Dante stood near the doorway, his gun raised, his eyes fixed on the latch.

“Mara,” he said without looking back. “Get ready.”

I swung myself onto Vesper’s bare back.

The height was dizzying after so many years away from the saddle.

The leather of the bridle felt solid in my grip.

The horse shifted under me, his warmth radiating through my jeans.

“We go through the side door,” I said. “The pasture gate is unlocked.”

“Go,” Dante said.

The heavy wooden double doors at the front of the stable began to rattle.

Someone was trying the lock from the outside.

A heavy thud shook the entire frame.

They were using a battering ram.

“Now,” Dante yelled, turning toward the entrance.

He fired three shots through the thick wood of the door.

A scream echoed from the other side.

I squeezed Vesper’s sides with my calves.

The horse lunged forward, his hooves pounding against the concrete aisle.

We headed toward the smaller exit at the back of the barn.

Behind us, the main doors splintered open with a massive crash.