Where the sun scorched the earth like red-hot iron, a lone man rode. His name was Javier “El Cuervo” Morales, a gunman with scars that told tales of bullets and betrayals. His tattered hat shaded black eyes that had seen too much death.
He carried a rusty revolver at his hip and a secret that gnawed at him from within. It was 1875, and the border between Mexico and the United States was a hell of bandits, ranchers, and forgotten legends. The hot wind whipped his poncho as his horse, a skinny Mustang named [ __ ], trotted toward the ghost town of Río Seco.
Javier was looking for refuge, but above all, he was looking for a woman. Not just any woman, but Rosa López, the daughter of the old landowner who had died at the hands of the Apaches years before. Rosa was a dark-haired beauty with curves that drove cowboys wild and a tongue as sharp as a knife. But Javier wasn’t there for love; he was there for revenge, or so he told himself.
Suddenly, a gunshot broke the silence. Javier tugged on the ropes and reared up. From the horizon emerged a figure on horseback, covered in dust. It was a bandit with his face covered by a red bandana. “Give me your gold, you bastard!” the assailant shouted, pointing a Winchester rifle. Javier didn’t flinch.
His hand flew to the revolver, and in a blink, the bandit fell dead to the ground with a hole in his chest. Blood stained the sand. Javier spat beside the corpse. I have no gold, only lead. He continued riding, but the encounter left him unsettled. Río Seco appeared at dusk, a cluster of noisy buildings, a cell with broken swinging doors, a church without a cross, and a dry well that gave the place its name.
He dismounted and tied [ __ ] to a post. The town seemed deserted, but Javier felt eyes watching him from the shadows. He went into the cell, where the air smelled of stale whiskey and cigarette smoke. Behind the bar, a fat bartender with a mustache looked at him suspiciously. “What do you want, stranger?” Javier ordered a tequila and sat down at a wobbly table.
In the background, a woman was singing a mournful ranchera, her voice as hoarse as the desert. It was Rosa. Their eyes met, and for a second time stood still. She recognized him instantly. Javier had been the lover of her dead sister, the one who had disappeared in a smugglers’ raid. Rosa finished her song and approached, wearing a red dress that clung to her figure like a second skin.
Javier Morales, I thought you were dead. He smiled bitterly. I almost came for you. She laughed, but her eyes shone with fear. For me or for the gold my father hid before he died. Javier didn’t answer. Instead, he took her arm and led her out into the back alley, where the moon illuminated the dust.
There, in the darkness, he whispered, “I need to make love. Don’t move or it will hurt more. I’ll be quick.” Holding her against the adobe wall, his rough hands roamed over her body. Rosa gasped. Half terror, half forbidden desire. Was it love or violence? Javier kissed her hard, his lips tasting of salt and tequila.
She resisted at first, scratching his back, but then surrendered, enveloped in the warmth of the night. The desert was silent, a mute witness to their wild union. But they weren’t alone. From the shadows, a pair of eyes watched. It was the wolf, the leader of a gang of outlaws who controlled Rio Seco, tall, with knife scars on his face and a black hat adorned with raven feathers.
The wolf had claimed Rosa as his own. “That [ __ ] is mine,” he muttered, cocking his Colt. He waited for the right moment. Javier and Rosa lay on the alley floor, exhausted. “Why now?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Because I know the truth. Your father didn’t die at the hands of Apaches. You killed him for gold.” Rosa paled. “Liar.” But her eyes betrayed her.
Javier stood up, adjusting his belt. “You buried him in the abandoned mine. I’m going to find him.” She glared at him. “If you go, they’ll kill you.” A shot rang out. Javier rolled to the ground, narrowly avoiding the bullet. The wolf emerged from the shadows with two gunmen at his side. “Morales, leave my wife alone or you die.”
Javier pulled out his revolver and fired, killing one of the men. The other returned fire, grazing his shoulder. Hot, sticky blood spurted out. Rosa screamed and ran for the cell phone. The fight erupted in the main street. Bullets flew like angry wasps. Javier took cover behind a barrel, firing with deadly accuracy.
