GEMMA HADN’T BEEN IN HER cabin more than twenty minutes, simmering on the front porch with an iced tea, before a pair of headlights in the distance made her freeze. Judging from the distance and location, they were headed for Reyna’s house. There was nothing else down that stretch of road. Even four miles out they were easy to spot in the darkness, giving Gemma just enough time to drive over to the barn. She didn’t need her headlights—she knew the way by heart. When the approaching vehicle turned off their lights a quarter mile out, Gemma cursed.

She’d forgotten to call the main house to warn them. At the time, she was more concerned about waking Reyna for nothing. Now she felt stupid.

Grabbing Lil’ Pete from the gun rack in the back of the truck, Gemma gripped the Remington shotgun and climbed out of the truck. She ducked between bushes and tree trunks, the warm metal in her hands steady like a third arm. The horses’ whinnies and bangs against the stalls drowned out the steady crunch of gravel beneath her feet.

The crickets and toads that normally provided a soundtrack to the dark night were instead silent.

Alarm bells.

Someone was in the barn. Someone who shouldn’t be.

Gemma crouched against the side of the barn, deep in the corner, and listened. Waiting to hear someone give away their exact position. Enough to know where to aim her shotgun. It would only take one shot.

Any natural creature irritating the horses wouldn’t have silenced the field crickets. Deep in her gut, Gemma knew this was a very stupid human. Or a dangerous one.

Feet shuffled from inside the barn. At least two pairs on the south side. Then the distinctive, almost inaudible sound of a gun cocking.

Cocky morons chose the wrong ranch.

Her shotgun was loaded, but the rest of her ammo was in the truck. Going back for more would expose her. She’d have to be quick and accurate with both shots.

Faster than her trigger finger, Gemma pushed through the back door of the barn and hid behind the corner post.

Two shapes dashed behind the stalls. She aimed at the corner closest to Sniper’s quarters, where the faster person had hidden.

“Drop your guns,” she barked.

No one moved.

Gemma grabbed a small rock by her foot and flung it toward Sniper, up and over the beams. It clanked against the boards and spooked the stallion, who reared up and banged his hooves against the stall. Just as Gemma had hoped, the distraction rattled the intruder on the other side, and a leg poked out just enough to take her first shot.

The man’s knee opened like a champagne bottle, and his cry pierced the night air. The other horses screamed and banged against the stalls, desperate to escape. The injured intruder started swearing. In Spanish.

The other shape peeked out and fired at Gemma, splintering the beam above her head. He had a pistol. Likely a .45 from the sound of it.

The man rolled across the floor and disappeared behind the stall with his injured comrade.

“Private property, boys,” she announced, louder as the anger raced through her. “Drop your guns or I’ll make you.”

If these assholes hit one of my horses, I’ll castrate them.

Shots rang out from the main house, three loud pops, followed by shouts. The doors on the other side of the barn burst open, and the injured man raced out as fast as his wobbly knee would let him. But it was the other shape that kept her focus. He’d stepped out and fired his pistol, hitting the stack of grain sacks in front of her.

The floodlights switched on, casting a blinding white glow around the man’s head. She couldn’t see his face, but he definitely saw hers.

“Señorita,” the deep voice announced, with the unmistakable Spanish accent. “You are gutsy. But not very bright.”

The man fired again, this time barely missing her left ear.

Damn, what I wouldn’t give for more ammo.

The man moved forward, shuffling the straw with steps slower than an eclipse.

That’s right, cholo. Don’t underestimate me just because I’m a woman.

“Come out, niña. I’ll let you live if you play nice.”

She could hear the creep smile through the last few words.

More shouts and gunfire exploded in the main house. And a scream.

Reyna.

Gemma’s pulse accelerated out of control, and adrenaline rushed through her limbs. She whirled around the grain sacks, aimed and fired. Her final bullet ripped through the man’s shoulder, pushing him backward.

“Puta!” The man bellowed. Just as she disappeared behind the stalls, he emptied his pistol at her. The shots splintered all around her, until the final click of his gun proved he was out of bullets.

Now was her only chance. Before he had time to reload.

Gemma leapt out from behind the planks and rammed the butt of her shotgun at the man’s face. But he dodged it with the raise of his good arm, and punched her in the gut. The air whooshed out of her lungs, but the man howled in agony. He’d used his bad arm. Gemma didn’t have time to be grateful he wasn’t stronger. She swung the other side of her shotgun and connected with his knee.

This guy wasn’t a smuggler or random burglar. The black combat boots and cargo pants were unmistakable: soldier. He recovered quickly and used his other knee to knock the shotgun out of her hands.

Gemma dropped to an offensive stance and started throwing punches. Anywhere she could land them: face, gut, ribs, groin. The devil towered over her—almost a full foot—mitigating the force of her punches. That, and his chest was as broad as a tractor. Between punches, she’d throw in a few kicks with her good foot. The man blocked almost all of them. But he was on the defensive, clearly not expecting a throttle from a woman.

The light caught a flash of steel leaving his belt.

A knife. A big one.

Without a second thought, Gemma gripped the man’s wrist and twisted—hard, pressing her weight into it, and simultaneously shoved the heel of her other hand up his nose. Something cracked and the man yanked his face back. The knife flicked sideways. The blade sliced across her arm, then spun abandoned somewhere in a pile of hay. Warmth spilled down from the burning fire on her arm.

Rage took over, blinding all thought.

Time for a change up.

Gemma gnashed her teeth as she slammed her bad foot against the man’s injured shoulder. White-hot pain seared through her ankle, but it worked. Devil staggered back, gripping his arm, and stepped into the light.

