Chapter 1

Ten minutes after I set up my top-secret wheat trial on my fiancé's ranch, his "childhood sweetheart" had her heel on my face.

I’m out in the field, packing soil around the GoldenGrain-9 shoots, when a group storms through the gate.

I jump to my feet and block them.

GoldenGrain-9 isn’t just wheat.

It’s the seed that can end world hunger.

It can redraw the whole damn map.

I can’t let anything happen to it.

"This is a restricted research site," I say, my voice cold as ice. "Get out."

The woman in front points at me and sneers.

"Who the hell is this hillbilly? Hunter’s kept little bitch?"

"Restricted? This is Chelsea Sutton, vice president of the Sinclair Group. Hunter’s childhood sweetheart. There isn’t one inch of Sinclair land she can’t walk on — least of all some crappy little ranch like this."

I plant my feet and don’t move.

"This ranch is currently a federally classified test site. Anyone who steps on it is facing serious prison time."

Chelsea laughs.

"Hunter has my back. Nobody touches me. And you know what? We’re throwing a barbecue right here. Right now."

Then she winds up and punches me square in the jaw.

I hit the ground hard.

They pour past me, howling, their boots crushing straight through the golden stalks of GoldenGrain-9.

Lying there in the cold mud, I have exactly one thought running through my head.

"Oh, honey. You just started a war."

---

Chelsea is up on the ridge of the field, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning.

Her fingers drag across the golden heads of wheat.

She snaps them off one by one, like they’re nothing.

Every stalk she breaks, something breaks in me too.

"Hunter was right! Great view, nice soft dirt. Boys, dig some pits! We’re throwing the country barbecue of the century!"

My heart stops.

A barbecue.

On a federally classified test field.

"These people are out of their damn minds."

Her goons run back to the trucks and haul out portable shovels, whooping like frat boys.

They jam the blades into my soil and tear it open.

Five years of my life.

Getting shredded right in front of me.

"Stop! Get off my field!" My voice tears out of my throat.

I don’t care about the mud or the blood on my knee.

I scramble up and throw myself at the biggest guy — a fat one with a shovel.

I grab the blade with both hands.

It slices my fingers open.

Blood runs down my wrists.

"The soil ratios in this ground are classified! You’ll destroy everything! This is a national project!"

The fat guy jerks back.

Then his face twists into something ugly.

Crack.

He rips the shovel free and slams it flat across my back.

I fly forward and eat dirt.

My cheek splits open.

Blood pours out of my nose.

"You bitch, you touched me?! You wanna die today?!"

He spits on the ground next to my face.

Chelsea walks over slowly, savoring every second.

She taps her stiletto against my cheek.

"Aw, sad about a little dirt? Yep. Total trailer trash."

"Such a nice ranch," she says. "Should’ve been roses. What was Hunter thinking, sticking some ugly hillbilly out here to grow… wheat?"

Her voice drips venom.

I try to push myself up.

Two goons pin my shoulders and force my head around so I have to watch them dig craters in my field.

The grill comes out.

Coolers.

Lighter fluid.

Someone already has the flame going.