He killed the second gunman, but the wolf was cunning. He slipped around and ambushed him. “I’m going to gut you, you bastard.” Javier felt the barrel against the back of his neck. It was the end. At that moment, thunder rumbled. It wasn’t a storm; it was a shot from a pinky gun he’d taken from his cell phone. The bullet struck the wolf in the shoulder, and he howled in pain.
Javier took advantage of the situation and knocked him down with a punch. “This is for my sister,” Rosa said, pointing at the bandit’s chest. But the wolf laughed. “Your sister. I killed her after using her like I used you.” Rosa fired, and the wolf fell dead, his eyes wide open. Javier got up, bandaging his wound with a rag. “We have to go. The gang will come.”
Rosa nodded, but her eyes were cold. They mounted [ __ ] and rode toward the abandoned mine north of the village. The night desert was a sea of stars, but danger lurked. Coyotes howled and shadows moved across the dunes. They reached the mine at dawn. It was a black hole in the mountain with rotten beams and echoes of ghosts.
Javier lit a torch. “Show me where.” Rosa led him inside, her footsteps crunching on the gravel. They descended a narrow tunnel, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth. “Here,” she said, pointing to a false wall. Javier chipped away with a rusty shovel he found, revealing a wooden chest. Inside, gold coins glittered like miniature suns.
“We’re rich,” Javier muttered. But Rosa pulled a knife from her boot. “No, I’m rich,” she said, pointing it at his head. “You’re expendable.” Javier froze. “Are you betraying me?” She smiled at me like she did at my father. He beat me, used me, I killed him and blamed the Apaches. Your sister found out, so I handed her over to the wolf.
The revelation was a punch to the gut. Javier had loved Rosa’s sister, and now it was all a lie. Traitor. He tried to move, but she fired. The bullet grazed his ear, and he tackled her. They struggled in the dark, rolling on the floor. Rosa was strong, scratching and biting. Javier pinned her down. I need to make love.
Don’t move or it will hurt more. I’ll be quick, he whispered again. But this time it was bitter sarcasm. It wasn’t passion, it was domination. He kissed her with rage, their bodies intertwined in a dance of hatred. Rosa moaned, torn between resistance and submission. The scattered gold glittered around her, a testament to his madness. Finally, exhausted, Javier tied her up with a rope.
I’ll take you to the serif in Tucon. You’ll pay for everything. But fate had other plans. A loud explosion shook the mine. Dynamite. The Wolf Gang had arrived, alerted by the gunfire. Rocks fell, blocking the exit. Javier and Rosa were trapped in the darkness. “Damn it,” he shouted. She laughed hysterically. “We’ll die together, love.” Hours passed.
The air thickened, hunger gnawed. Javier dug, his hands bleeding. Rosa, moved by pity, helped. In the gloom, confessions surfaced. “I feel sorry for your sister,” she said. It was jealousy. He wanted what she had. You. Javier looked at her. Love. She nodded. In this hell. Yes. They found a crack and emerged where the gang was waiting.
Five armed men led by the wolf’s brother, a giant named Toro. “I want you alive to torture you.” Javier and Rosa fought back to back. He fired, killing two. She picked up a fallen rifle and took down another. Bullets whistled, blood spattered the sand. Toro charged like a buffalo. Javier dodged him and shot him in the knee.
The giant fell howling. The last bandits fled. Victorious. Javier and Rosa looked at each other. The gold was lost in the collapse, but they had something more: an alliance forged in fire. Riding toward the horizon, Javier whispered, “Maybe you’re not so bad after all.” Rosa smiled. “Or maybe you are, but with you I’ll be whatever you want.”
The desert swallowed them, leaving behind a trail of corpses and secrets. Years later, legends told of a pair of gunmen who robbed the rich and gave to the poor, like Ravenhood in the West. Some said they were ghosts, others that they still lived, making love under the stars, where pain and pleasure merged into one.
But in Río Seco, the wind whispered the truth. Love in the west was a loaded bullet, ready to kill or save. And Javier and Rosa danced on that edge eternally.
