The driver held his hands up in surrender and then fumbled back to the door. Sam stepped out at the same time as he did, and before the driver was fully out of the vehicle, Sam clubbed him with the butt of the pistol. The blow sent the driver sprawling next to his fallen passenger, who had both hands pressed against his chest, trying to stem the flow of blood that was pumping from his bullet wound. With the gun expertly held in his hands, Sam ducked his head into the driver’s side of the car, clocking the keys still in the ignition. Ensuring the two men on the ground posed little threat, Sam kicked the handgun away from the bleeding henchman and then marched around the vehicle to the other door and heaved it open, allowing Raul’s limp body to crumpled out and crash onto the dusty ground below. Sam slammed the door shut, returned to the driver’s seat, and dropped in. The henchman tried to curse him, but with blood now dribbling from his mouth, Sam knew the man would be dead in moments.

He felt nothing.

All he knew now was that he needed to find Alex.

Find her and bring her back.

But he couldn’t do it alone.

Sam slammed the door shut, threw the car into reverse, and navigated his way back around the building. He yanked the wheel and as the car skidded, he slipped it into first and seamlessly shot forward, shifting through the gears as he raced back to the road to Dillon. At some point, Raul would regain consciousness, but Sam was comfortable that he had enough time to get to his destination. As far as Vasquez was concerned, Sam would already be dead, and whatever the hell was going on would continue uninterrupted.

Sam would be happy to prove him wrong.

As he pulled into the car park of the sheriff’s office, he could see a number of deputies rush to the window. In a sleepy town like Dillon, where the Riders were the law, they weren’t used to the mayhem Sam had caused in the few days he’d spent there. A couple of them were already outside, hands to their holsters as Sam killed the engine and stepped out. The blood and bruising that stained his face put them on high alert, and they demanded he get on the ground.

Sam held his hands up in surrender, obliging as he got onto his knees.

A burly man with a moustache, along with a shiny sheriff’s badge, stepped out of the office, trying his best to look in charge.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Sheriff Cobb demanded.

‘He’s here to see me.’