Page 19 of I See You

"I—"

Before he could get another word out, air rushed from his lungs as Hassan’s fist slammed into his gut.

A sharp wheeze escaped his throat as he doubled over, clutching his stomach, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come.

"Get up, nigga."

Hassan’s voice was steady. Unbothered. Like this was nothing but a warm-up.

Travis struggled, his body weak, but the fear of what was coming next forced him to his feet.

Itdidn’tmatter.Thenexthitcamefast—abrutalrighthookthatsent a sharp crack echoing through the basement.

Bone breaking.

Travis stumbled, blood spilling from his mouth, a chunk of it hitting the floor as his vision blurred. His body screamed at him to stay down, but he forced himself to move, to fight back.

He swung wildly, but Hassan weaved it effortlessly, sidestepping like it was nothing. Then, with precision, speed, and a force most men couldn’t fathom—

Hassan’shandshotout,grippingTravis’throat.Notchoking him. Not holding him. But pressing into a pressure point with deadly accuracy.

Travis’ eyes went wide, his body immediately shutting down. He didn’t even get the chance to scream. The life in his eyes snapped off as his body went limp, collapsing to the floor with a heavy thud.

Dead.

Just like that.

Hassan rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly as if he had just finished a workout. He grabbed his jewelry, slipping his chains back around his neck, adjusting his watch.

"Clean this shit up," he ordered, his tone bored, like he hadn’t just killed a man with his bare hands.

Without another glance, he turned, stepping out of the trap house where he handled business and sliding into the driver’s seat of his black Maybach.

The moment he shut the door, his phone buzzed against the console. Roman’s name lit up the screen.

Hassan exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening as he answered. "Yeah."

"Aye, nigga, pull up at Noir, we in this bitch lit!" Roman’s voice boomed through the speaker, the background filled with bass-heavy music and drunken laughter.

Hassan stayed quiet, gripping the wheel with one hand. He didn’t do clubs. That was Roman’s scene, not his.

"Come on, nigga." Roman dragged out, knowing his hesitation. "You already missed my grand opening. Come turn up with your nigga, mane! Plus, it’s some bad junts in here tonight."

Hassan exhaled sharply, already regretting what he was about to say.

"Aight, nigga. Damn. I’m on the way."

Romanlaughed,victorious."Youhandlethatratproblem?"he asked, his voice dropping slightly, coded but clear.

They never discussed business over the phone—too many ears, too many eyes.

"Yeah," Hassan muttered. "Be there in a few."

He hung up without waiting for a response, pressing his foot against the gas, speeding down the dark streets of Memphis.

His mind wasn’t in the present. It was everywhere else. Still lingering in that basement. Still stained in the blood on the concrete floor.

Maybe he needed this.

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