The first time Javier Peña heard her name, he had to double-check the file. Bambi? It was absurd, like a sick joke. But there it was, printed clearly in black and white.

She didn’t know how the name came about, but the cartel had called her that since she was a kid—some said it was because of her big, brown eyes and long lashes, others because she had spindly legs until a very dramatic puberty. Either way, it stuck.

Now, as the cartel’s trusted informant, Bambi was anything but innocent. But she still hadn’t earned the name, not by her standards. She was far from the doe-eyed girl the cartel had once seen her as, though the nickname always followed her around, lingering like a ghost.

When he first made contact, the unspoken rule was clear: You’re either a liability or a tool. He wasn’t sure which Bambi was, but with the cartel leader’s trust in her, he needed to find out. Her help didn’t come without a price, but even so, she had no choice but to walk the dangerous line between loyalty to her twisted family and the dangerous unknowns that surrounded Javier.

Javier, like everyone else, didn’t know where the name came from. And it haunted him just as much as it haunted her.