The young nun wore a black veil and a white wimple, framing a face that was strikingly beautiful. Her habit was a classic, textbook example—black, floor-length, with a tailored waist, paired with short-heeled black leather boots.
She carried a small knapsack on her back, suggesting she was on a journey.
Even at a glance, her beauty was undeniable.
Porcelain skin, delicate features, and a tall, graceful stature. Wisps of pale blonde hair escaped her veil, cascading down her back.
But beyond her general beauty, two features demanded attention.
First, her eyes.
They weren't the common blue or green. They were a rare, vivid violet—like flawless amethysts catching the lantern light.
Second... was her figure.
The cinched waist of her habit revealed a slender, athletic frame. She wasn't an ounce overweight.
Yet, despite her slim build, her chest was remarkably full.
Habits are notoriously loose garments, designed to hide the female form.
But even the loose fabric couldn't conceal the sheer magnitude of what lay beneath. It was a testament to the phrase "slender branch, heavy fruit."
Her soft brows and watery, gentle eyes exuded an air of quiet obedience.
If you put her in a white sundress with lace socks, gave her a bouquet of sunflowers, and stood her in a field, she would be the living embodiment of "innocence."
Leo had never seen a nun this young or this beautiful.
While he would have happily admired the view a bit longer, reality had other plans.
While he was observing her, Los Lobos had already rushed onto the highway, springing their trap.
From the nun's perspective, the silent night was suddenly shattered.
Urgent footsteps pounded the asphalt.
The darkness on the left side of the road seemed to writhe and boil, birthing shape after shape.
In seconds, the Wolf Gang struck.
Seven men burst from the brush, blocking her path forward.
Nighttime. Wilderness. Sudden roadblock. Even a fool would know this wasn't a welcome party.
The nun's face paled. She spun around, instinctively trying to flee.
But these men were professionals. They didn't make rookie mistakes like leaving an exit open.
They had split their forces. Seven in front, six behind.
As she turned, she found her retreat cut off by six towering figures, standing like a wall of flesh.
Trapped. The circle closed tight.
The leader of the Wolf Gang—the bald man—looked her up and down, a grin spreading across his face.
"She really is a beauty! We hit the jackpot tonight, boys! After we're done with her, we can sell her to the other gangs. She'll fetch a high price!" (Spanish)
He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and red, swollen gums.
His crew cheered in agreement, their eyes raking over her body with hungry, predatory intent.
They were outlaws. The fact that she was a woman of God meant nothing to them.
If anything, the habit just made it more exciting. They had defiled plenty of women, but never a nun.
The nun looked around. Though terror was written plainly on her face and her lantern hand trembled, she didn't collapse.
She forced herself to stand tall, her voice shaking but clear:
"Who are you?"
The bald man spread his hands, switching to heavily accented English.
"Sister, don't be nervous. Don't be afraid. We aren't psychopaths who kill for fun. As long as you are obedient, we won't hurt you."
He took a step forward.
The circle tightened.
"Stop! If you commit evil, you will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven!"
The warning made the gang pause.
They had robbed and raped countless victims. They had heard angry threats and pathetic begging. But being righteously scolded about their afterlife prospects? That was a new one.
When she said the word "Heaven," her voice took on a solemn weight.
She took a deep breath and began to recite Scripture:
"Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful."
"Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous."
"Please, leave. Do not sin further."
"God sees all that you do..."
"Shut up!"
The bald man barked, his patience snapping.
"What century is this? Still babbling about 'God'?"
"That fairy tale might scare idiots in the Middle Ages, but not us!"
"Look here! This is the true God! One pull of the trigger, and life ends!"
He raised his revolver high, waving it arrogantly in the air.
"A waste of a pretty face. Just another brainwashed fool. I'm done talking."
He turned to his men.
"Hey! What are you waiting for? Grab her!" (Spanish)
It was the command they had been waiting for.
Grinning like demons, the gang surged forward, the net closing in for the capture.
Seeing her warnings fail and the men approaching, the nun shrank back, her breath catching in her throat.
"Stay back!"
She passed the lantern to her left hand and reached into her pocket with her right.
She pulled out a dagger—about palm-length—and pointed the trembling blade at the bald leader.
Her hand shook violently. The knife looked like a fish trying to flop out of her grip.
But she held on, her knuckles white with the effort.
The gesture didn't scare them. It amused them.
The gang burst into laughter.
If she had pulled a gun, maybe they would have paused. But a tiny knife? Against thirteen armed men?
The bald man raised his eyebrows, his fleshy face contorted in mockery.
"Sister, put down the knife. It's not a lipstick."
"You trust in God so much? Then stop playing with knives! Ask your God to perform a miracle! Go on! Ask your God to save you!"