‘Their heading to the abandoned mill.’ Sam ignored the question. ‘Whatever’s going down here, we have time. I can get back to the car in five minutes, back to Dillon in twenty.’

Sam held open his hand. Alan sighed and passed him the keys. Despite the severe danger of their situation, Alan had no reason to doubt him.

Sam may have been a criminal. But he was a good man.

One of the few.

Sam closed his fist tight, then slid the keys into his back pocket. He peeked through the bushes again, watching as the hulking Edinson followed the last of the armed henchmen towards the factory.

‘Coast’s clear,’ Sam whispered before sliding to the side of the bush. ‘If I’m not back in an hour, call it in. If we can’t play this our way, we still need to do whatever we can to get Alex out.’

‘Understood,’ Alan replied, with the authority of a marine. ‘Where the fuck are you going, anyway?’

Sam flashed him a smile.

‘To get back-up.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Assuming command of the Riders was never something that Mason had prepared for. He’d been with Wyatt since the beginning of their journey and had been happy to stand to the side, carry out his orders, and enjoy the rewards they brought. He believed in the cause, in the brotherhood afforded to those who had lost their way, and the patch meant as much to him as he assumed a family would to a normal man.

But he never had eyes for the throne.

Sykes did. That much was abundantly clear, and he and Wyatt had spent many nights discussing the man’s ambition over a cold beer. While Sykes had the killer instinct that made him such a useful weapon within their ranks, Wyatt knew he lacked the capacity to see the bigger picture. Mason agreed with that notion, often speculating how much trouble Sykes would eventually bring to their doorstep.

It appeared as though he was finding out.

The DEA were sniffing around and would likely press down further on them now that one of their own had been killed.

Vasquez wouldn’t take a hit on his business lying down, and although the Riders would never back down from a fight, the man’s reaction would be as brutal as it was immediate.

Factor in the unknown Brit who’d assaulted Mason in his own bar and the disappearance of Wyatt himself, and Mason knew somebody had to step up.

Sykes had gone AWOL.

His sudden fleeing all the evidence Mason needed to pin the events on him.

Something big was coming their way, and he would be damned if he didn’t face it with a gun in his hand, his mortality on the table, and the Rider’s patch emblazoned on his back.

He’d dedicated his life to the cause. Giving it up for it would be no problem.