Adults Only.

18+ Minors Click Here

Dynamite & Holy Water

This was a submission to a “Femme Fatale” themed anthology. Guns and high drama. Maybe a little cheese.


“Adela, you shouldn’t be here,” the harried priest hissed at the veiled women in the vestibule. “It’s dangerous to be out at this hour.”

He immediately regretted his tone, watching her lips formed a pout. He should have known she’d show up before he could leave town. Thunder rolled, rumbling through the old adobe walls.

She finished giving the sign of the cross and whispered her prayer. “I only came to give my confession,” the young woman protested softly. He’d missed her voice.

Candlelight flickered in the chapel, giving her familiar face a certain mystery. The sway of her skirts carried the smell of cooling dust, impending rain, and something that smelled faintly of roses as she hurried past him.

Adela strode into the front pew, knelt on the hard tiled floor, and made the sign of the cross again. He followed.

He sat next to her on the pew, privately thrilling at her nearness. He studied her: the flawless face he’d watched mature, the mouth he’d fed.

Her lips. He closed his eyes and willed his mind clear.

“It couldn’t wait? You have a lot to confess, from everything I’ve heard.”

She gazed up at him with those unfathomable brown eyes. Juan wondered what God had been thinking, granting that sort of weapon to a woman. She swallowed hard, and her delicious bottom lip quivered. “Are you going to insult me, too?”

He softened. “No. I am just worried for you. Why are you putting yourself in harm’s way?”

“It’s the right thing they’re doing. Those men.”

“That man. The sergeant. I’ve seen him.” Juan wanted to run a finger along her soft cheek. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“What about him? Why should you care? You’ve made your position very clear.” Adela frowned and wiped at the corner her eye. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Then what is it you need to confess?”

“I’ve angered my mother,” she said, her chin rising a bit. “We argued.”

“Many people argue with your mother.”

Adela smirked up at him, his secret confidant again. “True, but they haven’t been commanded by God to honor and respect her, have they?”

Juan conceded her point with a nod. “I suppose not. You’ve never felt the need to confess for irritating her before, though. Even when you should have.”

She smirked at him, his little conspirator, and he felt a pang in his chest. He’d been a fool. He was a fool. “Your mother doesn’t want you associating with him?”

“Of course she doesn’t.” Adela sighed, clasped her hands together, and looked up at the altar with a furrowed brow he chose to interpret as inscrutable hope.

He knew better than to hope. “They’re going to tear the town apart.”

She shook her head, her veil wobbling. “They’re going to tear the mine apart looking for the dynamite. This town has no…” she trailed off, frowning. “Strategic value. They’re only here for the Swede’s supplies.”

“I’ve heard. The cantina keeps no secrets.”

“We don’t all have your talent for secrecy.” Juan winced at the acid in her tone. She continued genuflecting to the altar. “You must be careful, Father. I’ve heard them talking. They say you know where it’s hidden.”

“So they do. And, if they find it? What will they do? Take it to Juarez? Bring the Federales down on us all.”

“It’s too late, Father,” she said, her breath stirring, her eyes all devotion aimed at the altar. “That will happen no matter what anyone does.”

“You’re probably right. La revolucion.” Juan studied her profile, the set of her shoulders. He’d missed her and all her unlikely pride, even though she had to be bad for his soul. “You think it’s all very exciting. Romantic. Don’t you? The brave Vallistas.”

“We can’t all be priests.” She turned and regarded him carefully, her hands still clasped together. “You save souls. Maybe they can save Mexico.”

“Mexico may already be lost.”

“Then bless us all, quickly,” she whispered. She closed her eyes resuming her prayer. He sat, hearing the rain start to hit the tiled roof.

Adela opened her eyes, and looked up. “They’ll kill you if you don’t tell them what you know.”

“They may do it if I do tell them.” He rubbed his temple, as if he could physically remove the anxiety from his mind. She’d come out at night, into sure danger and an oncoming storm just to try to warn him. “Adela, go home. Apologize to your mother.”
“I’m leaving with them, Father,” she whispered. “That’s why Mother and I fought.”

Juan shook his head, jealousy flaring despite all his penitence. “You’re going to what? Follow him? Feed him? Nurse his wounds when he gets blown to bits? You’ll have to find some other priest to marry you to that stranger if that’s why your actually here.

You say you came for confession. What would you confess? That you came here for me to sell you to some Sonoran revolutionary against your mother’s wishes?”

“What would you have me do, Father? Stay here? End up a slave to Benito’s angry old mother? He beats his own horse. What would happen to me, then? Assuming he survives his conscription. If not, then I stay with Mother. Pining for you, forever? Is that what you want? My heart on a string? You have it, but you’re a coward, Juan.” Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth.

Juan shook his head. He’d been avoiding her tears in his own mind all day. “Then go, mi Adelita. Go with him.”

She sagged, all pretense at prayer gone, and stared at her lap. “Oh, yes. I have permission from the beautiful man of God now that I’ve made you feel guilty for toying with an innocent girl.”

