Page 95 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

That I had leverage.

That I’d been preparing for this moment since the day I realized Winston Landry would always put Winston Landry first.

The silence stretched between us.

Heavy.

Loaded.

Then, Winston smiled.

It was the coldest thing I’d ever seen.

“You a grown ass man,” he said, his voice soft and lethal. “It ain’t my job to make sure you eat, bitch ass nigga.”

The words hit like a physical blow.

“You don’t want to compare swinging dicks,” Winston continued, “because mine is bigger. But you knew that already.”

He picked up his glass.

Drained it.

Set it down with a quietclink.

“So, like I said,” Winston continued, his eyes locked on mine, “try to stay the fuck alive until Amai calms down. And consider calling your fucking daughter off, and maybe this shit can go back to normal.”

I stood there.

Fists clenched.

Heart pounding.

Every instinct screaming at me to put a bullet in Winston Landry’s head right here, right now, and end this partnership the way it should have ended years ago.

But I didn’t.

Because Winston was right about one thing:

His empire was larger, his reach longer, his soldiers more loyal.

And if I moved against him now—if I tried to burn him down—I’d burn myself in the process.

The Baptistes would crumble without the Landry alliance.

And Winston knew it.

He’d always known it.

That’s why he could stand in my house, drink my bourbon, and call me a bitch to my face.

Because he knew I needed him more than he needed me.

And that knowledge—that bitter, choking reality—was worse than any bullet.

“Get the fuck out of my house,” I said quietly. “Like it or not, our wagons are hitched together. For better or worse. Just like a bitter marriage.”

Winston straightened his jacket.