12. KAISEN #2
Who could I text? Who would come for me?
Not Amai. Obviously.
Not Priest. He was Amai’s man through and through.
Not Syx. He’d probably laugh and leave me here just to see what happened.
That left one person.
Winston.
My father. The man who’d orchestrated this whole mess in the first place. The man who’d used my sperm without my knowledge or consent because he thought he knew what was best for the family.
The man who’d never given a fuck about me except as a tool to control Amai.
But he was also the only person with enough power to make Amai back down.
I typed quickly, my thumbs clumsy on the small screen.
Amai buried me alive. Concrete hole. Near the lakehouse. Come get me.
I hit send and watched the message try to go through.
Sending…
Sending…
The signal was so weak. The walls were so thick.
Come on. Come on.
Nothing.
I leaned my head back against the concrete wall and closed my eyes, even though it made no difference in the darkness.
My side throbbed. My hands ached. I was on edge.
But I was alive.
And I was going to stay alive.
Because this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
Amai thought he could take everything from me, my dignity, my freedom, my chance at a family.
But he was wrong.
I was a Landry too.
And Landrys didn’t break.
We bent the world to our will, or we burned it down trying.
Amai wanted a war?
Fine.
He’d get one.
And when this was over, when I was out of this hole and back in the light, I was going to show him exactly what I was capable of.
I was going to show Truth who I really was.
Not the man who bled on the clinic floor.
Not the man who got buried alive.
The man who fought his way back from the grave.
The man who refused to give up on the family that was made with his blood, even if he didn’t choose it.
The man who wanted her—not as a prize, but as a partner.
I just had to survive long enough to prove it.
I sat in the darkness and plotted my escape as soon as the lid opened.
And I promised myself that no matter what happened next, I wasn’t going to let Amai win.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
I don’t know how long I sat in that darkness before I heard it.
The scrape of metal against concrete.
The sound was so faint at first, I thought I was hallucinating. My mind playing tricks on me, conjuring hope where there was none.
But then it came again. Louder this time.
The steel lid was moving.
Light flooded the hole—blinding, vicious, painful after so long in absolute darkness. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my head away, but even through my closed eyelids, I could see the brightness burning.
“Rise and shine, little brother.”
Amai’s voice.
Cold. Mocking. Utterly devoid of warmth.
I forced my eyes open, squinting against the light. My vision swam, shapes blurring and reforming until finally I could make out his silhouette above me.
He was crouched at the edge of the hole, backlit by daylight, looking down at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe.
“Fuck you,” I rasped. My throat felt like I swallowed razor blades, my voice barely recognizable.
“That’s no way to greet the man who brought you breakfast.”
He held up a plastic bag. I could see the outline of bottles, containers, and something wrapped in paper.
My stomach clenched. I was starving. Thirsty. Every cell in my body screamed for sustenance.
But I’d be damned if I begged.
“I don’t want shit from you,” I said.
“No?” Amai tilted his head, considering. “Not even the Tylenol? I know those stitches must be killing you right about now.”
He wasn’t wrong. The pain in my side was a constant, throbbing agony. Every breath felt like someone was twisting a knife deeper into my flesh.
But I kept my face blank. “I’m fine.”
“Liar.” Amai’s smile was sharp. “But suit yourself.”
He set the bag down near the edge of the hole—close enough for me to see it, far enough that I couldn’t reach it without him lowering it down.
Psychological warfare.
Everything with Amai was a fucking game.
I shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn’t make my side scream. The movement was subtle, calculated. I needed to check my watch without him noticing.
My lifeline.
I’d sent the message to Winston hours ago, but it didn’t go through. The signal had been so weak, the concrete walls so thick.
And now the lid was open.
Now I had a chance.
I just had to keep Amai talking long enough to send another message. A follow-up. Something to make sure Winston knew this was real, that I was actually buried alive and not just being dramatic.
“So, what is this?” I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the pain. “You come here to gloat?”
“Something like that.” Amai settled into a more comfortable position, sitting cross-legged near the edge like we were having a casual conversation. “Figured you’d want to know how things are going up here in the land of the living.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing.”
“No?” His smile widened. “Not even when it involves Truth?”
My jaw clenched. I couldn’t help it. The mention of her name was like a hook in my chest, pulling tight.
