Devil's Heat

As their bodies entwined, she could feel his heart beating against her chest, pounding with an intensity that matched her own. Their breathing was ragged and unsteady as they moved together, lost in the moment. "I love you Rochelle and I’ll finally love you forever when you’re officially mine tomorrow" Damien whispered in Rochelle’s ear, his voice deep and husky as he thrusted deeper into her opening and kissed the corners of her mouth She gasped in response, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions that surged through her body. She’s finally going to be with the love of her life forever. The thought made her smile. Their eyes met, and for a moment, it felt as though the rest of the world had melted away. It was just the two of them, together in this moment of pure passion and intimacy. But then, suddenly, everything changed. The sound of a gunshot shattered the peace, and the room was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. He jerked back, his body going rigid. She could see the horror in his eyes as he looked down at the blood that was spreading across his shirt and dripping on the sheets. “No,” she screamed, but it was too late. He was gone, taken from her in the blink of an eye. “Damien wake up please! Don’t leave me this way please!” Tears streamed down her face as she clutched him to her chest, begging him not to leave her but he was lifeless, unmoving and covered in warm silky blood. The piercing sound of the gunshot had barely faded when another followed, and a searing pain erupted in her chest. The force of the impact knocked her back, pushing her off the bed to the ground and she felt herself falling, her arms still wrapped tightly around her lover's lifeless body. As she hit the ground, she struggled to catch her breath, her vision blurring as blood spilled from the wound in her chest. She knew that it was too late for her, that the bullet had done too much damage, but still, she clung to life, her fingers clutching at the floor beneath her. Through the haze of pain, she saw a figure approaching, their face obscured by the darkness. She knew who it was, of course. It was the serial killer who had been terrorizing the city for months, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake. She could hear his footsteps coming closer, the sound of his breathing ragged and uneven. She knew that she was about to die, that there was nothing she could do to stop this monster from taking her life. And yet, even in the face of death, she found the strength to speak. "Why?" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper. The killer paused, his shadowy form looming over her. He crouched down to directly face her and pulled off his black mask. Rochelle gasped and tried to reach out to him but her body was too weak to do so. “Your soon-to-be husband there…” he pointed to Damien, her lover’s lifeless body that she clung to tightly. “Is unfortunately an important part of the life of the one person I hate the most.” “Bu—“ she coughed out blood as tears streamed down her face. “Gregorio Antonio Cortez.” were the last words he said before raising his gun once more, and everything around her went pitch black. 1 YEAR LATER Elizabeth Taylor was not having it today. Her auburn hair, which was tied up in a neat ponytail some hours ago, was now falling in wet stands over her face. She glared at her best friend who was too busy with the mountain of guests she had to attend to, to notice that she was already drenched in cocktail that a waiter had unknowingly poured on her a few seconds ago. Partying had never been Elizabeth's thing. Ever. She was used to being in the confines of her home, behind a desk, scribbling and drawing out a new design to the numerous cloth designs she had. At that moment, she could have been home, enjoying the silence, the peace that came with being alone, doing her work which was the designing of clothes. She was a fashion designer wanting to fulfill her dreams at all cost. But there she was, at this ballroom party she had been dragged to by her best friend, Holly Tiffin DeAngelo who worked at a prestigious hotel in their small hometown as a personal assistant to the owner of the hotel. Speaking of Holly, her best friend was being crowded by a cluster of party guests who were questioning her and asking the reason for the absence of her boss — the host — and his brothers who were nowhere to be found in the ballroom party arena. Holly DeAngelo was giving swift, friendly answers to the guests, gifting air kisses, slight hugs. Her gestures were bubbly and she flowed with each person with friendly energy and vice. She was the popular friend, obviously, and the outgoing one too. Not Elizabeth. It could never be her doing all these greetings to the countless number of wealthy looking party guests. She felt left out. Unsuitable for the party in her simple black gown while the other women looked super stunning in their big expensive looking jewels and fancy ballroom gowns. So Elizabeth turned away in the direction of the counter, her ankles throbbing in the heels she had on for having to stand behind her friend while she introduced herself to and greeted some guests. “If she knew she was going to be working her ass off for her boss’s youngest brother’s birthday party, she shouldn’t have dragged me here in the first place dammit! ” She said to no one in particular and walked over to where the bartender was. Her blue eyes shone in the light as she took a seat on the barstool and ordered a bottle of jack Daniels . She didn’t know what she was doing. but at that moment, all she wanted… was to get the hell out of that place. “Here,” the bartender said, pushing the bottle in front of her and with the bottle held firmly in her left moist palm, she headed in the direction out of the ballroom party, hoping to find a silent place to herself where she could get drunk without a bother in the world. . The sound of festivity faded off behind her the moment she distanced herself from the ballroom. Outside, she shuddered involuntarily, her small shoulders shaking the moment the autumn wind blew against her harshly and stuck her silky gown to her like a second skin. Past a few people lingering outside the hotel, a couple acting coddling and a man yelling instructions into his phone in a rage, she took off in the direction in which she felt could lead to a quiet place. Her heels made soft clicking sounds as it kissed the floor. Her ankles were throbbing, almost trembling. She wasn't used to shoes like this. She barely went to fancy places in which demanded them, so whenever she did, she had to endure the pain of her throbbing ankles and trembling legs. Just as she dragged herself a little more, she made it to the hotel's pool side. It was very far away from the ballroom. Far enough that now she could not pick up a single sound of music or festivity looming overhead but rather the peace that came with silence surrounding her like a thick steel. It was just silent. Almost dead silent, safe for the sound of her heels still clicking against the floor. Even the pool water was still, calm, unmoving. