Enough to stop Alan from getting his hands on Sykes.

As he approached the town, Alan peered out to the vast field that separated the town from the woods that Sam had disappeared into. He signalled and pulled his car to the side of the road, his eyes locked on the tree line.

‘Come on, you son of a bitch.’

Alan’s words were whispered beneath his breath, and just when he was about to give up, Sam burst through the woodland and sprinted across the field, throwing a few glances behind him. Realising he wasn’t being tracked, his pace slowed, and he jogged casually the remaining distance.

Alan watched Sam enter the back of one of the establishments, and instantly, the key turned in the ignition and Alan slammed his foot to the floor, his car screeching and leaving a streak of burnt rubber across the tarmac.

* * *

Sam cautiously walked through the back area of the bar, grateful not to run into any members of staff. Despite The Pit’s dominance of the town, the locals not affiliated with the Riders frequented the bar he’d snuck into it. It was nice enough; numerous booths lined the far wall, and an even number of stalls lined the bar which ran the length of the narrow drinking hole. As he emerged into the bar area, a few heads turned, some eyebrows raised, but as was such for the people of Dillon, not much was said.

The landlord, complete with a towel draped over his shoulder, moseyed casually towards Sam as he slid into a stall.

‘Rough day, pal?’ The owner chuckled. Sam smiled.

‘You could say that. Can I grab a beer?’

‘Coming right up.’ The jovial owner turned to the fridge behind and retrieved a bottle, popping the cap on the opener affixed to the bar. ‘English?’

‘What gave it away?’ Sam smiled, lifting his beer to his lips.

‘You wouldn’t happen to be the English guy that’s caused a fuss with the Riders, would you?’

Sam raised his left arm, showing off the cast. Complete with his bruised and cut eye, he shrugged.

‘Again. What gave it away?’

The owner chortled and popped a cap on another beer and held it up to Sam. Sam clinked his bottle and took another swig.

‘On the house.’ The owner smiled. ‘Anyone who gives those pricks a hard time is welcome here.’

Sam nodded his appreciation and then returned to his drink, hoping his silence would end the conversation. He checked his wrist for the time, but the cast meant he’d removed his watch. Silently cursing, he looked around the bar for a clock, relieved to see one on the far wall.

It wasn’t too late into the evening, meaning Alex would probably be starting her shift. She’d intimated that something was going down that night, but despite her dangerous game of espionage, she didn’t know nearly enough to make Sam comfortable.