Page 118 of I See You

Even now, she was breathtaking.

“Yes, Hassan?” Her voice floated through the speaker, soft but clear over the thump of bass in the background.

“This nigga really in love with his therapist,” the ten-year-old mocked, eyes narrowed in disgust. “Fell the fuck off.”

Hassan ignored him. Focused on her face. Her voice. Anything to block them out.

“I need to see you,” he said flatly, his voice calm—too calm. That calm that came when he was barely holding himself together.

Her face shifted slightly in the frame, her brows furrowed. He could tell she’d been drinking—her eyes were low, her voice had a slight slur—but even tipsy, she looked like peace. Like relief. Like the only damn thing in this world that could mute the chaos in his head.

“Everything okay?” she asked, voice soft and laced with concern. “Yeah…” he muttered, a lie heavy on his tongue. “Where you at?” She hesitated. “Noir. With Dorian and Harper.”

Hassan didn’t say another word. He grabbed his keys, his blunt still burning in the tray, the boys still whispering in the corner of his mind.

“I’m on the way,” he said—and hung up before she could argue.

Because tonight, she wasn’t his therapist. She was his lifeline. And he was drowning.

???

Hassan pulled up behind Noir, the bass from inside already thumping against the pavement like a heartbeat. Midnight was creeping in, but the club was alive—packed wall to wall, with bodies in line, voices raised, and the stench of liquor and lust thick in the air.

He parked and reached for his phone, dialing her.

“Look at this desperate-ass nigga,” six-year-old Hassan muttered from the backseat, a grin stretched across his bloodied little face.

Ten-year-old Hassan laughed beside him. “Nigga really about to beg a bitch to fix him.”

Hassanranahanddownhisface.Hedidn’thavethestrength tonight. Not to fight them. Not to carry this weight alone.

Sevyn didn’t answer. He called again. Still no answer. His jaw locked.

Fuck it.

He got out the car, slamming the door harder than necessary. If she wouldn’t come to him, he’d go to her.

Normally,hecouldcarrythisshit.Wearhisdemonslikearmor.

But not tonight.

Tonight, they were crawling in his veins. Whispering through his mind. Eating him alive.

Security at the back door recognized him instantly, nodding him through without a word. He didn’t stop. Didn’t speak. The two blood- covered boys walked behind him like shadows, laughing, mocking, reminding.

Thethumpofmusicgotlouder,lightsflashingredandbluelike danger warnings. Sweat, perfume, and smoke filled the air. Bodies moved on instinct. Bass thudded through the walls like war drums.

And there she was. Up in the VIP section. Glowing. Radiant. A goddess in a brown sheer dress that clung to every curve like sin. A drink in one hand… and a man pressed against her in the other.

She was grinding, slow, sensual—her hips rolling in rhythm, her laughter soft as she leaned into the stranger. The man was eating it up, his hands low, his eyes locked on her ass.

Hassan stopped in his tracks.

His chest tightened. Rage slithered through him like poison. “Youseethat?”Ten-year-oldHassanhissed.“That’swhatyou needed, huh? That’s your fuckin’ peace?”

“Bitch got you out here lookin’ soft,” the younger version added, laughing through missing teeth.

Before Hassan could move, Nova stepped in front of him, blocking his view.

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