Page 87 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

I’d thought wrong.

Because Amai wasn’t just angry. Amai wasunleashed.

And there was no putting The Demon back in his cage once he’d tasted blood.

“You need to understand something,” I said to Dr. Beaumont, turning back to face her. “Kaisen won’t be able to protect himself from what’s coming. I won’t be able to protect him. Nobody will be able to protect him.”

“What do you mean?” she whispered.

“I mean that Amai has been waiting his entire life for a reason to let loose. For a reason to stop pretending to be civilized. For a reason to stop playing the game.” I stepped closer to her. “And now he has one. His brother. His woman. His baby. Everything he cares about, all in one place, all threatened by the same person.”

“He won’t?—”

“He will,” I said coldly. “He absolutely will. Amai has something to lose, Dr. Beaumont. And there’s no way to pull him back. Not this time. Not after this.”

I turned and walked back toward my car.

Behind me, I could hear the ambulance sirens starting. Could hear the sound of Kaisen being rushed toward a hospital where he might or might not survive.

But that wasn’t what worried me.

What worried me was what Amai was going to do next.

Because I’d raised him to be ruthless. I’d taught him that weakness got you killed. I’d shown him that the only way to survive in this world was to be colder, harder, more willing to do the unthinkable than anyone else.

And now he was going to use every single lesson I’d taught him.

On his own brother.

On the woman carrying his child.

On anyone who got in his way.

I’d created the bane of my existence.

And now I had to live with what he was capable of.

My driver was already pulling away from the curb when he asked the question I knew was coming.

“Should we follow the ambulance, sir?”

“Hell no,” I said flatly. “Kaisen will be aight. If I go to that damn hospital, I might just finish what Amai started and just get an outside heir and say fuck both of them.”

The driver didn’t respond. Just kept his eyes on the road like a professional. That’s why I kept him around—he knew when to shut the fuck up.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my messages. Nothing urgent. Nothing that couldn’t wait. The city moved on whether I was paying attention or not.

“Take me to Victor Baptiste’s house,” I said.

“Yes, sir.”

The drive across New Orleans gave me time to think. Time to process what had just happened at that clinic. Time to understand the magnitude of the fuck-up.

It was supposed to be seamless. Invisible. A contingency that nobody would ever need to know about.

My phone buzzed. I didn’t need to check the caller ID to know who it was.

I answered on the first ring.