Impure Love (Dark Mafia Duet #2)

9. Aliyah

9

ALIYAH

T he creaky wooden door of the hostel slams shut behind me, and I exhale a shaky breath. The lobby smells faintly of disinfectant and old carpet. This is the kind of place where people don’t ask questions.

"Checking in?" The bored receptionist barely looks up from his magazine.

"Yeah," I say, trying to sound casual, though my voice wavers slightly. "One night. Under the name... Jane... Doe." I force a smile, hoping he doesn't notice the obvious hesitation. The receptionist's eyes flicker up briefly.

His eyebrow arches but he doesn’t comment. "Cash or card?"

"Cash," I reply, handing over the crumpled bills. I want to avoid leaving a trail.

With a sigh, he hands me the room key. "Room 305, third floor. No pets, no parties," he says flatly. Something tells me I'm not the first Jane Doe he's come across here.

"Thanks," I mutter, grabbing the key and heading for the stairs. Each step creaks, echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Paranoia wraps around me like a suffocating blanket.

I push open the door to Room 305 and lock it behind me. The room is small, with a lumpy bed and a single window overlooking a grimy alley. I drop my bag on the floor and collapse onto the bed, my heart still pounding from the fear that’s been gnawing at me.

The feeling of being watched hasn’t left me. It’s as if those cold eyes are burning holes in the back of my head. I get up and peek through the thin curtains. The alley is empty, but that does nothing to calm my nerves.

Voices drift up from the common area below, snippets of conversations blending into a chaotic hum.

"Did you hear about the new guy?" someone says.

"Yeah, he’s staying in Room 300. Real quiet type," another voice responds.

I tense, my mind racing. Room 300 is just down the hall. I try to remember if I saw anyone suspicious on my way up, but all I recall are blurred faces and my own panicked heartbeat.

"Focus, Aliyah," I whisper to myself. "You can’t fall apart now."

I take a deep breath and decide to go down to the common area. Maybe seeing the other guests will help me figure out if anyone is a threat. The room is filled with mismatched furniture and a few travelers chatting over instant coffee.

I scan the faces, trying to seem nonchalant. The hum of low conversation and clinking cups fills the air, but I keep my focus sharp. My eyes land on a man with dark hair sitting in the corner, his face partially obscured by a newspaper. His presence feels off, almost too deliberate. My pulse quickens as I try to decipher if he's watching me or simply absorbed in the news.

"Hey, you okay?" A girl with pink hair and a nose ring approaches me. Her eyes are kind, but I can’t afford to trust anyone.

"Yeah, just tired," I lie, forcing a smile.

"You sure? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"Just... a long day," I mumble.

"Well, if you need anything, I’m around. Name’s Jess."

"Thanks, Jess," I say, appreciating her concern but wanting her to leave.

As she walks away, I glance back at the man in the corner. He’s still reading, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s watching me from behind those pages.

I quickly retreat to my room, double-locking the door and wedging a chair under the handle for good measure. I sit on the bed, my eyes fixed on the door, waiting for the next sound, the next sign that he’s found me.

Exhaustion begins to take hold and I slide under the covers, hoping by some miracle I'll be able to sleep. It's a futile attempt because I toss and turn, my body refusing to find a comfortable position. The lumpy mattress feels like a bed of nails, and every creak of the old building sends a jolt of fear through me. Sleep remains elusive, my mind replaying that horrific scene over and over.

Eventually, exhaustion wins, and I crash into a fitful sleep. But the peace doesn’t last.

Those eyes. His eyes. They haunt me, pulling me back to that night.

I’m in the penthouse again, the opulent decor stands out, a sharp contrast to the horror unfolding. The man on the floor, lifeless and surrounded by a spreading pool of crimson.

He stands over him, the gun still smoking. Our eyes lock, and I’m paralyzed.

"Don’t fucking move," his voice echoes, icy and commanding.

My feet are rooted to the spot. I want to scream, to run, but my body betrays me.

He steps closer, his gaze never wavering. "You saw too much."

