Preg-Not

30

It felt like all of her pregnancy symptoms hit her at once. She was sweating, nauseated, breathless. Her back ached from being smuggled out a window, and her bleeding feet tainted the expensive leather of her kidnapper's car.

None of it mattered. The only part that had to remain unharmed at all costs was her abdomen. Somehow, she had to get to safety.

She looked behind the car in search of her guards, but saw no signs of them. With her voice trembling, she managed to ask, "Did you... did you kill them?"

The younger Italian looked at her through the rearview mirror. He ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, displaying a heavily ringed hand. This man– whoever he was, had money.

"I don't know, but I doubt whoever got to them first killed them. It is too troublesome to hide a body in the City."

She hated how experienced he sounded.

"I don't who who those idiot kids were, nor do I care. I saw an opening, and I took it. Maksim got careless today. He usually has four men watching you."

How did he know that? For how long had he been watching her?

"Is it money you want?" she whispered.

"No," he smiled, showing pearly white teeth that countered his darkness. "Something more valuable."

Her hands automatically found her stomach, because that was the only thing more valuable than money to her and Maksim.

His grin boomed into a chuckle, and he tapped the clear divider with the tip of his gun. "Be quiet now."

Her lips refused to produce any more questions, because she was afraid the Italian would put a bullet in it.

She discreetly pulled on the handle once more. The door didn't budge. She was stuck with Maksim's worst enemies.

The car passed crowds of people ignorant of her distress. It turned street after street until she could no longer recognize her surroundings. Two hours passed. Since they were far from the city, there were less people– less witnesses.

They rolled into a neighborhood with plenty of houses. She could only hope that a nosy neighbor looked outside and read the distress in her expression.

"Don't get your hopes up," the man– who she was beginning to connect was the leader, said. "I own all the houses in this block. They're empty."

Did he read her mind? Had he cracked enough skulls and splattered enough brains that he became king of telepathy?

The door opened, and two sets of hands reached out for her. She went willingly and welcomed the cool, moist grass against her bare feet.

She was led into the dark house and locked in a guest room. There was already food sitting on the nightstand. Upon lifting the lid, she found a bowl of soup sitting beside a bottle of water.

She closed the lid gently, and then collapsed on the bed in a heap of silent sobs.

She lost a second friend that day, and if she didn't play her cards right, she would lose her boys, too.

When did this poison start coursing through Tiffany's mind? She mentioned high school, but Raelynn didn't remember sensing any odd vibes back then. Was Tiffany that great of an actress?

She stared at her bare feet, wondering if Tiffany had truly been her friend throughout the pregnancy. Understanding one's mind was the hardest science in the world. There were subconscious motives that hid under shadows one doesn't even know they have.

Maybe Tiffany welcomed Raelynn to her home because she wanted to witness her despair. Maybe she associated being a single mother with failure. Maybe she wanted self-assurance that she was doing better in life than the girl she had aspired to be.