It had taken a while, but Alan had managed to haul Sinclair to the exit, and he stepped out through the metal panels that the Riders had prised open and slumped Sinclair down against the metal. The combination of blood loss and realisation of his actions had taken its toll, and Sinclair rolled lazily to the side.

Alan checked his former partner’s pulse, getting just enough of a reading to declare him alive. Behind him, the Riders watched on. Perched in a row on their motorcycles, it was an intimidating sight, and one that would have filled Alan with fear a few days before.

But somewhere along the way, through the extraordinary events that had unfolded, a budding mutual respect had been forged.

He was aware of Wyatt’s code. What he’d instilled throughout the brotherhood and Alan’s fight alongside Sam clearly resonated with Wyatt.

They hadn’t fought for greed or for power.

They had sacrificed everything to save Alex, a young woman who had been manipulated by the system and thrust into a world she didn’t belong. One of the Riders had willingly given up his bike, which Wyatt was now perched on, watching with interest as Alan surveyed the scene.

On the ground before them, four of Vasquez’s men were bound and gagged.

A gift from the Riders.

Sykes was sitting on the back of Donnie’s bike, their spines held together by a thick chain.

There was no escape in sight, and considering the audacity of his moves against Wyatt, along with the physical assault, Alan didn’t expect Sykes’s death to be quick.

Alan felt nothing for the man.

For years, he’d been driven by vengeance but watching the man whimper on the back of the motorcycle, he couldn’t even muster pity for him. Face to face, Alan had beaten the man, reduced him to a pathetic shell of his former self. He’d stopped him from seizing the power he’d craved and left him battered and bloodied in the ocean for the sharks to circle.

Alan had avenged his brother. He could finally lay that hunger to rest. As the humidity dropped in the air, the sky began to fill with clouds, extinguishing the thumping heat, and Alan welcomed the cool breeze that danced around him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, shooting a glance at Wyatt.

‘You boys should probably get going if I’m going to call this in.’

In unison, the engines roared to life, their thunderous rumbling echoing proudly around the dilapidated war zone. As the bikes slowly turned and rolled down the incline, Alan beckoned Wyatt over. Wyatt rolled his bike forward, and Alan whispered his request into his ear. Wyatt chuckled, nodded, and then turned to leave.

Alan called after him one last time.

‘Hey, Wyatt. You didn’t happen to see where the bag of money went, did you?’