Before heading to the bar, Sam drove through the town, surprised by the gentrification it had clearly been through. In his mind, he was expecting to drive into an old Western, with derelict streets, wide roads, and abandoned shop fronts. The population of Dillon was small but the high street offered McDonalds, Pizza Hut, and a number of upmarket stores and banks. The footfall was relatively heavy, and Sam scorned his prejudice. He turned off onto Main Street and after passing a few eateries and a church, he crossed over the Little Pee Dee River and pulled into the Welcome Motel.

It was identikit to the one he’d stayed in the previous night, but the sight of it was a welcome one. Sam pulled into the parking lot, which had a few more guests than the one outside of Fredericksburg. He hopped out, entered the reception and was met by a friendly man with large glasses. The owner clearly took pride in his establishment, which was evident in the cleanliness of the room Sam was shown to. Sam dropped his backpack on the bed and locked the door. He then returned to his Mustang and headed back into town.

It was seven o’clock, and if Alex was working behind the bar of The Pit, as Mason had told him, then he wanted to make sure she was there when he arrived. If the welcome was to be as hostile as he expected, he needed to make sure he contacted her.

There wouldn’t be a second chance.

Sam pulled his car into a space along the high street and ignored the chain restaurants in favour of a local deli. The woman was as large as she was welcoming, and she told Sam he looked like he needed a good meal. At six feet tall and nearly fourteen stone of pure muscle, Sam didn’t agree, but the rumbling in his stomach meant the woman knew a hungry man when she saw one.

Sam took his seat in a booth by the window and watched the town close down for the evening before a burger and a plate of chips were placed in front of him.

As Sam ate, he watched carefully and counted every time he heard the roar of a motorcycle.

As the sun began to set behind the shops, the frequency of the engines increased, polluting the air with its ferocious growl. He was definitely in the right place.

The owner of the deli gave Sam the check and as he paid, she warned him to not wander too far once the sun goes down. He didn’t press her for more information, but Sam got the gist of what she meant.

He was under no illusion that under the control of the Death Riders, Dillon was an entirely different beast once the sun went down.

Sam thanked her for the meal, and then he caught her by surprise with his question.