Page 120 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

The room beyond was exactly as I remembered it.

Small. Concrete walls. A single chair bolted to the floor in the center.

Leather restraints hanging from the armrests and legs.

A drain in the floor.

A table against the wall with⁠—

I looked away.

I didn’t want to see what was on that table.

“Sit down,” Amai said.

“No.”

“Sit. Down.”

“Fuck you.”

He moved faster than I could react—one hand on my shoulder, the other behind my knee, and suddenly, I was falling.

I hit the chair hard, the impact jarring through my spine, and before I could recover, Amai was on me.

He grabbed my wrist and slammed it against the armrest.

The leather strap came down.

Click.

“Stop—Amai, I’m your blood, nigga!”

He moved to the other wrist.

Click.

I tried to kick out, but he caught my ankle mid-swing and forced it down.

Click.

Then the other.

Click.

And finally, the strap across my chest.

Click.

I was trapped.

Completely. Utterly. Trapped.

“Amai—” My voice cracked. “Please.”

He stepped back and looked at me, his expression unreadable.

“I’ll be back,” he said quietly.