‘Where can I find The Pit?’

Her eyes widened with worry.

‘Now, honey. You don’t wanna be headin’ there tonight.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘You ain’t from round here, are ya?’

‘What gave it away?’ Sam smiled, his handsome grin causing her to blush slightly.

‘The Riders don’t take kindly to strangers.’

‘Oh, I’m pretty sure they’re expecting me.’

The lady sighed and directed Sam to the bar. He thanked her for her help, handed her a generous tip, and stepped out into the cool evening. He slid his arms into the sleeves of his bomber jacket, checked his car was locked, and then headed on foot towards Lucius Road on the south side of town.

As he made his way down Patriot Street, the unmistakable sound of motorcycle engines and heavy metal music echoed through the night sky.

Turning onto the road, he saw The Pit.

In complete contrast to the store-bought aesthetic of the High Five, The Pit oozed authenticity. The large, wood-panelled bar sat on the side of the road, surrounded by rows of motorcycles. Scattered around the front, a few bikers drank and smoked, with many more inside. There was no one on the door, and Sam was sure that the incumbents didn’t require assistance should anything kick off.

They made their own rules, and Sam felt a flutter of worry in his gut.

Not for himself.

He’d stared down the barrel of much worse in the hands of those more dangerous.

But he worried about how Alex had fallen into such a place. She was a long way from home, in a place that didn’t take kindly to strangers.

As the large American flag fluttered in the cool evening breeze above the door, Sam took a deep breath and crossed the street. A few heads were already turning as he approached, and he felt a small semblance of calm from the gun pressed against the small of his back.

It had been a long journey.

A lot of people had died.

But Sam was ready to make good on his promise.

Ignoring the lazy protests of the biker nearest to the door, Sam stepped up the two wide wooden steps of the entrance, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

Chapter Eight

The Pit had transformed since it had come under the ownership of the Death Riders. While it had revelled in being a bar frequented by motorcycle enthusiasts, once the Riders made it their home, it became as notorious as it had profitable. A beacon for lowlifes, all looking to move up in the world and wear the patch. It drew them in like a moth to a flame. The welcoming tavern changed completely, and outsiders were seized upon instantly.

If you couldn’t step up, you stepped out.

If you could still walk.