I’m not sure what it is that disturbs me in the middle of the night, but I wake up with a twitch. A bad feeling flares in me and I roll over, groaning when my skin prickles for no reason. It’s still dark out, the house woozily silent and yet I have the sense that something terrible is going on.
Thinking that I must be imagining, I still rise and put on my robe. I don’t pull the belt as tight to avoid putting any strain on my belly. My heart flutters in my chest as a wave of both concern and euphoria washes over me.
I’m pregnant.
And nobody knows, least of all Rammstein. Ever since our altercation where he basically flat out told me he had no feelings for me, we’ve been avoiding each other best we can and it’s been working pretty well. We avoid eye contact and we avoid staying in the same room. In the past, Rammstein used to have dinner with all of us but lately he’s been skipping it.
It’s taking a toll on me, having him in the same house while being unable to tell him I’m carrying his child. If I did, I know he wouldn’t want it anyway. Just like he didn’t want me. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I also have to keep the pregnancy secret from everyone else to avoid chaos from erupting.
My uncle will be furious. I’m not married and I have no male, backing me up. I’m all alone which means I’ll have to leave the compound before my stomach grows so big, I won’t be able to hide it anymore.
I already have a protruding bump as it is and it doesn’t look like I’m going to have a small baby. Then again of course it won’t be small, it’s Rammstein’s and I wouldn’t expect anything less. Walking out into the hallway, I sneak down to the kitchen because I’m thinking some warm milk will calm my nerves.
To my annoyance the kitchen isn’t empty. Mayra, our maid is busy making what looks like peppermint cookies and inwardly I groan.Not peppermint cookies.My mouth’s already watering and I’ll probably polish the whole tray as soon as they’re out of the oven.
“What are you doing up this late?” Mayra grunts because she has eyes in the back of her neck.
I sit down at the kitchen island. “Just couldn’t sleep,” I murmur, picking up some petals that have fallen down from the flower arrangement. “What’s your excuse?”
“All the men in this house eat like a hoard of starving horses. I can’t keep up.”
I frown because she’s never had any problems before but then she tenses, shrugging.
“I couldn’t sleep either,” she adds and I notice she seems frazzled. Her hands are trembling and usually when she bakes, she tends to hum to herself but now her mouth’s firmly pinched. I hope nothing bad is going on with her family or friends and I turn worried.
“Is everything okay?” I ask and she throws me a stressed glance.
“Fine,” she snaps. “Other than that I’m not in the mood for girl talk. Now go back to bed.”
Pouting, I mutter that I want some warm milk first and I’m about to rise to make it myself but she cuts me off, grabbing a tiny casserole and quickly pours the liquid and turns up the heat. She seems to be in an awful hurry. Like she can’t wait to get rid of me and I wonder why.
Once the milk’s heated, she transfers it to a mug and shoves it into my hands. “Take it with you upstairs.” She nods at me. “Off you go. Chop, chop.”
Ignoring her ushering, I take a slow sip and her eyes narrow. Putting her hand on her hip, she shakes her head at me but I feel like she’s hiding something. Pearls of what looks like perspiration glimmer on her forehead as if she’s distraught.
Strange, very strange and I get that peculiar feeling again, shivers crawling up my spine and I look around, wondering if something’s going on that I should know about. “Ms. Mayra, you know you can tell me anything, don’t you...?” I begin, trailing off when I hear a low groan from somewhere and I freeze. “What was that?”
“The wind,” Mayra says quickly but her eyes are fearful. “The house makes strange noises when it’s gusty.”
My eyes narrow because I think I can tell the difference between a creaking house and what sounded like a human groan. A male’s groan, low and pained and my pulse begins beating in my veins. I think I know what’s going on.
They must’ve brought some man to the compound and taken him down to the basement for...torture. I take a deep breath because even though I know that bad stuff goes on around here it tends to be very rare. Don’t mix business with family and that kind of thing.
Straightening my spine, I ask, “Who’s the guy they’re torturing?”
Mayra flinches. “How do you know that’s what they’re doing?”
“Aren’t they?” I ask, slowly shaking my head and I take a sip of some more milk. “What did he do to deserve it?”
“That’s what I ask myself too,” Mayra sighs. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. He was always so very polite, always had a smile to spare when I had a rough day. And your uncle was so fond of him. For them to treat him this way...”
In my chest my heart flips, the milk suddenly tasting sour and I dread asking the question. “Who are you talking about?”
“Rammstein,” Mayra whispers and my world comes tumbling down like a house of cards. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”
Oh, I wish I hadn’t heard it at all. They’retorturingRammstein? Tears prickle behind my eyes and I let out a whimper, feeling like I’ll explode from the agony. Pushing my head in between my knees, I struggle for my next couple of breaths while Mayra puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Get a hold of yourself. I know it’s unpleasant news but you barely know each other.”