Page 68 of I See You

Hassan chuckled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Jules finally turned to him fully, his sharp, knowing gaze locking onto Hassan’s. He saw something—Hassan knew he did. Jules had always been able to read him like a damn book. “What’s on your mind?” Jules asked, wiping his face with a towel.

Hassan exhaled, rolling his shoulders. “Nothing.”

Jules chuckled, low and knowing. “You ain’t been ‘nothing’ quiet since you was a kid.” He tossed the towel to the side, nodding toward Hassan. “Get the fuck in here. Work it out.”

As long as he was in this ring, he didn’t have to think about her.

Jules knew ten different forms of combat, all of which he had drilled into Hassan since he was a kid, but boxing had always been his favorite. It was raw, direct—every movement calculated, every hit a statement. Hassan stripped off his jewelry, slipped on the gloves, and stepped into the ring with Jules. They circled each other, studying body language, reading every slight twitch, every feint, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"So what the fuck is up?" Jules asked, throwing a testing right hook. Hassan weaved easily, recognizing it as a warm-up.

"Seems like the law is looking into our shit," Hassan admitted, knowing if there was anyone he could talk to about business, it was Jules.

Jules scoffed, throwing another punch that Hassan dodged with ease. "I taught you better than to let them rat-ass niggas sniff around." "Getting slow, old man," Hassan jabbed, voice dry, his expression unreadable. Jules just chuckled, unfazed.

Hassan made the first move, throwing a punch, but Jules blocked it like it was nothing. "So who played the wrong piece on the board?" Jules asked, his way of saying:Who fucked up and got the law involved?

"That’s what I don’t know," Hassan admitted. "The cops didn’t show up—just some green-ass prosecutor trying to talk. Claims a case he's on involves me, or that I might know something."

Jules took advantage of Hassan’s momentary distraction, landing a sharp left hook to his side. The hit stung, but Hassan recovered fast, shifting his stance.

"Never leave your guard down," Jules warned. "Yo ass getting emotional."

Hassan clenched his jaw, shaking off the sting. Another reason he never showed emotion—Jules had drilled into him early thatfeelings get you killed. Emotions were a weakness.

"What’s the case?" Jules asked, throwing another hit that Hassan narrowly blocked.

"Money laundering," Hassan answered, countering with a right hook. "Some rich-ass nigga named Desmond Blackwood. I did business with him once, but that was it. Nothing illegal on my end, but I guess they caught that nigga on some other shit."

Jules exhaled through his nose, nodding. "I’ve heard of that fool. His family runs one of the biggest oil companies in the country. His father was a legend, but his son? Fucking idiot. Always tangled up in some illegal shit." He dodged another jab before adding, "Who’s the prosecutor?"

"Some nigga named Braxton Henderson," Hassan said, stepping back slightly as they took a breather. "Been calling, trying to get me to talk, but I been dodging his ass."

Julessmirked,wipingsweatfromhisfacewiththebackofhis glove. "Sit down with him. Pick his brain. I got connects high up in the government—I’ll put some feelers out, see what the fuck is really going on."

Hassan nodded, a small weight lifting off his shoulders. He trusted Jules' connections more than anyone else’s. If anyone could get information, it was him.

"But in the meantime," Jules continued, his voice dropping into something more serious, "you and Roman need to lay low. Your books need to be spotless. If that Braxton nigga bold enough to show up at your place of business without backup, that means he’s desperate. And greedy. He’s not just looking to nail Blackwood—he’s looking for any powerful nigga tied up in some street shit."

Hassan processed that, his mind already running through contingencyplans.Hewasn’tthetypetorun,buthealsowasn’t the type to play reckless. Jules had been right about everything else before—he wasn’t about to start ignoring him now.

Even with Jules in his corner, another weight still sat heavy onHassan’s chest—Sevyn. She was in his head, refusing to leave, and it pissed him off more than anything. She wasn’t supposed to be there. He had always been in control, but now? He felt like he was slipping. "I got you, Jules," Hassan said, nodding as if that could shake the thoughts away.

Jules studied him for a beat before switching gears. "How your grandmother doing?"

Hassan exhaled sharply but kept his expression unreadable. "Not good. Once I leave here, I’m headed to check on her."

Jules nodded, rubbing his chin. "That cancer shit is fucked up, but Helen gon' push through. She the strongest woman I know. Hell, she the only motherfucker I’m scared of," he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

A ghost of a chuckle left Hassan’s lips as he shook his head. "Yeah."

But deep down, he knew the truth. His grandmother wasn’t going to fight it this time. The sickness had its claws in her, getting worse by the day. He didn’t know how much longer he had with her, and the thought of losing the only real family he had left was a different kind of pain—one he wasn’t ready to face.

Jules must’ve caught the shift in his eyes because he clapped his hands together. "Alright, let me beat your ass real quick, then you get the fuck out my gym."

Hassan smirked, shaking his head, but he welcomed it. He stepped back into his stance, letting his body move on instinct. Fists connecting. Dodging. Blocking. Striking. Every hit was a release—his grandmother’s fading strength, the weight of business, the cops sneaking around, and most of all,Sevyn Love.

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