Chapter 12 #3
“Thought he was smarter than the house, smarter than the odds. Thought he could take a little, flip it, put it back before anybody noticed.” Hassan scoffed bitterly, his head tilting slightly as if he could still hear his father justifying his choices.
“But the only thing he flipped was his own fucking fate.”
The tension rolling off him was thick, suffocating, pressing into the space between them. Sevyn didn’t move, didn’t say anything—just watched as he disappeared into the memory.
She could see it now, playing in his head, burned into his mind like a scar that never faded.
“A hitman came for him at night.” His voice was quieter now, darker. A haunting calm. “I remember it was raining, ‘cause I could hear it hitting the window when he kicked the door in.”
Hassan’s fingers twitched slightly. Sevyn wondered if he noticed. “I was on the floor. In the corner. Small enough that they barely paid me any attention.” His voice was eerily calm, like he was reading the weather report instead of describing the worst night of his life.
Then, he paused. His eyes darkened, his breathing slowed—like he was there again, six years old, helpless and scared.
“But I saw everything.”
Sevyn’s stomach twisted, but she didn’t dare interrupt. She could feel the weight of his memory pressing into the room, heavy and suffocating.
Hassan leaned back against the couch, running his tongue over his teeth, like he was tasting the past. Bitterness settled deep in his expression, his features sharpening, his body language tense yet eeril y composed.
“He made him beg first.” His voice was still steady, too steady. “Told him he had a choice—him or my mother.”
His eyes found Sevyn’s, but she knew he wasn’t really looking at her. He was looking through her, past her, into the darkness of that night.
Sevyn swallowed hard, a slow, aching dread curling inside her.
She already knew what happened next. She could see it in the way his entire body braced, in the way his jaw flexed and his fingers curled into fists.
But it wasn’t just the story itself—it was the way he told it.
Like it was just another fact. Like it was nothing at all.
And yet, she could feel the ghost of that six-year-old boy in the room with them, standing in the corner, watching.
Sevyn clenched her fingers into her lap, willing herself to stay composed as Hassan’s voice wrapped around the room like a vice.
“He begged for his life. Didn’t even ask him to spare my mother. Just himself.”
Her throat tightened. The weight of his words pressed into her chest like a cinder block, suffocating, heavy, inescapable. But she didn’t dare move.
Then he raised his hand at her, his fingers forming the shape of a gun. Most people would’ve flinched. Most people would’ve gasped, maybe even recoiled in fear. But Sevyn? She didn’t move a muscle.
His smirk was deadly, something cold and detached. But Sevyn didn’t see a killer in front of her. She saw a man who had gone somewhere else, someone lost in the past, drowning in the memory of blood and betrayal.
"The nigga laughed. Then pow." His fingers mimicked the recoil of a gun, his voice eerily casual, like he was narrating a scene from a movie rather than his own tragedy. "He shot her first.”
A long silence. Heavy. Suffocating.
“Then he shot him. Right in front of me. Two bullets each. One in the chest. One in the head. Clean. Precise.”
That smirk curled his lips again—twisted, detached, as if he was unbothered. As if it didn’t matter. But Sevyn knew better.
“That’s the thing about men like that,” he mused, his tone almost amused. “They don’t rush. They take their time.”
Sevyn felt her heart pound, but Hassan? He just sat there, like he had already suffocated a long time ago. Like he had never really been breathing since that night.
The silence stretched, wrapping around them, filling every inch of the room. The only sound was the slow, quiet crackling of the blunt as Hassan took another pull.
Sevyn finally found her voice, soft but steady. “And you? ”
Hassan exhaled, the smoke swirling between them, his expression unreadable. “He left me. Looked me dead in my face and walked out like I wasn’t even there.”
Sevyn’s breath caught in her throat. Because for the first time, she understood. Why he didn’t flinch. Why he didn’t react. Why emotions never seemed to touch him. Because they had already taken everything from him that night.
At six years old.
And now? He lived in the ruins.
“That’s why I don’t gamble. Not a single dollar. Not a single bet. The game that took everything from me? I own that shit now. But I’ll never play it.” Hassan’s voice was low, calm—too calm. His eyes met Sevyn’s, and for the first time, he was actually looking at her, not through her.
Sevyn studied him, her heart beating too fast, too heavy in her chest. She wanted to say something, wanted to give him comfort.
But what comfort existed for a six-year-old boy who learned, in a single night, that the world wasn’t meant to protect him?
There wasn’t one. So she did the only thing she knew he would accept.
She stayed silent. And in that silence, he didn’t have to be strong. Not for her. Not for anyone. Just for himself. And for once, that was enough.
"I killed that nigga the first chance I got," Hassan admitted, his voice laced with something darker, something final. "Looked death in the face at six, held its power at ten, and never let it go."
Sevyn didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. She just sat there, taking in his truth. She understood him in a way most never could—even as the cold-blooded killer the world saw him as.
They sat in heavy silence before she finally spoke. "Breathe."
She saw it—how he hadn’t taken a breath in too long, his body tense like he was bracing for impact. Her voice was soft, but firm, and somehow, it broke through. His chest expanded as he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
"I'm a monster, Sevyn. And it started with that nigga." His voice was quieter now, but still sharp.
Sevyn stood, closing the space between them, but careful not to invade what little distance he still needed.
"You're not a monster," she said gently. "You’re just someone who’s never been protected."
His breath hitched. Protection? He was Hassan fucking Ice Gaines. He didn’t need protection. Not from anyone. So why did her words feel like they cracked something inside him?
