‘Funny thing, isn’t it? Power…’ Vasquez began, squatting down next to his rival. ‘For years, you were a god among men. They rode for you, they killed for you. They would die for you. To them, you were more than a man. You were a representation. A manifestation of what they wanted to become. Without you even seeing it coming, I snatched it from you. Your entire operation, it belongs to me. Your loyal dog, he is mine now and when he kills you, I just want you to remember how I could have done it myself. But I didn’t think your death was worth a notch on my karma.’

Wyatt pushed himself up slightly, his murderous eyes locked on Vasquez. A sharp clap filled the air as Vasquez rocked Wyatt with the back of his hand, sending him back down to the ground. Wyatt pulled his arm up, the tape around his wrist giving out.

Ever since they’d dumped him on the ground, he’d been rubbing his wrists against the concrete. Not only had the tape begun to fray and loosen, but the thin layer of surrounding skin also belonging to his forearm and hand had been ground away. The blood had lubricated his wrist, and now, with his hand free, he had to pick his moment.

Wyatt wasn’t afraid of death. Never had been.

He was afraid of dying without fighting back.

When the moment came, he was determined to take at least one of them with him.

Vasquez motioned to Sykes, who took a few steps towards Wyatt, his gun hanging by his side. Any nerves that Sam’s intrusion had caused evaporated and replaced with a cruel and calculating snarl.

‘End of the road, Trent,’ Sykes quipped. ‘I can’t say I’ll miss you.’

Just as Sykes went to raise the gun, an audible hum could be heard in the background. As it grew, second by second, the realisation began to flood over Sykes, the colour draining from his face.

Both he and Wyatt knew the sound.

Unmistakably, the growing roar was of numerous motorcycles. The Riders, heading towards the remote and abandoned mill, their engines heralding their arrival like a war horn being blown before battle.

Sykes took a few steps backwards, panicked in his movements, and before Vasquez could ask what was happening, Sykes turned and began to race towards the entrance to the mill. As he dashed across the courtyard, Vasquez yelled after him.

Sinclair, flanked by Raul, emerged from one of the other outhouses, both of them watching in bewilderment as Sykes threw the door to the mill open and disappeared into the building.

The roar of the engines began to echo around the building, and Sinclair felt his legs wobble.

Somehow, the Riders had found their location.

Had come for Wyatt.