Page 142 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

Not ever again.

I don’t know how long I sat in that darkness before I heard it.

The scrape of metal against concrete.

The sound was so faint at first, I thought I was hallucinating. My mind playing tricks on me, conjuring hope where there was none.

But then it came again. Louder this time.

The steel lid was moving.

Light flooded the hole—blinding, vicious, painful after so long in absolute darkness. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away, but even through my closed eyelids, I could see the brightness burning.

“Rise and shine, little brother.”

Amai’s voice.

Cold. Mocking. Utterly devoid of warmth.

I forced my eyes open, squinting against the light. My vision swam, shapes blurring and reforming until finally I could make out his silhouette above me.

He was crouched at the edge of the hole, backlit by daylight, looking down at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe.

“Fuck you,” I rasped. My throat felt like I swallowed razor blades, my voice barely recognizable.

“That’s no way to greet the man who brought you breakfast.”

He held up a plastic bag. I could see the outline of bottles, containers, and something wrapped in paper.

My stomach clenched. I was starving. Thirsty. Every cell in my body screamed for sustenance.

But I’d be damned if I begged.

“I don’t want shit from you,” I said.

“No?” Amai tilted his head, considering. “Not even the Tylenol? I know those stitches must be killing you right about now.”

He wasn’t wrong. The pain in my side was a constant, throbbing agony. Every breath felt like someone was twisting a knife deeper into my flesh.

But I kept my face blank. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” Amai’s smile was sharp. “But suit yourself.”

He set the bag down near the edge of the hole—close enough for me to see it, far enough that I couldn’t reach it without him lowering it down.

Psychological warfare.

Everything with Amai was a fucking game.

I shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t make my side scream. The movement was subtle, calculated. I needed to check my watch without him noticing.

My lifeline.

I’d sent the message to Winston hours ago, but it didn’t go through. The signal had been so weak, the concrete walls so thick.

And now the lid was open.

Now I had a chance.