His Mystery

Seven

Ximena

I pushed the club doors and jogged toward the corner of the building, trying to hold the tears in. The aura of that man was something else. I have never in my life experienced anything like that. I didn’t even catch his name, shīt I didn’t tell him mine! Not that I am using my real name. I am using an alias that no one knows about. My name right now is not Ximena Sanchez. It is Valentina Bedoya. I was leaning on the alley wall as I breathed in and out, trying to reel in my feelings. The papers I had to fill out crunched in my chest. I closed my eyes, trying to calm my breathing so I could go to the hotel I was staying at. Getting my breathing under control, I fixed the papers and left the alley, heading toward the hotel.

The whole way to the hotel, my mind kept playing the last words he said. “When you feel comfortable telling me who fūcked with you that badly, I will kill them.” Why would he say that? Why does he care?

I shook my head, ridding my brain of my thoughts and the way his eyes bore into me. I walked into the hotel, pressing the elevator button to take me to my hotel room. I waited until I felt like someone was staring at me. I quickly turned around, not finding anyone but a bunch of tourists walking in and out of the hotel doors.

I turned back around, looking at how slowly the elevator was descending. Once it finally reached the lobby floor, my heart was hammering in my chest, and my hands were sweating due to nervousness. I quickly punched in-floor four on the elevator panel and pressed the button to close the doors. Once the doors closed, I let out the breath I was holding. As soon as the elevator stopped on my floor, I bolted out and ran toward my room, swiping the card on the reader and pushing the door open. I hated living like this, always looking over my shoulder.

I walked toward the window, closed the shades, and switched on all the lights. I placed the papers on the table and threw my purse on the bed. I walked into the bathroom, leaning on the bathroom vanity. ‘He hasn’t found me.’ I chanted over and over again until my mind believed it. I raised my head, looking at my reflection. I turned the knob of the sink on, letting the water flow. I cupped my hands under the water and bent down, splashing water over my face. I turned the faucet off and grabbed a small towel, patting my face dry. I placed the towel on the countertop and walked back to the table, dragging the chair out and sitting on it. I grabbed the pen and the hotel supplies and began filling out the paperwork.

Once I was finally done with the paperwork, I ordered some room service. Showered the crash. My dreams the whole night were of that man in the club, his eyes haunting me and his words on replay.

I sat up abruptly when I could no longer stand the way his voice was playing over and over in my head. I hope I am making the right choice in taking this job. I looked at the time on the bedside table clock, which read eight-fifteen am. He didn’t tell me when to be there, but I would be there at nine to be on the safe side. I scrambled out of bed and ran toward the connecting bathroom, turning on the faucet, grabbing my toothbrush, and placing an excellent line of toothpaste. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. I walked back to the bedroom, thinking of what to wear.

I worked in a bar right before meeting Roberto, so I had a general idea of how they worked and served, but it has been years since. I pulled out some ripped blue jeans, a black cami, and my black and white converse. Once dressed, I grabbed my hair, making a side French braid. I grabbed my purse, the papers, and the hotel room key and bolted out of there. It was already eight forty-five, and the walk to the club was only ten minutes, thankfully for me. I zoomed between the tourists that were walking, and once standing in front of the club, I stopped and took a deep breath, calming the nerves flowing through me.

I curled my hand on the handle and pulled just as that feeling of being watched made me freeze on the spot. I turned around, watching my back, trying to find the source of the feeling I was getting, but again got nothing. I walked into the bar, closing the door behind me and closing my eyes to reel in my composure.

“Everything okay?” The voice of the man that has haunted my dreams asked.

“Um, yes.” I replied, plastering a fake smile on my face.

He looked at me with a c****d brow and folded his very muscular arms across his chest. Jesus, this man was a fine piece of steak! He was about six feet, definitely taller than me, and had tattoos covering his arms and muscles. He could pick me up and take me on that wall over there. I shook my head from the perverted thoughts I was having and looked up at him, his eyes raking over me, making me nervous.

“It looked like you were looking for someone.” He replied, dipping his chin toward the door.

I shook my head in response.

“I don’t think we introduced ourselves. My name is Valentina Bedoya.” I said, stretching my hand across.

A hint of a smirk portrayed his beautiful face. He stretched his arm across, engulfing my small hand in his very large hands. “My name is Jacob Williams.” He replied.

“Very nice to meet you. Here are all the papers, filled and signed.” I said, smiling. His aura was very confusing. It was so strong and sexy the way he portrayed himself. He looked at me as if he could see right through me, and honestly, that scared the shīt out of me.

“Pleasure is all mine.” He replied, smiling. He turned on his heel, walking toward what I assume was his office. He stopped and turned around to look back at me. “Follow me, please.”

I nodded in response and followed him into an office. The office had a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the club, a mahogany desk right in front of it, and CCTV monitors angled the whole club on the left wall.

“Take a seat, please.” He said, motioning to the chair right across his desk. My body didn’t fight it. It just did as he commanded.

“So, Valentina.” He said, looking down at my papers. “What brought you to Italy?” He asked, making my heart thump faster than it had ever been. Did I mention that the look he gives me feels like he could see right through my bullshīt? Well, that is precisely how he is looking at me. Right now, I have two choices: spill my guts to this man I barely know, but my soul is telling me to trust him or run for the hills.

I gulped while fidgeting with my fingers, my heart hammering in my chest and the knot in my throat increasing as I tried to gulp down my emotions. I looked up with tears brimming in my eyes. I could see his jaw ticking and his hands turning into fists.

I closed my eyes, letting the tears flow down my face.

“I’m running away from my husband.”