A few heads turned his way. A couple of the early rising Riders were gathered around the pool table partaking in some light gambling. They nodded a greeting, which Sykes reciprocated before he approached the bar. Becky, one of the barmaids, was already working, wiping down one of the counters.

‘Mornin’, Eddie.’ She smiled, her Texan twang sending a little shudder of arousal through his body that peaked in a painful roar from his crotch.

‘Becky.’ He grunted. ‘Beer.’

‘Bit early, isn’t it?’

‘Just get me a beer.’

Becky smiled. She was used to worse from the Riders, but under Wyatt’s careful watch, she and the rest of the girls were safe from anything too aggressive. Sykes himself had taken great pleasure in beating the hell out of a few outsiders who had got drunk and grabbed at her a few weeks ago. Sykes had broken both their arms before dumping them on the side of the freeway. He assumed they would have been picked up by an ambulance at some point, but he didn’t care.

If they had died, then he would just chalk it up to another good night’s work.

Becky slid the bottle of beer across the bar and Sykes swiftly raised it, necking half of it in one go.

‘You okay?’ Becky asked, her thin eyebrow raised. ‘You look like shit.’

‘Thanks.’ Sykes smirked, his thick beard hanging from his jaw. ‘Where’s Wyatt?’

‘Out back.’ Becky arched her neck towards the door. ‘Want me to get him.’

The thought of seeing Wyatt so soon after being emasculated by him sent a shudder through Sykes, and he shook his head.

‘No, it’s fine.’ Wyatt finished his beer and put the bottle down on the counter. As Becky removed it, she gestured if he wanted another. Sykes shook his head and then marched towards the bathroom. As he entered, he checked to see if anyone was occupying a stall, but they were all empty.

He was alone.

Immediately, his guard went down, and he grabbed the sink and hunched over, the pain gripping him like a vice. He breathed through it and then reached into his leather vest, pulling out a few more painkillers and chucking them down his throat. He flicked on the tap and shoved his mouth under it, washing the tablets down in the faint hope of getting him through the day.

That’s all he needed.

By this time tomorrow, it would be done.

Still hunched over, Sykes let the cold water wash over his hands, and he cupped them, before splashing the water back over his face. The sudden chill gave him a brief respite from the pain, and he glared at himself in the mirror.

He’d shown weakness.