Sam walked past a few Riders who stood rigid, unsure of whether to stop him or not. Just as Sam pushed open the door, Mason looked up from the booth and called after him.

‘What are you going to do?’

Sam stopped and took a deep breath. The sun burst down through the open doorway and bathed him with a mixture of light and shadow.

‘What I do best.’

Sam stepped out of the bar and headed back to Alan’s car, leaving the Riders to decide their own fate.

His was already set in stone.

* * *

Sykes stood with his arms wide while Raul patted him down. As he approached the base of Sykes’ spine, he felt the handgun.

‘A little insurance policy.’ Sykes chuckled. ‘What happened to your face?’

Raul ignored him, removing the gun and then continuing the pat-down. Once he was happy with the situation, he stepped back. Sykes looked around the main forecourt of the abandoned mill. The impressive structure loomed large above them, with the heat bouncing off the dusty metal frame. The humidity hung heavy in the air, and Sykes could feel the sweat dripping down his spine.

They had agreed to meet at three, but Sykes intentionally kept them waiting for nearly an hour. A pathetic attempt at antagonisation, but he didn’t want Vasquez to feel in control. By buckling to his demands immediately meant that Sykes would still be the second in command.

He may have the Riders, but he wouldn’t have control.

As Raul stepped away from him, admiring the gun, Edinson slammed the trunk shut on the truck Sykes had hired. The hulking mute then reached down and easily lifted the bound body of Wyatt over his shoulder, carrying him with one arm like he was a toddler. Drenched in sweat, Wyatt tried to yell through the gag, but his muffled voice made little difference. As he brought him into the group, Edinson dropped him onto the solid concrete, the impact splitting open Wyatt’s eyebrow. Fighting against his restraints, Wyatt rolled onto his back, his bloodied vision locking onto Sykes who stood proudly over him.

‘Sorry, Trent.’ Sykes smiled. ‘Nothing personal.’

Sykes threw his boot forward, driving the steel cap straight into Wyatt’s midsection, causing him to groan in pain. The impact of his boot seemed to unplug a rage within Sykes, and an avalanche of kicks exploded from him. As he hammered into the defenceless Wyatt, Sykes realised for how long he’d wanted to kill the man who had given him a purpose.

Given him a place in the world.

He’d failed as a soldier, his murderous temper costing the lives of many and his subsequent disappearance.

He’d failed as a human, falling down the rabbit hole of addiction, until Wyatt had pulled him up and given him a place by his side.

But Sykes had never been built to follow orders.