Page 154 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

There was a pause. Brandon knew who Priest was—everyone in the organization did. Amai’s right hand. His most trusted lieutenant.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice careful.

“I don’t make calls I’m not sure about.”

“Understood. How do you want it handled?”

“Professional. No violence unless he resists. Sedation if necessary. I want him conscious but compliant when he arrives at the facility.”

“Which facility?”

“Terrell Thibodeaux’s parish jail. I’ll text you the coordinates. He’s expecting delivery within three hours.”

Another pause. “That’s off-books.”

“That’s the point.”

“What about Amai?”

The question hung in the air between us. What about my son? What about the man who’d built his entire operation on Priest’s organizational genius and loyalty?

“Amai will be informed when I decide he needs to know,” I said, my voice flat. “Not before.”

“Copy that. We’ll have him within fifteen minutes.”

I ended the call and immediately pulled up my contacts again, scrolling to Terrell Thibodeaux.

He answered on the first ring this time, his voice tight with anticipation. “Winston. I’ve got the cell ready.”

“Good. My men will deliver the package within three hours. I need him in solitary. Complete isolation. No phone calls, no visitors, no communication with the outside world.”

“And if someone comes looking?”

“They won’t. The target doesn’t have family. No wife, no kids, no one who’ll report him missing. His employer will assume he’s handling business elsewhere.”

“His employer being your son.”

“Yes.”

“The same son who just buried his brother alive.”

I felt my jaw tighten. News traveled fast in this world. Too fast.

“Where did you hear that?”

“I’ve got sources. You know how it is.” Terrell’s voice was careful, measured. “I’m just saying—if Amai’s willing to do that to his own blood, what’s he gonna do when he finds out you’ve got his right-hand man locked up?”

“That’s my concern, not yours. Your concern is keeping Priest Harris in that cell and making sure no one—not Amai, not anyone else—can access him.”

“Understood. But Winston?—”

“What?”

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

I smiled, though there was no humor in it. “I’ve been playing dangerous games since before you were born, T. This is just another move on the board.”

I ended the call and set the phone in the cup holder, my eyes on the road ahead.