Page 33 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

Amai Landry had taken everything from me.

My territory. My reputation. My power.

He’d left me with nothing but rage and the will to survive.

And now—finally—I had something he wanted.

Something he cared about.

Something I could take from him.

I opened the envelope one more time and pulled out the photo of Truth Renois standing in the doorway.

Studied her face.

She had no idea what she’d gotten herself into.

No idea that the man she was letting into her life was a demon who destroyed everything he touched.

No idea that she’d just become the most valuable piece on the board.

I smiled.

Set the photo down.

And started planning.

Chapter 4

AMAI

The smell hit me first.

Industrial cleaner trying to mask the scent of old blood and rust. Concrete dust. Motor oil. And underneath it all—something sharper, more chemical. The kind of smell that made your eyes water if you breathed too deep.

The slaughterhouse sat on the outskirts of New Orleans, past the industrial parks and abandoned warehouses, where nobody asked questions and nobody looked too close. The building had been a meat processing plant once—back before Katrina, before the city forgot about this part of town entirely.

Now it was mine.

And it served a different purpose.

The main floor was cavernous. High ceilings with exposed beams. Rusted hooks still hanging from the overhead rails. Concrete floors with drains built in—original construction, designed for easy cleanup.

I’d kept those.

They were useful.

Seven men hung suspended from the ceiling by industrial chains. Their wrists were bound above their heads, their feetdangling. Directly beneath each of them sat a fifty-five-gallon drum filled with hydrofluoric acid.

The acid was clear. Almost looked like water.

It wasn’t.

The men were sweating. Some of them were crying. One had already pissed himself—the dark stain spreading down his jeans, dripping onto the concrete below.

I stood in front of them, hands in my pockets, my suit jacket unbuttoned. I’d rolled up my sleeves. Not because I planned to get my hands dirty—I had people for that—but because the warehouse was hot, and I didn’t like feeling constricted.

Syx was leaning against the wall to my left, eating a Hot Pocket like he was watching a movie. Pepperoni and cheese. The smell of it mixed with everything else in the air.