Juan slumped backward into the pew. “I’m leaving Chihuahua, Adela, so go, or don’t go. You’ll be rid of me either way.”
“What?” She looked up at him in shock. “Where?”

“As you said. They think I am in the Swede’s pocket. That I know where the dynamite is. I need to get out. Tonight.”
“But, where will you go?”

“I don’t know. South? North? I can’t stay here, and I can’t tell you. Those men won’t respect a man of the cloth. You really love your sergeant. I can’t tell you where I’m going.”

“So, you think I’d give you up?” Adela’s damnable accusing eyes fixed up on his once more, hurt and betrayed.
“No. Yes. I don’t know. I don’t know you anymore.”

“You know me better than anyone. You always have.”

He felt his collar tighten. He knew her too well. He knew the taste of her lips, the softness of the skin at the nape of her neck. He knew she was too much; he’d never hold out. She’d tortured him for years. “You need to leave, girl. I need to go.”

“Like a thief in the night,” she murmured. “You were going to leave, and you weren’t going to tell me?”

Juan’s breath caught. “Adela, why would I tell you? What good would that do? I leave, but I’m beholden to the Church. Nothing changes that. I’m a priest.”

“Priests are still men.”

Juan knew that fact all too well.

She pulled her veil off and tugged out her comb. Lustrous black waves fell around her shoulders, and he shuddered at how beautiful she was. She clutched his hand, and pulled it to her breast, her lips mere inches from his fingers. “Please, please don’t,” he whispered. “I know what you’re going to ask of me.”

“You could have taken me with you, but you weren’t even going to ask.” She sounded distant and defeated.

He looked down at the slender hand in his. He wanted to kiss it. A flash of a new life—in Texas, in Venezuela—with her. They could disappear; he could get her away from this ridiculous uprising before it got any worse. She did not know how bad the war could yet become. She kissed his fingers and let his hand go.

He remembered the taste of her lips. How her waist felt under his hands. The pressure of her breasts lifting up against him, her arms around his neck.

“I can’t.” He couldn’t even say it aloud like a man. It was more of a whimper.

“You won’t.” She spoke the truth, with a new bitterness. “You’re married to… this.” She waved a hand at the church.

Adela leaned into his leg, resting her head against his knee. He brushed her hair back over her ear. “I’ve taken vows.”

“Oh, yes. I know.”

“It’s a sacred oath. A promise.”

“Yet you’re leaving. How’s that for an oath?”

“You make it sound like I’m ducking out with my tail between my legs.”

“Father, I don’t know what is between your legs.”

He gasped. She lifted her head, glaring up at him defiantly. The temptress did this to him. Juan stood, knowing that he had to get rid of her before this got out of hand. “You have to leave.”

“I didn’t mean it. I am sorry.” Her voice was soft and pleading. Apologetic.

He looked down at her kneeling at his feet, taking in her glossy black hair, loose around her face, those lips, those damnable eyes, the swell of her breasts beneath her blouse. She’d be the death of him. “You need to go.”

Adela’s face contorted. He’d hurt her one time too many, and he knew it. Her eyes filled with tears.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, disappointed with his own weakness. He backed away from her.

The tears fell, and she wiped them quickly, in humiliation. “Tell me where the dynamite is. If they have it, they won’t need you. You can flee without them following. I can tell Salvadore in the morning. If they find out you’re gone tomorrow morning, they’ll just track you down. They’ll assume you’re guilty. Maybe I can do some small thing to assure your safety.” She stood, chin high and hurt plain on her face. “Please, let me help you, if you won’t let me have you.”

He felt a twist in his gut. This girl, oh what had he done? He’d pay. He’d answer for this in the hereafter.

She was right. He was a coward.

Her eyes beseeched him.

“What will you do if this man betrays you?” he asked.

“What do you care?” She stiffened her shoulders.

“You know that I care.”

“Not enough.”

“That’s not fair.”

She stood up, and shook out her skirts, composing herself. She stood regally. “Fair?”

“You know how things are.”

She stepped closer to him, and he felt uncomfortably like a stalked animal. Her air of roses overwhelmed him. “What did I do, Juan? To deserve this?”

He stepped back, instinctively. Thunder cracked overhead.

“Nothing, Love. You’ve done nothing. I’ve failed.”

She approached, her lips parted, and he felt that old surge of lust hit him once more.

“Tell me where the dynamite is. You may have the shame of falling for a mere woman, but you can avoid the shame of letting her see you dead on the highway,” she whispered. “I can’t bear to watch them chase you down like a dog. And, he will.”

“Adela, don’t do this.” He backed into a pew, and she stepped up to him.

“Don’t do what, Father?”

He looked down at her perfect face, knowing he was damned. His hands found her longed for waist, and he pulled her up to him, finding those lips. He gripped her ass, and blood rushed through his veins.

