Wyatt’s failure to deal with the lingering threat of Jose Vasquez and his refusal to fight back against the DEA had brought Sykes to his limit. It would only be a matter of time before Wyatt’s carefully built empire collapsed around him and when the time came, and the Riders saw that Sykes had been right the whole time then things would change.

Sykes would take control.

And the Death Riders would handle their problems the only way Sykes knew how.

Stood at the bar, Sykes ignored the attention of the woman by his side and her clear attempts at seduction. On another night, he would probably have fulfilled her fantasy. There were plenty of girls who came through the bar, all of them wanting the thrill of being with a biker.

But tonight, Sykes’s mind was pre-occupied.

After watching Jonathan Cooper leave The Pit, Sykes had demanded Wyatt explain why they were letting him live. The man had assaulted three of their guys, and despite his insistence he was just passing through, Sykes didn’t trust him.

There was too much going on for a wildcard to disrupt everything.

How did he know Alex?

What did he want?

Wyatt had told him to stay calm. Let them handle it if it needs to be handled. Sykes had stormed to the bar, thrown back a few shots, and then ordered a whiskey. He watched as Wyatt beckoned Alex to his booth, and he felt nothing.

No guilt.

It was Sykes’s insistence that Alex move from the High Five to The Pit. Wyatt had assumed it was because Sykes wanted to bed her. She was an attractive woman, but Sykes had made no such advance.

Everything was falling into place, and Sykes refused to let some random British man turn up and turn it all upside down.

Sykes needed to know who he was.

And more importantly, what the fuck he wanted?

As Alex smiled at Wyatt and left the booth, Sykes finished his whisky. Completely ignoring the woman, he turned and headed to the door. Wyatt would be watching, and a little part of Sykes wanted Wyatt to challenge him.

He wouldn’t.

Wyatt was too clever to allow everyone to witness a power struggle.

As Sykes stepped out into the night, he beckoned two men who were smoking, who were more than happy to get their names in his good books.

Sykes wanted his answers.

And he was more than willing to beat them out of that British bastard if he had to.

* * *

Sam gingerly lowered himself onto the leather bench that ran along the side of the van, glancing up at the screens that lined the opposite panel. A few grainy CCTV images from outside The Pit graced the screens, with Sam squinting to try to make out any of the faces.