‘That was fun,’ she said sheepishly, as if embarrassed by their encounter. It had been pretty hardcore, and Sykes was pleased that the woman would no doubt be questioning her morals after the things he demanded.

‘It was,’ Sykes said through a plume of thick, grey smoke. When he’d returned from delivering his message to Jonathan Cooper, he’d found his adrenaline pumping. News would soon spread through the Riders that he, not Wyatt, had acted against the man who had assaulted the High Five.

Sykes had defended the honour of the Riders.

It had sent his testosterone through the roof and after slamming back a few shots at the bar, he began regaling the other members of the crew with his colourful account of his attack on Cooper.

The intelligence of the attack.

How hard he hit him.

The snap of the man’s arm.

As the crowd around him grew and grew, so did his insatiable need for a woman. A few had made it evidently clear they were his for the taking, and he’d invited one back to his flat. As soon as they’d stepped in, Sykes had pulled her dress down and within seconds of the door closing, he was pushing himself inside her, thrust with the power of a conquering champion.

As she headed towards the door now, he looked up at the ceiling, lifting his cigar with a tattooed arm and heralding himself as the ruler of his own world.

The woman uttered a goodbye before the door opened and Sykes ignored her departure. It was only after a few moments that he realised the door hadn’t closed and he turned to look across his apartment, to see none other than Wyatt stood against the door frame, his arms folded across his chest.

‘Trent. What the fuck?’ Sykes barked, pulling at the bed covers to ensure his genitals were covered. Despite his large frame and considerable bulk, Sykes also pathetically pulled the sheet over the paunch of his stomach. Unlike Wyatt, Sykes didn’t do much to stem the effects of his increased affinity with alcohol. It was another log on the fire of their increasing tension.

Despite everything, Sykes still felt inferior to him.

Sykes knew it.

And what pissed him off most was Wyatt knew it too.

With a forced smile, Wyatt stepped into Sykes’s apartment, looking around at the minimal furniture with disinterest. Sykes’s life was at The Pit, and his abode reflected years of neglect.

He slept and fucked here.

The rest of his life was at the bar.

‘Fun night?’ Wyatt asked, looking around nonchalantly.

‘I’d say so,’ Sykes replied, trying to stem his nerves.

‘She was pretty.’ Wyatt smiled again before taking a seat at the end of the bed. Sykes felt his grip tighten on the sheet. ‘I imagine she was impressed with your story, huh?’

‘Story?’