Alan’s concentration was broken by the raised voice of Vasquez, who yelled wildly at the sprinting Sykes, the large biker running in a blind panic towards the mill. Confused, Alan looked around the forecourt for answers, but then he heard it.

The roar of the motorcycle engines.

He shook his head.

‘You son of a bitch.’ He chuckled. Sam had managed to call in the cavalry. Below, he watched Sykes yank open the door to the mill, and underneath the platform he was standing on, he heard Sykes’s footsteps approaching. The man was out of answers, searching desperately for a way out of the mess he’d created.

Alan wouldn’t let him.

Begrudgingly, he put his faith in the Riders to deal with Vasquez, and Alan pushed himself from the wall and hurried to the stairwell, taking the steps three at a time. He stomped off the final step and sprinted as fast as he could onto the production floor just as Sykes sprinted into view.

Alan picked up the pace, leaning forward as he charged.

Sykes saw him at the final second, his eyes flickering with shock as Alan careered into him like a line-backer. The impact was room shaking, and Alan continued forward, using his momentum to carry the two of them into the metal railing, before they toppled over.

They crashed the eight feet down to the next floor of the mill; the landing causing both of them to gasp for air and Alan’s guns to scatter across the metal floor. The large, metal panel they’d landed on was a machine winch, used to manoeuvre heavy machinery between the floors of the enormous structure. A few dusty pipes were stacked on one side, surrounded by loose chains and covered in a thick layer of rust. Both men caught their breath before pulling themselves to their feet. Realising the severity of his situation, Sykes smiled as he looked at the DEA agent, a man who had been working diligently to bring the Riders down.

A man of the law.

His only chance of making it out alive.

‘Agent Alan.’ Sykes smiled, lifting his wrists. ‘I guess I’m under arrest, huh?’

Alan raised his hand to the dog tags that had sprung over the top of his shirt and he gripped them tightly.

‘Not today.’