Page 97 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

Thirty fucking years I’d been loyal to that man.

I’d brought him into this life when his broke-ass daddy cut him off for wanting an MBA instead of a stethoscope. I’d shown him how to move weight, how to launder money, how to build an empire from street corners and dock shipments.

And what did I get for it?

A partnership that only benefited him.

And now—now that his demon son was off the leash—Winston had the audacity to tell me tosurvive.

Like I was some foot soldier instead of the man who’d made him.

I pulled out my phone.

Stared at it for a moment.

This was the move that would change everything.

The move that would burn bridges I’d spent decades building.

But Winston had made his choice.

Now I’d make mine.

I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I needed.

Rahsaan Boudreaux.

My thumb hovered over the call button.

Rahsaan wasn’t Amai Landry—not by a long shot. He didn’t have the same instinct for violence, the same cold precision, the same reputation that made grown men move carefully just hearing his name.

But Rahsaan had something Amai didn’t.

Hunger.

The kind of hunger that came from being bullied out of territory you’d built with your own hands. The kind that made a man patient, strategic, willing to wait years for the right moment to strike back.

And I had something Rahsaan didn’t.

Knowledge.

I knew where the bodies were buried—literally and figuratively. I knew Amai’s patterns, his weaknesses, his blind spots. I knew the Landry operation inside and out because I’d helped Winston build half of it.

Paired with Rahsaan’s hunger and my intel?

We might actually have a shot at exorcising the demon.

I pressed call.

It rang twice.

“Victor Baptiste.” Rahsaan’s voice was smooth, surprised. “This is unexpected.”

“We need to talk,” I said. “Face to face.”

A pause.

“About?”