Page 20 of I See You

A distraction. An escape from the demons clawing at his back, whispering in his ear, dragging him into that place he couldn’t seem to climb out of.

It didn’t take long to pull up outside Noir. The club was packed, a long-ass line of people wrapping around the building, the neon glow illuminating the eager crowd waiting to get inside.

Hassan groaned, already hating it. Crowds. Noise. Drunken stupidity. Shit he never had patience for. But he owed Roman.

So, instead of turning his ass around and going home like he wanted, he pulled into a secluded parking spot in the back, stepping out and heading straight for the rear entrance. He was cool with the owner—didn’t need to wait in no damn line.

The moment he stepped inside, the bass hit.

The deep, chest-thudding vibration of rap music pulsed through the club, blending with the scent of expensive liquor, hookah smoke, and perfume. People were everywhere—dancing, throwing money, locked in corners full of secrets and sin.

Hassan kept his head low, moving through the crowd with ease. Roman had already let him know where he was—VIP upstairs. Hassan made his way to the section, his expression unreadable. He didn’t know how long he was staying. Didn’t know if this shit would actually take his mind off the monster that lived inside him.

But for tonight? He’d at least try.

Hassan spotted Roman instantly, already deep in his element— two women draped over him, a glass of cognac in hand, his grin wide as hell.

As Hassan walked closer, security parted without hesitation, letting him through with ease.

"My nigga Ice here now!" Roman shouted over the blaring music, throwing an arm around Hassan’s shoulder in excitement. "We 'bout to turn the fuck up!"

Hassan shook his head but couldn’t deny it—Roman’s energy was a temporary escape from the storm brewing in his mind.

"Get my nigga a drink!" Roman called out to the bottle girls.

One of them nodded, already moving to grab a glass as Hassan sank into the plush VIP couch. People instinctively shifted, making space without him having to say a word. His presence alone demanded respect.

The bottle girl returned, handing him a glass of cognac. He took it with a nod, bringing it to his lips.

The rich taste hit first, then the slow burn of the alcohol followed, settling into his chest, grounding him just enough.

Being in a room packed with half-sober, half-faded people had him on edge. He never did well in crowds. Too many variables. Too much shit could go wrong.

Instinctively, he reached for the blunt he kept tucked behind his ear, sparking it.

Weed was his reprieve. The drink would take the edge off, but the smoke? That was what really calmed his mind.

Roman leaned over the railing, scanning the crowd with an amused smirk, lifting his glass.

"Aye San, you need to take one of these junts home tonight." Hassan exhaled a thick stream of smoke, handing the blunt over as Roman took a drag.

He wasn’t pressed about the women in here tonight. But then—

"Damn, she fine." Roman muttered, eyes locked across the club. Hassan followed his gaze, uninterested at first—until he saw her.

A beautiful brown-skinned woman, her hair sleek, parted perfectly down the middle, flowing in a straight, silky wave down her back. She wore a black dress that hugged her slim, curvy figure like a second skin. Effortlessly stunning. But what caught him more than her looks? The mug on her face.

Like she had no business being here. Like this was the last place she wanted to be.

The woman next to her—slightly shorter, clearly turnt—kept pushing a shot in her direction, trying to convince her to loosen up.

Hassan watched for a second too long before catching himself.

He pulled his gaze away, shaking his head slightly. He wasn’t the type to stare. He found that shit creepy.

But still…

Something about her stuck in his mind longer than it should have. “Whichoneyoutalkingabout?”Hassanasked,takingtheblunt back from Roman.

---