Tastes Like Fire
Tastes Like Fire
The city had never felt so tense.
Lights flickered against wet pavement as Isabella and Camila walked in silence, their shoulders tight with anticipation. It was nearly midnight. The council office where the foundation stored its “donor records” sat like a quiet beast on the corner of Larch and Franklin, deceptively calm, the kind of place that devoured secrets behind glass doors and steel filing cabinets.
Camila wore all black, her dark curls tucked under a cap. Isabella had tied her hair back, thrown on a hoodie, and slipped on gloves. Her heart beat fast—not just from fear, but from purpose. This was it. The final thread. If they could pull it, the whole thing would unravel.
Camila glanced at her. “You still with me?”
Isabella nodded. “Always.”
They reached the back entrance—a rusted metal door near the loading bay. Camila jimmied the lock with a bent tool one of her friends had lent her, the click echoing louder than it should have.
The hallway inside smelled like bleach and printer ink. The lights were dim. Isabella felt like she was walking through a dream—one where she might wake up at any second covered in sweat.
They found the storage room on the second floor.
Inside were rows of filing cabinets and old servers stacked like forgotten soldiers. Camila moved fast, pulling drawers, scanning labels.
“Here,” she whispered, pointing to a cabinet labeled Ramirez Foundation – Financials (2015–2023).
Isabella helped her pry it open.
Papers. Actual paper. Not digital files. Stamped. Signed. Highlighted.
Real.
Camila pulled out a bundle and opened it. “This matches none of the files Julian gave us.”
Isabella’s mouth fell open. “He was set up.”
“Or he set us up,” Camila muttered. “Either way, this is the truth. The rest is trash.”
They moved fast, stuffing what they could into their bags. Time felt like it was bending—thickening.
Then footsteps echoed from down the hall.
Isabella froze.
Camila’s eyes widened.
They listened.
Voices.
Male.
Two of them.
“You sure the tip was real?” one asked.
“She said someone was poking around. Might be that reporter again. Let’s clear the floor just in case.”
Isabella whispered, “We have to go. Now.”
Camila slung the bag over her shoulder and nodded.
They slipped out the back and ran down the stairwell, hearts pounding, lungs burning. The moment they hit the alley, Camila let out a shaky laugh.
“That was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
Isabella leaned against the brick wall, catching her breath. “But worth it.”
They stood there in silence, the air thick with adrenaline and shared heat.
Camila looked at her. “You okay?”
“I think so,” Isabella said, voice low. “You?”
Camila hesitated. Then she stepped closer. “I don’t know what happens next. Or if we’ll win. But I’ve never felt more alive.”
Her words landed between them like lightning.
The air changed.
Electric. Charged.
Isabella's breath hitched as Camila’s hand brushed her arm. She hadn’t expected this—not here, not now. But it surged through her like current. It had been so long since she felt wanted in a way that wasn’t complicated or transactional.
Just seen.
Just wanted.
Isabella reached up and touched Camila’s cheek, her fingers trembling.
“You sure?” she whispered.
Camila nodded. “Yeah. You?”
“Yes.”
They kissed.
It wasn’t soft or polite. It was wild, needy, full of the tension they’d been holding back for weeks. Camila pressed Isabella against the wall, her hands sliding under her hoodie, fingers curling against her waist. Isabella gasped into her mouth, heat blooming across her skin as the kiss deepened.
They moved like fire—hungry, reckless, clinging to each other in the dark. Isabella’s hands tangled in Camila’s hair as their bodies pressed closer, a delicious ache building between them. She moaned softly when Camila’s mouth found the curve of her neck, her hips arching instinctively.
“God, you taste like coffee and adrenaline,” Camila murmured, lips against her collarbone.
Isabella laughed breathlessly. “You know how to get a woman.”
They kissed again, slower now, more deliberate, as if they both knew this was borrowed time. Every second felt like it could be the last.
But then—
A sound.
From the alley’s far end.
A soft metallic clink.
They froze.
Camila stepped back, heart pounding. “Did you hear that?”
Isabella nodded, pulling her hoodie down, adjusting her clothes. “We have to go.”
They slipped back onto the street, breathless and dizzy, but alert.
Every corner felt like a trap now.
\---
Back at the café, Isabella locked the doors and turned off every light. Camila spread the stolen documents across the back table, her hair still mussed from their moment in the alley, her lips swollen, her cheeks flushed.
“I never meant for this to happen,” Camila whispered, not meeting her eyes.
“Me neither,” Isabella replied. “But I’m not sorry.”
Camila nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips.
Isabella leaned over the papers, scanning numbers, dates, signatures. Her eyes landed on one in particular—2021: Transfer from DeMarco Trust to Ramirez Foundation (Unrestricted Funds).
DeMarco.
That name.
Her eyes narrowed.
She dug through the other folders until she found a copy of Sergio Ramirez’s original trust paperwork. There it was again.
DeMarco Holdings. But the signature beside it wasn’t Sergio’s.
It was Rosa’s.
“What the hell?” Isabella whispered.
Camila looked up. “What?”
“This transfer… It wasn’t a donor gift. It was a funnel.”
“From who?”
Isabella’s hands shook. “From my mother.”
Camila stared. “Are you saying Rosa was involved?”
“No,” Isabella said slowly, panic rising in her chest. “I’m saying she knew. Maybe not everything. But enough.”
Camila stood, stunned. “She’s been hiding more than we thought.”
“She’s been protecting someone,” Isabella said, the pieces starting to click. “And I think I know who.”
Before Camila could speak, Isabella’s phone rang.
Unknown number again.
She answered. “Hello?”
A deep male voice, low and sharp: “You should’ve left the past buried, Isabella.”
Click.
The line went dead.
Isabella stood frozen, phone still to her ear.
Camila touched her arm. “Who was it?”
She looked up, eyes dark. “We’re not safe anymore.”