Page 160 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 4

“I was exhausted,” I said, letting a small, defeated smile touch my lips. “I was fighting you because I didn’t want to admit how scared I really was. But I see it now. I understand what you were trying to do.”

A thick, ragged breath hitched in Kaisen’s chest. For a second, he looked like he might collapse. The man who had meticulously wired a riverboat, forged aliases, and built an entire fortress on the water was completely undone by three sentences of manufactured surrender.

“I knew it,” he whispered, a tear spilling over his lower lid. “I knew once the noise stopped… once you had time to heal away from him… you’d see.”

He reached out to touch my face, his fingers hovering.

“Don’t talk about him,” I said softly, stepping into his space, closing the distance between us. “Not tonight.”

I glanced back toward the crib, then looked up into his eyes.

“Just… hold me,” I whispered. “Please. I just don’t want to feel like I’m doing this alone anymore.”

Kaisen pulled me against his chest with a desperate, crushing intensity.

He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, burying his face in my hair, trembling as he held me. “You’re not alone, Truth. I swear to God, you’re never going to be alone again. I’ve got you. I’ve got both of you.”

I rested my chin on his shoulder, keeping my hands resting lightly against his back.

Over his shoulder, my eyes were wide open.

I wasn’t looking at him.

I was looking at the heavy oak dresser positioned against the far wall—the one piece of solid wood thick enough to stop a bullet if things went bad. I was looking at the distance between the crib and the corner alcove, calculating how fast I could scoop Tru up and get her behind that dresser before the door caved in.

I was watching the brass handle of the master bedroom door.

And beneath my feet, through the floorboards, I felt the unmistakable, dull thud of a boat bumping against the lower stern hull.

The silence broke in three quick, muffled fractures.

Pop. Pop.

Two suppressed gunshots echoed from the lower deck—so low and distant they sounded like heavy books dropping onto carpet.

Then came a violent metallic clank, followed immediately by the harsh, digitized squeal of the internal security monitors cutting out.

The overhead lights didn’t flicker this time. They died completely.

A heavy thump vibrated through the steel ceiling as the boat’s emergency backup system engaged, bathing the bedroom in a deep, eerie crimson glow from the red running lights along the baseboards.

Kaisen froze.

Every muscle in his back locked solid against my hands.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered, pulling back from the embrace, his eyes darting toward the ceiling.

The handheld radio on his belt burst into frantic, screaming static: “—breach on the lower cargo deck! They’re already past the engine room—there’s three of ’em, they’re moving too fast⁠—”

A wet, choking gasp cut the transmission off mid-word.

Then dead silence.

Kaisen’s breath turned shallow and ragged. He reached for the nine-millimeter tucked into the small of his back, his jaw clenching as he took a step toward the bedroom door.

Then he stopped.

Slowly, deliberately, he looked back over his shoulder at me.