stick to Viyan like glue, an order he was clearly determined to fulfil.

The heartless thug followed his orders to the letter, whispering dire threats whenever a hospital porter or nurse came into view, reminding Viyan that, if necessary, her life could be snuffed out in an instant.

How she loathed him and his accomplices, how she despised the Dutch low-life who’d brought her here, how she hated Leyla, the malevolent, beating heart of this awful nightmare.

They seemed to enjoy her humiliation, her pain, and would no doubt continue to do so until her beleaguered body finally gave up the ghost. She was resolved, however, not to give them the chance.

Quiet determination was one thing, however, taking action quite another.

She knew this was her moment, but her whole body was shaking, her nerves jangling wildly.

Approaching the surgery block, Viyan felt in her hoodie pocket for her latex gloves, trying her best to act as if it was business as usual.

Retrieving them, she tried to put the gloves on, but the latex stuck to her fingers and she found it impossible to tease them open.

‘Come on, come on,’ her minder breathed angrily. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

Viyan could feel his eyes upon her, struggling desperately to conceal her anxiety, the tension which gripped her body.

‘I’m trying,’ she whispered fiercely.

‘Well, try harder. Because I ain’t going to do this shit for you.’

Irked, he gestured at the bins, which contained the detritus of a day’s surgical work.

Stained swabs, discarded clips, blood, bone, tissue and mucus, the contents always turned Viyan’s stomach and it was no different today, the young woman swaying slightly as she approached the forbidding containers.

Liberation was close at hand, but she suddenly felt faint and breathless.

‘I said get on with it, bitch.’

A fist connected with her spine, sending her stumbling into the bins, her hip connecting sharply with the metal edge.

‘We’ve got two more jobs after this one, so get a move on …’

Angry, hurting, Viyan tugged on the gloves and opened the nearest bin, heaving the bulging sack out of the container and laying it carefully on the floor.

This one was even heavier than usual, Viyan unsure whether she’d be able to carry it in her current state and she paused to gather her breath, energy leaching from her delicate frame.

‘Don’t you dare dawdle, because I will hurt you …’ her minder breathed.

Wasn’t that the truth? Hadn’t he and his fellow thugs been hurting her every day since she first stumbled out of the shipping container?

As her captor advanced upon her, Viyan felt a righteous fury rise in her heart, suddenly overcome by the desire to throw his anger, his disgust, his vitriol back in his face.

He was nearly upon her now, so channelling her fury, Viyan tugged at the adhesive strip that sealed the top of the bag, ripping furiously at the heavy plastic.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ her minder cried out, alarmed.

But it was too late. With a roar of pure rage, Viyan tore the heavy bag open, its gory contents erupting onto the floor, splashing up off the tired lino and cascading onto her tormentor’s shoes.

‘Oh God,’ he howled, gagging. ‘What the hell have you done?’

Desperately, he extricated his feet and searched for something to get the offending waste off his clothes, wrenching open a nearby cupboard.

For a moment, all thoughts of his charge were forgotten, his attention consumed by his dripping trousers and sodden shoes.

And in that instant, Viyan made her move.

Dropping the filthy bag, she turned on her heel and started to run.