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea though. She rethought her decision of coming over to this pool side for a moment, and realized it wasn't such a good one. Over the past few months, the news of the serial killer wandering freely around Warmaukey had been petrifying the people of the town. It was rumored that he had killed the happening couple of Warmaukey a few months ago at this particular hotel. She recalls Holly telling her about how her boss had closed down the hotel for three months and relocated to Miami because of the sudden loss of his best friend, the groom, a day before his most talked-about wedding. And coming to this silent place, even if it's just for a few minutes or seconds, just made her a very easy target for any serial murderer or normal killer, for that matter. She couldn't swim and could possibly be pushed into the pool and left to die. Nevertheless, she bent down and aggressively unbuckled the heels and then kicked them off, almost toppling them over the edge and into the pool. The baby blue pool light reflected over her pale white skin. Her bare feet pressed into the floor, the cold was almost unbearable though, and her teeth threatened to chatter but she pressed her mouth tightly together in resistance. Her shoulders shuddered, and her fingers quivered against the bottle of Jack Daniel, almost spilling it since it was already open. Just for a moment, she raised the bottle to her lips and took a big swig of it, the burn of the alcohol ran down her throat. Gulping down occasionally, and prancing about the edge of the pool in excitement like a child awaiting a visit from the tooth fairy, she drank herself to a stage of near tipsiness. Haze of lazy smoke slowly spiraled its way up the ceiling, escaping through the small hole in his parted lips and the momentary flair of his nose. Gregorio Cortez was almost at the edge of losing his s**t at that moment. He tapped his foot impatiently on the tiled floor of the presidential suite and pressed the tip of his cigar against the coaster placed in front of him to get rid of the ashes. He picked up his iPhone next to the coaster on the antique table before him and rose out of the comfy couch. He dialed his younger brother’s number for the umpteenth time and sighed in exasperation when he didn’t answer after the third ring. He was supposed to be there with him already with the celebrant, entertaining his guests since the birthday party had been all his idea from the start. Gabriel was the fun one. The cheerful one. Not him. That could never be him. It was all his immediate younger brother’s idea to throw the flamboyant birthday party. Infact, all parties in the hotel had always been his idea and most times than not, Greg was never in attendance. But this party was to please the last child of the family because he was so dear to them and they had practically raised him themselves from his childhood. Well, he and Gabriel, not Gideon. Gideon, the first son of the Cortez family was the most nonchalant one of them all. He was never present for anything and the last time Greg had set his eyes on him was already two years, with no show up for family meetings or nothing. Him, Gregorio Cortez, the second son was the gloomy, always moody one. Though he didn’t like turning up to family events and was always angry for whatever reasons, he still did so if it involved his family. At that moment, Greg was regretting allowing Gabriel convince him to fly down to Warmaukey, their hometown just for a birthday party when he could be back at Miami, Florida, attending to much more important business matters. This place reminded him of a lot of things he really didn’t want to have to deal with. He stared out the window for a while to ease himself up a bit when a figure got his attention. It wasn’t too dark by the pool side so he could notice the person. He squinted. Was she female? He looked harder and then nodded slowly in agreement. Yeah. Definitely a feminine figure. Skinny, petite one. The wind was blowing harshly against her, and her long gown was sticking to her like a second skin. Her auburn hair was aloft, flowing freely and wildly in the air as if it were a paid Bollywood actor to make the moment seem more magical. His cell suddenly rang and he took all it had in him to stop staring at the lady that had surprisingly piqued his interest. He didn’t even check the caller’s ID because he already knew who it was. He pressed his phone Into his ear once he picked the call, seething and furious. He began in a strained voice; “What the hell is taking you so long? You god-damned son of a–” The calm, drowsy, nonchalant voice of his brother cut him off with a raspy chuckle. “Calm your titties! We’re about pulling in already. Twenty minutes. All we need. We’ll be at the hotel.” “Better be,” Greg grumbled and ended the call and just at that moment, a knock resounded against his room door. It was gentle and almost timid-like. He looked up and raised his voice loud enough that whoever it was could hear him talking. He demanded to know, "What do you want?" A small voice answered back from the other side. She was his secretary. "There's a woman outside, refusing to leave, she says it's a must she sees you." Frowning deeply, he began to move closer to the door. The tension in him had eased and lessened tremendously. "What's her name?" His voice was less hostile this time around. The voice answered swiftly, "She says she's Pamela. Pamela Camille Renfrew." "Tell her I'm not in." Without even a single moment of hesitation, the secretary turned away. Greg could hear her footsteps in the hallways, getting farther and farther till it went vague and indistinct and completely disappeared. He walked back into the center of the room, and grabbed his tailored suit jacket at the armrest of the couch he had been seating on earlier and struggled to hastily have it on while he dashed around the barely lit room in search of his cigarette pack and lighter. Once he pocketed them safely, he took off in the direction of the door. Popping his head into the brightly lit hallways, Gregorio looked left and right in search of any approaching figure before he completely stepped out. He knew Pamela so well. She was stubborn and irrational, always jumping into the conclusion of things that were not true. She had been his ex at a point in his life. It's been years now — almost six — but it seemed like she wasn't over him yet. Truthfully, the relationship had only lasted about four months, one of the longest he had ever been in, and he had totally forgotten about her before that year ran out. That was until she resurfaced and was on a never-ending search of a chance to get back together with him. With brisk steps, Gregorio took off down the hallway, hoping he didn't come across Pamela. However, his luck ran out when he rounded the corner and heard her shrill tiny voice call out to him from behind; "Greg! Greg!" He increased his pace just as soon as he heard her heels clicking speedily, kissing the tiles more aggressively as she ran in pursuit of him.