His jaw tensed, his body rigid, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. She could see the way his mind was processing, the way he tried to reject her words even though they hit deeper than he wanted to admit.
"I can show you what that feels like," she offered softly. His gaze hardened. "What the fuck does that mean?" She could see the skepticism in his eyes.
"With my clients, I use physical representations sometimes—to help them understand what they need to feel in order to heal."
He still wasn’t convinced.
"I want to show you what an ounce of protection feels like," she continued, watching him carefully.
His jaw flexed, hesitation flickering in his eyes before he finally nodded once.
"Aight."
"Stand up," she instructed. He hesitated.
"Come on, Hassan. It only works if you do it. I’m not going to harm you." She chuckled lightly, her voice teasing, breaking just a little of the tension.
He exhaled sharply before finally pushing himself up to his feet. They stood face to face now, his towering frame making her tilt her chin slightly to meet his gaze.
Then, without another word, she stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her body against his.
The warmth of her against him was instant, seeping into his bones like something unfamiliar—something dangerous, but oddly comforting.
"Now, put your arms around me and hug me back." Hassan hesitated. He didn’t hug people. Not really.
But his body moved before his mind could stop it. His arms came around her, locking her in.
Sevyn tightened her hold, squeezing gently, like she was willing him to let go of something—if only for a second.
And something in Hassan melted.
His muscles, always tense, loosened. His grip on his pain, his rage, his past—it slipped, even if just for a moment.
She felt it, too.
"This is what feeling protected feels like," she murmured against his chest. "Arms wrapped around you, keeping you grounded. Making sure you don’t drift, don’t fall, don’t break under the weight of it all."
His breath stilled.
"It’s an anchor in the storm," she continued, voice barely above a whisper. "Holding you in place when everything around you is trying to pull you under. "
Her breath was cool against his neck, her voice softer than he’d ever heard it. And for the first time in his life—Hassan fucking Ice Gaines felt safe.
And it scared the hell out of him.
Hassan rested his head in the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint, sweet scent of her perfume before Sevyn gently pulled away. His hands lingered on her back for a second longer before they dropped to his sides.
“So, how did it feel?” she asked, a small smirk playing on her lips. “Like a hug,” he said, his voice deadpan.
Sevyn smacked her lips, rolling her eyes. “Be serious, Hassan.”
A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Nah, it felt different.”
She caught the shift in his expression, the unspoken truth in his voice. The warmth of her smile deepened. “Different in a good way?” she pressed, wanting to hear him say it.
“Yeah,” he admitted.
Her smirk widened as she popped an imaginary collar. “What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”
Hassan chuckled softly. He had to give it to her—she was good. Too good. Somehow, she had him feeling things he never had before, and everyone, including himself, saw him as the most emotionless man walking.
“Don’t get cocky,” he teased.
“It’s confidence,” she corrected with a playful roll of her eyes. “And I need my payment first thing in the morning.”
She yawned, covering her mouth, and Hassan glanced at the time on his phone—2:53 a.m. She had to be exhausted.
“I have three guest rooms. Pick whichever one you want for the night. Each has its own bathroom, and there are towels and new toothbrushes inside,” he told her.
Sevyn nodded but glanced down at her outfit. “What about clothes? I can’t get comfortable in this.”
Hassan followed her gaze, letting his eyes skim over the curves of her body, picturing what she looked like without the clothes—which he wasn’t supposed to be doing.
“I’ll get you something,” he said, his voice lower than intended.
She nodded and headed up the stairs. Hassan couldn’t help but watch her ass as she walked, but she suddenly stopped midway and turned to him.
“Uh… I don’t know where I’m going,” she admitted.
Hassan chuckled, shaking his head as he followed her up the stairs. He noticed her eyes wandering, taking in the space, admiring the smooth, modern touches of his home .
“This house is really nice,” she said with an amused chuckle. “But too damn big for just you.”
He smirked. “More space, less people. I like it that way.”
She walked into a large bedroom, her brows lifting in surprise as she looked around at the black-and-white decor. “Damn, this is huge for a guest room.”
Hassan let out a low laugh. “That’s ‘cause it’s my room.”
Sevyn froze mid-step, spinning around to glare at him. “Then why’d you lead me in here?”
His smirk deepened as he leaned against the doorframe. “You needed clothes, didn’t you?”
She exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes. “You do shit on purpose, I swear.”
His chuckle was deep, his gaze never leaving her as he walked toward his closet. “Maybe.”
Hassan pulled out a black T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts before turning to find Sevyn watching him, curiosity evident in her eyes.
“What, mane?” he asked, handing her the clothes.
She took them but didn’t move, amusement flickering across her face. “How many women you had in here?”
He raised a brow.
“I mean,” she continued, “I’m sure they’re just as shocked as I am seeing how nice your place is. Especially this room.”
Hassan smirked, shaking his head. “I don’t bring the women I fuck to where I lay my head.”
Sevyn nodded, seemingly satisfied with that answer. “I must be special.”
“You also not getting fucked,” he countered smoothly. That pulled a laugh from her. “True that.”
“The guest rooms are two doors down. Pick whichever one you want.”
She nodded, turning toward the door. “Thanks, Hassan.”
He didn’t say anything, just watched her walk out. The moment she was gone, he let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand down his face. Tonight had been… different. He had unraveled more than he ever intended to, peeled back layers he hadn’t touched in years. And for some reason, he didn’t regret it.
He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but there was a small weight lifted off his shoulders. Even if it was just a little. And it was all because of her.
As he stepped into the shower, the steam rolling around him, his mind drifted back to Sevyn.
Sleeping just two doors down.