The world explodes in white pain. I hit the ground hard, tasting blood.
"Run!" I scream at Trixie.
She's already moving, scrambling toward the barn doors on unsteady legs. Evan grabs my hair, yanking me back.
"You stupid bitch," he hisses, blood from his wounded hand dripping onto my face. "You think you can stop me?"
The gun is on the ground between us. I lunge for it, but his foot comes down hard on my wrist. The pain is blinding.
Trixie reaches the doors, but instead of running outside, she turns, grabbing one of the rusted hinges. With a strength I didn't know she had left, she tears it free and hurls it at Evan.
The hinge strikes Evan in the shoulder, spinning him sideways. I lunge for the gun, my fingers closing around the cold metal. But before I can aim, Evan recovers, kicking the weapon from my grasp. It skids across the dirt floor as he grabs me by the throat.
"Enough!" he snarls, dragging me up against him. He reaches down, retrieving the gun with his good hand, and shoves the barrel against the back of my head. The metal is ice cold through my hair.
"One move," he hisses, "and I paint this barn with her brains."
Trixie freezes in the doorway, her chest heaving with exertion and fear.
The sound comes first, distant but unmistakable. Engines. Multiple vehicles approaching fast, their headlights cutting through the trees. Evan's grip on my throat tightens.
"Who did you call?" he demands, pressing the gun harder against my skull.
"I didn't call anyone," I gasp. "My phone is at the restaurant."
The vehicles are closer now, their engines growing louder. I recognize the distinctive rumble of motorcycles mixed with the deeper growl of trucks. The headlights sweep across the field, momentarily blinding as they converge on the barn.
Evan drags me backward, deeper into the shadows of the barn. "Stay where I can see you!" he shouts at Trixie, who remains frozen in the doorway.
The vehicles skid to a stop outside, doors slamming, boots crunching on frozen ground. The beams from multiple flashlights pierce through the darkness, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.
"Harris!" a voice I know better than my own heart calls out—Trenton—cold and controlled. "Let her go."
Evan's laugh is high and brittle against my ear. "Or what? You'll shoot me? You'd hit her first."
A shadow moves in the doorway, my father, his face hard with an anger I've never seen before. Behind him, I catch glimpses of Carter, Matthew, Kane, and at least a dozen club members, all armed and positioned strategically around the barn's entrance.
"We're not here to negotiate," my father says, his voice steady despite the rage in his eyes. "You have something that belongs to us."
Evan drags me farther back until we hit the table with the tools. I can feel him trembling against me, not from fear, but from something darker.
"You think you can stop me?" he spits. "All of you? I've planned for this. I've prepared."
Matthew steps forward, his weapon trained on Evan's head. "Morgan, you okay?"
I try to nod, but Evan's grip is too tight. "He has a gun to my head," I manage to say, my voice strangled.
The flashlights illuminate Evan's face, sweating, wild-eyed, the wound on his hand still bleeding. His plans are unraveling, and he knows it.
"Here's what's going to happen," Trenton says, his voice deadly calm. "You let her go. You come with us. And we end this."
Evan's laugh turns into a sob. "You think I'm afraid of dying? I've accepted my fate. I'm already dead."
My father takes another step forward. "We're not offering you death."
Something in his tone makes Evan go still, and the gun against my head wavers slightly.
"What are you offering?" Evan asks, his voice suddenly small.