She was compliant in his arms, all warmth and yielding. Breathless, she surrendered into him. He pulled her closer, her thighs slightly gripping his right leg, the delicious weight of her womanliness leaning along his body. He mouth was greedy, and his hand made it into her hair, gripping and pulling back, so he could kiss her more completely.

He had his fill of her and broke off, gasping. She narrowed her eyes, and her hand went up to his face. She worshipped him with those eyes.

He’d failed her so completely.

“Why?” she asked.

He didn’t know.

His love. His Adelita. She rested her head on his chest. “This is it.” She sounded small.

He held her, smelled her hair. “I can’t tell you where I put the dynamite.”

She sighed. “Please, Juan. I’m begging. Let me save you. Tell me. Then say your last prayers in this Church. Pray for us both.”

“Adela, go home.”

She slid down his body, falling to her knees, with a whimper. “Please. Father, I’m begging.”

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Why did she come here? Why wouldn’t she just go? He heard her sob, and he slid down the pew and knelt beside her, his heart breaking, finally.

He then felt something hard press up into his jaw. The click of a revolver.

“Adela?” His eyes flew open, and he saw her staring at him like a snake.

The barrel of the gun pressed up slightly, and he lifted his head.

“I tried, Father. I did,” she whispered. “I didn’t want it to come to this.”

“What are you doing? Put the gun down.”

“No. No, I won’t. You will tell me where the Swede hid the dynamite, Juan.”

She ran her delicate little hand up his thigh. He held his breath. She smiled a little at him a little, her hands trailing back down her fingernails running length of his leg over his trousers.

His manhood stirred, and she pushed the pistol up, to the left, her eyes wide as ever. She adjusted her revolver to fit more fully into a hollow in his neck. He swallowed.

“Juan. This is your last chance. Just tell me. It’s not going to hurt to just tell me.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I love you.” She stared into him. “I’ve always loved you.” Her hand found his cock, over his pants. He gasped. It stiffened further, her mouth dropped open, then she bit her lower lip.

“Adela, stop this.”

“This is what you were afraid of, Father, wasn’t it?” She glanced down at her handiwork, her hand on him, still stroking. “Just a hand. Just a girl. So terrifying, no?”

She adjusted, sitting up on her heels, and sunk her hands into his pants and gripped his erection, sending a thrill through his solar plexus. He pulsated in her grasp, never having felt the shock of another person touching him. She watched, shaking her head slightly.

“Don’t,” he whispered. He’d imagined this, longed for it, fully lost himself to the fantasy, and then done penance for the mere thought of this girl’s hand on his body.

“Tell me,” she cajoled, stroking him, her delicate little hand warm and soft. His breath went shallow. “Give me at least this one thing, since you’ve ruined me forever.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, I know. Every promise is more important than the one your eyes made to some inconsequential village girl.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

She tightened her grip on him, and her eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t matter what you meant.”

He closed his eyes, unable to conjure up a prayer. “You think this is going to save me?”

“Where is it?”

Her thumb ran over the head, and the slickness spread over him. He felt his breath catch, and his cock throb. He pushed his back into the arm of the pew. She pressed into him, parting his legs, her pace increasing. She rose on her knees and leaned in, her panting audible. This devil woman. He felt himself hit the brink.


“Why?” Her sweet voice.


“Tell me.”

“Adela, we both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Her expression was impenetrable.

“Juan,” she said, tears forming again.

“Your tears are poison. Let me go.”

She pulled her hand out of his pants, and re-adjusted her revolver. “Juan, just believe me. For the love of God, tell me where he hid it all.”

“You’re the devil, Adela.”

Her lip quivered. “The devil would shoot you.”

“You’re a woman,” he said.

“Yes.” She nodded, tears falling. “A woman.” She pulled the gun from his throat, but she kept it aimed at him. “You want to go? You go, Father. The lesser devil gives you permission.”

He slowly scooted to the side, her gun trained on him the whole time. She openly wept, her skirts pooled around her.

“Why, Adela?”

“I wanted to save you.”

“From who? You’ll be the end of me.” He stood slowly, her gun trained on him the whole time.

Her lip quivered and her hands shook with the weight of the gun.

She wouldn’t shoot him.

“Please, Father.” Her voice broke again.



He knew this girl, her first communion, the way she laughed when she was a little girl, her whispered confessions. This tortured woman she grew into.

Adela sobbed, and then waved at him with the gun. “Then go. Go, you fool.”

He turned on his heels to exit the church, his back to her.

He passed his holy water.

“Juan?” She called out as he gripped the door handle.

“Adelita?” He didn’t look back at her.

“How did you know I couldn’t do it?”

“Love. Love. You could never kill me. You couldn’t face the sin. You’re not that kind of woman.”

“You’re right, Father. I couldn’t kill you.”

He opened the door to his little church, and in the darkness, he saw the shadows. Lighting crashed, illuminating the semi-circle of armed men on horses.

She sobbed behind him. “But they could.”