Page 55 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

The skillet had been heavy. Cast iron. The kind Mama used to cook with back in the day before she decided to do too much and die. Everything went to shit immediately after.

The impact had been satisfying.

That was the part I wasn’t supposed to think about. The part that made me feel like something was broken inside me that couldn’t be fixed.

I took another sip of wine.

Scrolled past a photo of someone’s vacation in Bali. Paradise. Freedom. Everything I didn’t have anymore.

Footsteps on the stairs.

Syx.

I didn’t look up from my phone. Just kept scrolling. Kept sipping. Kept pretending the body on the floor didn’t exist.

“What the fuck?”

His voice was loud in the quiet kitchen. Shocked. Then?—

He started laughing.

Actuallylaughing.

“Yooooo,” he said, his voice full of dark amusement. “Yooooo, Amai gon’ be mad you killed his favorite hoe.”

I shrugged. Took another sip of wine.

“I don’t give a fuck,” I said flatly. “The bitch was out of uniform.”

Syx laughed harder, bending over like it was the funniest shit he’d ever heard. Like I hadn’t just killed someone in this kitchen. Like there wasn’t blood on the tile. I hated being back in this shit show.

“Out of uniform!” he wheezed. “Man, you wild as hell.”

I refilled my glass. The bottle was almost empty now. I’d need another one. There was always another bottle in Amai’s wine cellar. He had everything. Everything except what he actually wanted.

Syx pulled out a chair and sat down across from me, still grinning like we were old friends catching up over brunch instead of sitting next to a dead body.

“So, what we doing?” he asked. “We calling somebody? We moving the body? We?—”

“We not doing shit,” I interrupted. “Amai can handle it when he gets home.”

Syx leaned back in his chair, studying me. The grin faded slightly. Not completely, but enough that I could see something shift in his face.

“Aight, real talk,” he said. “Why you really here?”

I didn’t look up from my phone. Didn’t want to see the question in his eyes.

“What you mean?”

“I mean you ain’t been around ina minute,” Syx said. “And now you back, moving your shit in, killing the help—” He gestured toward Layla’s body. “Acting like you own the place. So, what’s the play?”

I finally looked at him. His eyes were sharp. Sharper than I expected from someone who spent most of his time high or in therapy or both.

“It’s grown folks’ business,” I said.

Syx held my gaze for a moment. Then nodded slowly, like he understood something I wasn’t saying.

“I’m grown in all the ways that matter but aight.”