AMAI #2
And I couldn’t even be angry about it.
Because she was right.
I’d lied to her. I’d manipulated her. I’d let her fall for me while hiding the truth about Yahmaria.
I’d done exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t do.
I’d hurt her.
I printed out two copies of the image while rage shifted, transforming into something colder. Something more dangerous. I tucked it into my jacket as a reminder of what I was fighting for.
If I couldn’t have her—if she was going to walk away, take my children, build a life without me—then everyone who’d touched this situation was going to pay.
Winston, for orchestrating this confrontation.
Yahmaria, for showing up and marking her territory.
Victor, for pushing his daughter on me.
Kaisen, for pursuing her in the first place.
All of them.
They’d all played a part in destroying what I’d built with Truth.
And they were all going to suffer for it.
I pulled out my phone and opened my messages, scrolling to Brandon’s name.
Call a meeting. Tonight. Everyone.
His response came immediately: What’s going on?
War.
I pocketed the phone and took one last look at the ultrasound screen—at the two tiny forms, the two heartbeats that represented everything I’d ever wanted and everything I’d just lost.
Then, I turned and walked out of the exam room, leaving the wreckage behind.
Truth thought she could walk away.
She thought she could take control and disappear into her own life.
But she didn’t understand yet.
She was carrying Landry blood. My blood. My children.
And that meant she was mine, whether she wanted to be or not.
I’d give her space. I’d let her think she’d won.
But this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
Because I’d spent my entire life learning how to take what I wanted.
And I wanted her.
All of her.
Forever.
And nothing or no one would stop me from getting her back.
I walked into an office where Dr. Beaumont was still holding the towel to her bleeding nose, her eyes red and watery. She looked up when I entered, and I saw the fear flicker across her face.
Good.
She should be afraid.
“Mr. Landry—” she started, her voice muffled by the towel.
I pulled the Glock from the holster at my back in one smooth motion and shot her in the chest.
The sound was deafening in the small room. Her body jerked backward, hitting the wall before sliding to the floor. The towel fell from her hands, and blood—so much blood—began pooling beneath her.
She’d been complicit.
She’d let Winston use her clinic as a weapon. She’d participated in the manipulation, the violation of Truth’s body, the theft of agency and choice.
Truth had been right to punch her.
I was just finishing what she started.
I stepped over Dr. Beaumont’s body and moved into the hallway. A nurse was coming around the corner, clipboard in hand, and she froze when she saw me.
“Mr. Landry? What—”
I shot her twice. Center mass. She dropped without another word.
The clinic was small—only six exam rooms, a waiting area, and the administrative offices in the back. I moved through it methodically, room by room, my footsteps echoing in the sterile hallways.
A medical assistant in the supply closet. Shot.
Two more nurses at the front desk. Shot.
The receptionist who’d checked Truth in for her appointment. Shot.
I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Didn’t feel.
This was a message.
You touch what’s mine, you pay the price.
By the time I reached the back offices, the clinic was silent except for the ringing in my ears from the gunfire. I found the office manager hiding under her desk, her hands pressed over her mouth to muffle her sobs.
I crouched and looked at her.
“Please,” she whispered. “Please, I have kids!”
“You should’ve thought about that before you let Winston Landry turn this place into his personal laboratory.”
I pulled the trigger.
The silence that followed was absolute.
I stood in the middle of the clinic, surrounded by bodies, and felt nothing. No remorse. No guilt. No second thoughts.
Just cold, focused clarity.
I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I’d memorized years ago.
“Yeah?” The voice on the other end was gruff, professional.
“New Beginnings Fertility Center on St. Charles. I need a full clean. Bodies, evidence, everything.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
There was a pause. “That’s a big job.”
“I don’t care what it costs. I need it done in the next two hours. Clinic needs to look like nothing happened.”
“We’ll handle it. You still there?”
“I’m leaving now after I do one more walk-through.”
“Good. We’ll be there in twenty.”
I ended the call and walked back through the clinic one last time, making sure I hadn’t missed anything. The ultrasound machine was still on, still displaying those two heartbeats. I turned it off and wiped down the screen with my sleeve.
Then, I left through the back exit, stepping out into the humid New Orleans afternoon like I was leaving a business meeting.
Syx was sitting on the couch when I walked in, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. He looked up when I entered, and I saw something in his face I hadn’t seen before.
Determination.
“Where’s Yaya?” I asked, closing the door behind me.
“She’s not here.” He stood, squaring his shoulders. “I need to talk to you.”
I walked to the bar cart and poured three fingers of bourbon. “About?”
“Me and Yahmaria.” He took a breath. “I’m coming to you like a man. Telling you straight up—we’ve been fucking. And I want to be with her. For real.”
I took a drink and turned to face him.
“You think I didn’t know?” I said. “You think I didn’t catch her coming out of your room that night?”
Syx’s face dropped. “You knew?”
“Of course I knew.” I took another drink. “I just didn’t give a fuck.”
“What?”
“I don’t have the bandwidth to give a fuck about who Yaya’s fucking, Syx. I got bigger shit going on.”
Syx’s jaw tightened. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Like what? Like what she is?” I set the glass down. “You think you’re special? You think you’re the first one she’s fucked to try and get a reaction out of me?”
“That’s not what this is—”
“How long you been with her? A month? And in that time, has she told you she loves you? Made you feel like you’re the only one who really understands her?”
Syx didn’t answer, but I saw it in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I said. “That’s what I thought.”
“Even if that’s true,” he said quietly, “I still want to be with her. I don’t care how it started.”
“Then you’re a fool.”
“Maybe.” He met my eyes. “But I’m not asking for your permission. I’m telling you out of respect. Because you’re family.”