‘The one you were telling at the bar. You know, how you taught that British piece of shit a lesson. How you upheld the dignity of the Riders. And so on.’ Wyatt’s smile hadn’t faltered, and Sykes regarded him with a confused look.

‘You heard it?’

‘Well, yes, because it was said in my bar. I hear everything.’ Wyatt reached into the inside of his leather jacket and returned with a bowie knife. Sykes’s eyes lit up in fear, but Wyatt calmly rested it on his lap. ‘See, Sykes, there is a reason I sit at the back of that bar. It’s so I can watch every little thing that happens. Now get rid of the sheet.’

‘What?’ Sykes chuckled. ‘You’re fucking joking, right?’

‘Have you ever heard me make a joke?’

Sykes looked at his boss, who returned a glare lacking in any emotion.

‘Come on, Trent. Stop fooling around.’

‘Remove the fucking sheet.’

After a small, awkward hesitation, Sykes sighed and tossed the sheet to the side. Splayed on the bed, his genitals no longer aroused, flopped limply between his thighs. Wyatt’s eyes didn’t waver from Sykes’s.

‘Like what you see?’

‘How long have you worked for me, Eddie?’ Wyatt asked calmly. Eddie blew his lips in exasperation.

‘Years.’

‘Yup. Years.’ Wyatt launched forward, his gloved hand cupping around Sykes’s testicles, and he tightened his grip. Sykes yelped in pain, and his eyes widened with fear as Wyatt lifted the knife with the other hand. He carefully lowered the blade, the edge a millimetre from the base of Sykes’s penis. ‘So, when I tell you to leave a fucking situation alone, what do you do?’

‘Jesus, Trent.’

‘You leave it the fuck alone. I know you don’t agree with me at times, Sykes, but you disrespected my orders. And then you bragged about it in front of the entire bar. That took balls.’ Wyatt smirked. ‘So, I’ve decided to cut them off.’

‘Fucking, Trent, I’m sorry.’ Wyatt tightened his grip, and Sykes gasped in agony.

‘Say that again.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m fucking sorry, okay?’

Wyatt pulled the knife away and Sykes let out a sigh of relief. In one swift jerk of the arm, Wyatt crunched his fingers together and twisted, crushing Sykes’s testicles in his hand. The big man heaved, turned to the side, and vomited across the dusty wooden floor. Wyatt stood, ignoring the howls of pain from his right-hand man, and pocketed the knife. Without looking back, he strode purposefully towards the door, stopping at the threshold to shoot a glance back at the incapacitated Sykes.

‘Remember your place, Eddie. Remember your place.’

Wyatt slammed the door shut and disappeared into the night, leaving Sykes curled over in pain, holding his damaged testicles and once again cursing Wyatt’s name.

* * *