Full black cammo gear, a buzzed haircut, and impossibly square jaw. But the most terrifying feature was his black eyes. Accented with a thorny vine tattooed up his neck, he matched the demon profile too perfectly.

The man’s sleeve was torn open, revealing a nasty red welt where Gemma had twisted it. The rip revealed another tattoo, something with feathers surrounded by ivy, but her focus wasn’t there. The Devil glared at her, his shadowy eyes piercing through the blood now seeping from his nose.

Bullets lit up the ground around him and showers of dirt rained over him, forcing Gemma back to shield her eyes. They both turned and saw Stefano leap over the back porch railing with his semi-automatic. His movements were so fluid and effortless, like he was a machine on autopilot. Gemma had never seen a man more naturally dexterous.

Footsteps raced away, and Gemma turned back to see the Devil disappear into the shadows of the trees, followed by another shadow darting from behind the barn after him.

Her shotgun lay in the hay a few feet away, itching to be fired. With an unsteady step, she picked it up. Hobbling over to her truck, she yanked open the door and fished out more ammunition. Reloaded and pissed as hell, she turned and followed Stefano.

“Go back to the house,” he yelled at her, but she couldn’t see him in the trees.

“Kiss my ass!” She crouched behind a tree trunk. Protecting Reyna was her responsibility, and these pricks were going to pay. “He dropped his pistol and knife. Injured right shoulder.”

Stefano had a good lead in front of her, so if he found them, he’d need the info. Though Gemma prayed she’d find them first. Lil’ Pete wanted revenge.

“Go help Reyna,” he ordered harshly.

Gemma sucked in a breath, remembering the shots in the house.

Was Reyna hit? Rico? Miguel?

She turned and winced her way on her bad foot. Shotgun at the ready, she limped over to the porch steps.

The horses screamed and rattled the barn behind her. Gemma turned and raised her shotgun. Limping as quietly as she could on gravel, she reached the barn doors, and a pungent smell hit her nose.

Gasoline.

Her ankle wouldn’t let her move faster, but she tried anyway. A small bundle of flames flickered by the back of the barn, where she’d hunkered down earlier from the shower of bullets. A dark trail splattered on the floor, circling every stall door. In a breath, the pile of flames expanded and raced along the trail of accelerant like a dragon’s tongue. Heat burst on her face so hot, it felt like her eyebrows incinerated.

Somehow, she hobbled forward, snatching the hose from the wall and twisting the faucet on high. The more she sprayed, the higher the flames grew and the horses screamed louder. The wide, white eyes of Sniper locked onto hers, full of panic as he banged against the stall over and over.

The smoke built and filled the barn, making her eyes burn and water. Coughing made them water more and the flames spread along the beams above the stalls. Gemma dropped the hose and searched for the fire extinguisher by the door, grappling with the handle between coughs.

Finally the pin came loose, and she turned to an entire barn engulfed in flames. The horses wailed over the roaring fires, wrenching a cry from Gemma’s soul. The extinguisher emptied faster than she could believe, and the blaze still churned.

Gemma lunged forward and fumbled with the stall’s latch, her skin burning from the hot metal on contact. “No!” she screamed.

“Gemma!” someone called. Her fingers burned and ankle throbbed with a searing pain. She’d soon lose her ability to stand, but she didn’t care. These horses were her life. And they were burning before her eyes.

Something grabbed her from behind and pulled her back. She fought them off, only to be grabbed again, harder and unrelenting. Kicking and screaming wouldn’t stop them as they pulled her out of the barn. She spun on her good heel and threw a right hook followed by a left knee, but both were blocked. Arms wrapped around her and squeezed in an unbreakable hold, pinning her hands against her chest. The cooler night air hit her face, and she felt tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Gemma, it’s too late.” Stefano’s voice called over her head. But the horses’ shrieks were louder, the horrifying sounds forcing her to her knees. He dropped with her, holding her tighter. Screams and sobs couldn’t save anything, but she did it anyway.

Seconds later, tall flames billowed into the air above the barn like orange steeples. Stefano pulled her back toward the house, away from the rising heat. He yanked on the soaker hose in the flowerbed and sprayed the roofline of Reyna’s ranch house.

Rico and Miguel barreled through the back porch and helped, throwing buckets of water around every inch of the roof they could reach and spraying every hose Reyna owned.

Gemma spotted her shotgun in a stretch of grass by the barn. She crawled forward, forcing herself through the slamming heat until her fingers wrapped around the butt.

Another voice called her name, and then hands wrapped around her hips and pulled her back, dragging her through the grass and dirt. When clear of the barn, they let go and she sat up, readjusting the hold on Lil’ Pete. She didn’t know how she made it to her feet, but she staggered upright and emptied her shotgun into the tree line where the bastards who’d set her horses to flame had disappeared. When it clicked, she dropped her shotgun and grabbed nearby rocks, hurling them into the bushes.

Rational behavior was for fools.

Stefano grabbed her arm to stop another throw. “Come inside,” he coughed.

Gemma spun and shoved him in the chest. “Who the hell are you?” she demanded, rage pouring with every tear.

“Come inside,” he replied, holding out his hand. “Please.” The fire danced in the reflection of his eyes, and for a moment she didn’t recognize him.

“What did they want?” she screamed. “They didn’t come here just to burn down a barn and kill horses. They were after you. Why?”

Stefano’s jaw tensed and eyes hardened, but he didn’t respond. Which that was the last straw.

Gemma threw her hardest punch, aiming for his jaw, but Stefano blocked it. He had to tilt his head to dodge it, stunned by her force.

“Reyna’s been shot.”