Page 85 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 2

“That won’t be a problem. Do you have someone paying the staff off?”

“It’ll be handled.”

“Okay, I’ll keep it quiet and off the books. Let me make some calls.”

“I owe you one, man.”

“Yes, you do. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Sounds good,” I ended the call.

I texted one of my men to get to the hospital and secure Kaisen’s room as soon as they put him in one. I texted another to find Amai.

The car hit a red light, and I felt the frustration spike through me like electricity.

“Run it,” I said.

“Sir?”

“Run the fucking light.”

He did.

We flew through the intersection, horns blaring behind us, but I didn’t care. Didn’t even register it.

All I could think about was Kaisen bleeding. About Amai’s rage. About Truth—that girl in the Seventh Ward who’d somehow become the center of everything.

About how I thought I could contain this.

How I thought I could controlthem.

The car accelerated again, pushing seventy on streets that had speed limits of thirty-five.

My driver didn’t slow down.

He knew better.

When Winston Landry said push the car, you pushed the car.

And you prayed that whatever was waiting at the destination was something you could survive.

If Kaisen died, everything I’d built, everything I’d planned, everything I’d sacrificed would crumble. Our empire would look weak. If we were already divided, then our enemies could overpower us.

Amai would be relentless in his revenge. There was no way around it.

The paramedics were already inside when I arrived.

I could see them through the glass doors of New Beginnings Fertility Center—two of them moving with practiced efficiency, securing a stretcher, loading equipment. The kind of chaos that meant someone was bleeding.

I didn’t run.

Running was for people who panicked. I walked through the doors with the same measured pace I used for everything else, and the receptionist’s eyes went wide the moment she recognized me.

“Mr. Landry?—”

I didn’t acknowledge her. Just moved past the waiting area toward the back where the paramedics were working.

Dr. Beaumont appeared in the hallway, her brows furrowed, her hands shaking. She opened her mouth to speak, but I held up a hand. Not now. I needed to see.