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Quickly, I grab a corkscrew and flick out the knife. I cut through the foil covering the cork. As the door opens behind me, I slip the corkscrew into the front pocket of my apron.

Hassie walks in. Her body stiff, her eyes far away.

“Great, you’re here.” I peer behind her. “Where’s Nolan?”

“I’m sorry.” She approaches with hesitant steps. Devastation creases her pretty face. “I’m so sorry, Delilah.”

“For what?” I frown in confusion.

“For this.” The doorway behind Hassie darkens, and a man emerges from outside, a gun in his hands. He’s big, barrel-chested, with blond hair and narrow eyes.

My eyes widen, panic gripping my spine.

Hassie’s eyes lock on mine, a tear slipping down her pale cheek. “He’s not Nolan, Delilah, he’s—”

“Stop talking.” He grits out the words, jerking the gun at Hassie before looking at me. “Are there cameras?”

“Yes.”

“Turn them off. Now.”

I do, my voice stuck in my throat, my mind frantically searching for a solution. There’s no one around to help. My phone’s in the back office. The employees gone for the night. Vaughn and Wyoma and Wells are miles away on the ranch side of the property. The rest of the Westons are out on their run.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to come with me, and I’ll take you to Please.” He jabs the gun into Hassie’s ribs, but she keeps a cool composure the Westons would be proud of. “You do that, she lives. You fight, she dies. It’s real simple.”

Barely discernible, Hassie shakes her head, mouthing the order, Run.

Never. If I do, he’ll shoot Hassie. I won’t risk it.

“Now!” the man bellows.

“Okay, okay.” With a nod, I lick my lips. “I’ll go with you.”

I take a step forward, only to freeze when I see her.

Oh no no no no. Not Evangeline.

My lungs seize as she creeps out from behind the bar, coming fully into the man’s line of sight.

“Delilah, who’s this?”

Her tiny, innocent question turns me inside out.

“Fuck.” The man’s gaze turns flinty. The gun bobs in his hand. I remember the woman in the movie. These men are monsters. They won’t spare Evangeline.

Hassie’s eyes lock on mine like she already knows what I do.

We both move at the same time.

Hassie lunges at the man, screaming. But his gun jerks toward her, catching her on the side of the face in a crack of bone and crunch of cartilage.

I scoop up Evangeline, watching in horror as Hassie crumples to the ground. She lies motionless and twisted, copper hair shrouding her face.

“No,” I gasp. Panic seizes my lungs, my mind flooding with horror.

Is she dead? Hurt? I can’t tell.

The man advances. “I fucking warned you, bitch.”