Page 129 of I See You

“Nigga, what the fuck got into you?” she asked, raising a brow, already knowing the answer.

Sevyn had mentioned he’d finally agreed to therapy—but seeing the change firsthand had her lowkey shook. Of course, she didn’t say anything. She wasn’t supposed to know.

Maybe Sevyn was a miracle worker. Hassan chuckled but didn’t answer.

“Mane, get in the car,” he said, already back to his usual commanding tone.

Harper smirked and did what she was told.

“Thanks, San,” she said as she slid into the driver’s seat. Hassan gave her a look. “For what?”

“For always having my back,” she said, her voice soft. “Sometimes, you go overboard, but I know if nobody got me, you do.”

He nodded. No need to say more. Harper had always had a spot in his cold-ass heart since he first met her. She got on his nerves like nobody else, but the love he had for her? Unmatched. No matter how emotionless he acted.

“Here you go with this mushy shit,” he muttered, making her laugh.

“Whatever. I know it warmed your heart,” she teased. “I love you, San.”

Hassan sighed. Her sensitive ass always had to hit him with the soft shit. “I love you too, Harp. Get home safe.”

He closed her door and stood there, watching as she pulled off and left the parking lot.

Then he turned, headed to his own car, jaw tightening again. Because as much as he wanted to let that hug linger, part of him still wanted to march back in and end Hendrix right there on the hospice floor.

He slid into his seat, cut his phone back on, and immediately saw a string of missed calls—Sevyn’s name flashing more than once, her most likely checking in on him after hearing what went down. And then Von—his name popping up too many times not to mean trouble, no doubt trying to warn him before it was too late.

When he hit redial, Von’s voice blared through the line. “Aye, that nigga Hendrix popped up visiting your grandmother. I tried to reach you, but the shit—”

“I know,” Hassan cut him off. “I almost ended his ass. Madea made me turn my phone off.”

Von went silent.

“Meet me at the casino. I got more work for you.” “Bet,” Von replied, and the line went dead.

Hassan didn’t waste a second. He dialed Roman next.

“Ain’t heard from yo ass in a minute,” Roman answered on the third ring.

“Meet at the casino,” Hassan said, voice cold, emotionless. All business now.

“Say less.”

Hassan hung up without another word.

After what Jules told him about the case the night before—and now with Hendrix bold enough to show his face—it was time to get ahead of everything. No more waiting. No more distractions.

He pressed the gas and sped toward the casino. The soft warmth from earlier? Gone.

It was back to business. And Hassan Gaines was wide awake.

???

Hassan sat behind his desk, the familiar weight of stress heavy in his chest as Von and Roman sat across from him, smoking, waiting for him to speak. The silence was thick, but they didn’t rush him. They never did.

“Shit gettin’ real,” Hassan finally said, his tone flat, unreadable— but both of them heard what he wasn’t saying. Years of working together had taught them how to read him. Even when he sounded emotionless, they could feel the pressure beneath the surface.

He looked at Von first. “You slipping.”

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