Amai saw it. Of course he saw it.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I thought that might get your attention.”
I forced myself to breathe. To stay calm. To not give him the satisfaction of seeing how deep that hook went.
While he talked, I slowly, carefully moved my left hand—the one with the watch—closer to my body. The movement had to look natural. Like I was just adjusting my position because of the pain.
“She’s doing well, by the way,” Amai continued. His voice was conversational, almost friendly. It made my skin crawl. “Sleeping peacefully when I left this morning. Wore her out last night.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
He’d slept with her.
He’d actually fucking slept with her.
“You’re lying,” I said, but even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice.
“Am I?” Amai leaned forward slightly, his eyes glittering with something dark and satisfied. “You want details? I can give you details. The way she looked spread out on that bear rug in front of the fireplace. The sounds she made when I—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“The way she said my name.” He ignored my interruption, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. “Not yours. Mine. Over and over while I was inside her.”
Rage flooded through me, hot and vicious. I wanted to launch myself at him, to claw my way out of this hole and rip his throat out with my bare hands.
But I couldn’t.
I was trapped. Helpless. Exactly where he wanted me.
So instead, I used the rage. Channeled it.
While Amai watched me with that smug fucking expression, I pressed the button on the side of my Apple Watch. The screen lit up against my wrist—a tiny square of light that I prayed he couldn’t see from his angle.
I navigated to messages with my thumb, moving as subtly as possible.
“She’s not thinking about you anymore, Kaisen.” Amai’s voice was almost gentle now. Almost pitying. “Whatever connection you thought you had with her? It’s gone. You betrayed her. Used her body without her consent. Made her carry a child that might be yours through deception and manipulation.”
“That wasn’t—” I started, but he cut me off.
“She knows what you did. And she’s done with you.”
My thumb moved across the watch screen, typing slowly, carefully.
Buried in a concrete hole by Amai. Sending location.
“You really thought you could have her?” Amai laughed, and the sound was genuinely amused. “You thought you could take what was mine, and I’d just… what? Let it go?”
“She’s not yours,” I said through gritted teeth. “She’s not anyone’s.”
“You’re right.” Amai’s expression shifted, became something more serious. “She’s not a possession. She’s a person. A woman who deserves better than both of us, honestly.”
The admission surprised me. It sounded almost… genuine.
“But the difference between you and me,” he continued, “is that I’m willing to be better for her.
I’m willing to give her everything. Protection.
Security. A family. A life where she doesn’t have to worry about men like us making decisions about her body or life.
She’s the only thing in my life that ever felt like God wasn’t laughing at me. ”
“Bullshit. Nigga, you don’t have a soul.” I hit send on the message and watched it try to go through. “You’re just as much of a manipulator as I am. You just hide it better.”
“Maybe.” Amai shrugged. “But I’m honest about what I want. I told her I want her. I told her I want our child. I told her I’d do anything to keep them safe.”
“And did you tell her about Yahmaria?”
The words came out before I could stop them. A weapon I’d been holding in reserve, waiting for the right moment to deploy.
Amai’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes. Something dark and sinister.
“What about Yahmaria?” His voice was carefully neutral.
“Did you tell Truth that you’re still married?” I pressed, sensing blood in the water. “That your wife—your beautiful, manipulative, untouchable wife—is still very much in the picture? That she won’t sign the divorce papers because she knows exactly how much leverage that gives her?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“It will be Truth’s concern.” I leaned forward as much as I could in the confined space, ignoring the way my stitches pulled.
“When she finds out you’ve been lying to her.
When she realizes you’re not the honest, straightforward man you’re pretending to be.
When she discovers that you’re just as much of a liar as you claim I am. ”
My watch buzzed against my wrist.
Sending…
Come on. Come on.
“Truth knows I’m complicated,” Amai said. “She knows I have a past.”
“Does she know your past is still sleeping in your bed when it suits her?” I smiled, tasting blood from where I’d bitten my cheek. “Does she know Yahmaria has keys to your house? That she can walk in anytime she wants?”
“Yahmaria is—”
“A problem you haven’t solved.” I cut him off. “A wife you can’t get rid of because Victor won’t let you. A woman who knows all your secrets and isn’t afraid to use them.”