The room tilts, and I’m falling, falling into those dark eyes. I wake up with a gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs. The room is silent, but the terror lingers.

I sit up, wiping the sweat from my brow. Sleep is out of the question now.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and stand, pacing the small room. My thoughts are a whirlwind of fear and desperation. How did I end up here? How did my life become this nightmare?

The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes me freeze. I hold my breath, listening intently. They pass by my door, but I just can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching me.

I move to the window, peeking through the curtains. The alley is still empty, but paranoia has a firm grip on me. Every shadow seems to hide a threat, every sound amplifies my fear. I’m not safe here. I’m not safe anywhere. My heart races, a constant reminder of the danger lurking just out of sight.

My mind is franticly trying to claw its way out of the web of fear that's ensnared me. I need a plan, a way to stay one step ahead. Staying in one place for too long is most certainly a death sentence.

I pull out my phone, the screen filling the space with a pale glow in the dim room. My fingers hover over the search bar. I need to find cheap accommodations, places where no one will think to look for me. Hostels, motels, anything that’ll keep me moving.

"Cheap hotels in New York City," I type, my heart pounding with every keystroke. A list of options pops up, each one less appealing than the last. I exhale a shaky breath. I need to move fast. My eyes scan the list, landing on a hotel in Brooklyn. It’s cheap, and more importantly, far enough from here. With a sigh, I lay back down and somehow manage to fall into sleep.

The next morning, I wake up in the cramped hostel room with a dull ache in my back from the lumpy mattress. I look around startled, I slept straight through yesterday. The toll of the past week showing its damage.

The thin rays of sunlight filtering through the grimy window do little to lift the weight of dread that sits heavily on my chest. I know what I need to do first.

Grabbing my phone, I hesitate before hitting "call". It doesn’t take long for Sophia to pick up.

"Where the hell are you?" Her voice is relieved, but I can still hear the panic underneath it. "I found your note, and I’ve been worried sick! Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?"

"Soph, I’m okay," I say, trying to sound reassuring. "I just needed to clear my head. Things were getting... too much."

"Too much? You think?" Her voice trembles. "You could’ve at least told me in person. I was freaking out, thinking something happened to you."

"I’m sorry," I murmur. "I didn’t mean to scare you. I just thought it’d be safer this way."

"Safer? " Are you sure you're okay?" she echoes, her voice dropping to a whisper.

I pause not knowing how to answer and glance out the window, the unease creeping back. And then I see him—a man standing across the street, his gaze fixed on the hostel. My heart leaps into my throat. It’s him. It has to be. I back away from the window, my body stiffening with fear.

"Aliyah? You still there?" Sophia’s voice crackles through the phone, pulling me back to the present.

"Uh, yeah. I’m here," I manage to say, my voice shaky. " I swallow hard, forcing the words out. “I’ll be okay.”

"Aliyah…" she starts as if unsure what to say. Her voice is filled with worry and it's killing me, but I have to get the fuck out of this place before that man finds me. It's as if I can feel his eyes all around me.

"I’m fine, really. Look, I need to get going," I say, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Aliyah, wait?—"

But I hang up before she can say more. My hands are trembling as I stuff my phone into my pocket. I need to get out of here. Now.

I grab my small bag and start throwing my things into it, my movements frantic and uncoordinated. Every noise from the hallway makes me jump, my heart pounding in my chest as my mind conjures images of him bursting through the door, his eyes boring into me with that terrifying intensity. I can almost hear his footsteps, heavy and deliberate, getting closer and closer.

The thought of those cold, relentless eyes sends a shiver down my spine, making my whole body tense. I can't let him find me. I can't let him win. My survival depends on getting away, staying hidden, and outsmarting him at every turn.

My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I force myself to steady it. I can’t afford to lose it now, not when I’m so close to getting away. The adrenaline pumping through me is both a curse and a blessing, giving me the energy to keep moving but threatening to overwhelm my senses.

Every second counts.

If I falter now, it’s over.