In the fiery dust of the Sonoran Desert, where the red rocks stood like silent guardians, the cowboy Juan el Bajo Ramírez rode alone, his hat pulled up to his eyebrows and a rusty revolver on his hip. Suddenly, a shot tore through the air and his horse reared up, knocking it to the ground while a gigantic shadow covered it.

It was her, the giant Apache known as the red moon, with muscles carved by the sun and a smile that hid daggers. Do you want to die today? Gringo,” he growled, but his eyes shone with a deadly secret. Juan staggered up, his heart beating like a war drum. He had heard legends about Luna Roja, an Apache warrior who was more than 2 meters tall, the daughter of a chief massacred by white bandits who now roamed the ravines avenging her people.

But there she was, dressed in leather fringes that barely covered her sculptural body, an eagle feather in her hair as black as night. “I’m not looking for trouble, ma’am,” Juan stammered, but his gaze was fixed on his curves and a forbidden desire invaded him. How could a cowboy nou like dreaming of touching a goddess of vengeance? Meanwhile, in the shadows of the mountains, three outlaws rode along, the Malone brothers, bloodthirsty assassins who had stolen a shipment of Mexican gold and left behind a

trail of corpses. Major Black Hat Malone, with a thick mustache and cold eyes, was stalking his brothers. “That gold will make us rich, but beware of the Apaches,” he snapped. They didn’t know that Red Moon was following him, invisible as the wind, plotting an ambush that would make them pay for invading their sacred lands. Juan, fleeing his past as an army deserter, stumbled upon the Apache camp by accident.

Suddenly, arrows whistled around him and strong hands tied him to a post. Red Moon approached, its imposing presence piercing the setting sun. “You’re an intruder,” he said hoarsely. But instead of killing him, he looked at him curiously. He tremblingly looked up and muttered, “Let me touch you there.” Pointing to his thigh marked by an old scar.

The giant Apache smiled back, a sinister gesture that hid a storm. That night, under the stars, Red Moon secretly released him. “You have fire in your eyes, cowboy. Join me or die.” Juan, hypnotized by his strength, accepted. Together they rode into the canyon where the Malones planned to cross.

The air smelled of danger and every step was Russian roulette. Would John betray the woman who saved him or join in his bloody vengeance? At dawn, the Malóns entered the narrow canyon, their horses snorting dust. Black Hat was leading, rifle in hand, but suddenly a figure emerged from the rocks, red moon, arms outstretched like a prophet.

“Stop, dogs!” he shouted and the cowboys drew their weapons. Juan, hidden behind him, felt his pulse quicken. He would shoot his own brothers or the Apache who had bewitched him. The shooting erupted like thunder. Bullets ricocheted off the rock walls and one of the Malones fell wounded screaming in pain.

Red Moon, agile despite his size, dodged a shot and counterattacked with a knife that glistened in the sun. Juan came out of hiding with a smoking revolver and killed the youngest of the brothers. Blood splattered the arena and Black cursed. Traitor, I will rip out your heart. But Red Moon knocked him down with one blow, his supernatural strength crushing bones. In the midst of the chaos, Juan approached her panting.

“Let me touch you there,” he repeated this time urgently, brushing his battle-scarred abdomen. She smiled, but her eyes revealed a secret. So King was the lost daughter of a Mexican landowner, kidnapped by Apaches and transformed into a warrior. Would he use him as a pawn in his greater revenge or did he really have feelings for this louquero? They fled together at dusk, but survivor Malone pursued them, furiously wounded.

In a hidden cave, Red Moon and Juan took refuge. The fire crackled and the air became charged with tension. She removed the fringes revealing ancestral tattoos that told stories of massacres. Juan, enraptured, stretched out his hand. “You’re like a forbidden dream,” he whispered. But suddenly a noise. Malone burst in. gun in hand.

“Die, [__ ] Apche,” he roared firing. The bullet grazed Luna Roja’s shoulder and she fled in rage. Juan threw himself at the bandit struggling on the ground. Fists flew, blood gushed out and in a suspensive twist, Red Moon plunged her knife into Malone’s back. The man fell dead, but not before developing.

The gold is buried in the canyon with a map in my pocket. It was a trap or the key to a fortune that would change everything. With the corpse at her feet, Red Moon turned to Juan, her expression changing to vulnerability. Her giant body approached and enveloped him. “Touch me, cowboy,” he murmured, guiding his hand to his scar. The touch was electric, a soquin of exchange of desire and pain.

But in that intimate moment, a flashback invaded Juan’s mind. He had been part of the gang that killed Luna Roja’s father years ago. He would confess, risking his anger or keep the secret that could destroy them. The next day, they rode into the canyon to dig up the gold. The sun was burning and the suspense grew with each step.

There would be more bandits waiting. Suddenly, an ambush. Two renegade Apaches, former rivals of Red Moon, showed up with rifles. “You betrayed your tribe for a white man,” one charged. Bullets whistled and Juan was wounded in the leg falling to the ground. Red Moon fought like a wild beast, killing one, but the other cornered her. At one point, Soq King Juan from the ground shot the renegade saving her.

But the fatal bullet revealed another secret. The dying Apache was his long-lost brother. Luna Roja fell to her knees, tears streaming down her face. Why did you do it, soy? Juan, limping, hugged her. For you, my giant. But the gold, when he dug it up, was cursed inside the chest. An Apache poison that was activated when it was opened releasing toxic gas.

They coughed and choked and Juan saw visions of his criminal past. Red Moon, with Hercula strength, dragged him out of the canyon, but the poison weakened her. They stopped in a clearing. “Let me touch you there,” Juan implored once more, this time touching his faint beating heart. She smiled faintly, but confessed, “I knew who you were from the beginning.

I used you to avenge myself.” Saking Twest. She had brought him to kill him, but love had changed her. Miraculously recovering, they rode to a Mexican border town, where rumors of an Apache war spread. Juan, now loyal, planned to help Red Moon unite tribes against white invaders, but in the cantina a corrupt serif recognized them.

“That’s the murderous Apache,” he shouted, pulling out his fake badge. An epic firefight broke out. Tables flew, bottles broke and Juan killed two of Pietis’s. Red Moon in the center disarmed three men with her bare hands, but the serif struck her in the arm and she fell. Juan, furious, faced him in a classic duel, high sun, hands on revolvers.

Van. The serit bit the dust, but not before mortally wounding John in the chest. Dying, John crawled toward Red Moon. “Let me touch you there,” he whispered for the last time. his hand on his cheek. She tearfully kissed him revealing the last Soc. She was pregnant with him, a half-breed son who would unite worlds. But with bandits approaching, she loaded him onto her horse and galloped toward the horizon, vowing eternal vengeance.

Years later, in the legends of the west, there was talk of the giant Apache and her cowboy Loui, whose forbidden touch began a saga of blood and passion. The desert kept its secrets. But the echo of his gunfire still resounded suspensefully and endlessly.