Chapter 22 #2
"Did you run the plates on the truck?" Hassan barked into the phone, hopping into his Ferrari with urgency pulsing through his veins.
Harper slid into the passenger seat without hesitation, buckling up just as Roman and Dorian jumped into Roman’s Lamborghini behind them. Tires screeched as Hassan peeled out, weaving through traffic like a man with nothing to lose.
"There weren’t any plates," Von said through the phone, the sound of rapid keystrokes in the background. "But it’s electric. I can tap into the internal tracking system—give me a second."
Hassan’s grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white. He was flying down the highway, every red light a suggestion, every car in front of him just another obstacle between him and the woman he couldn't lose. His hands started to tremble. Harper noticed instantly.
"We're gonna find her," she said softly, trying to anchor him.
But nothing could ground him. Not until he saw Sevyn breathing— alive and untouched. And even then, he didn’t know if he’d ever forgive himself.
Then Von’s voice came back, sharp and laced with rage. "Fuck!"
Hassan’s stomach dropped. "What?"
"The car’s system is registered under DeVille Technologies," Von snapped. "Carlos DeVille got Sevyn."
That name hit like a gunshot to the chest.
Hassan’s blood turned ice cold. His jaw clenched as a different kind of darkness took over—the kind that didn’t just want revenge, it demanded destruction.
"Find everything on that nigga!" Hassan growled, each word sharp as broken glass. "I don’t care if it’s the fucking dog. I want names. Faces. Weaknesses. Everybody he ever loved, ever talked to—I want 'em."
"I'm on it," Von replied, already working his magic.
"Meet at the casino. Call Jules. Get Norman’s ass up. It's fucking war now," Hassan said coldly, then hung up before another word could be spoken.
Harper sat quietly beside him, heart pounding as she watched his face harden further with every mile.
He was unraveling right in front of her—anger, guilt, fear all colliding in the worst way.
She wanted to say something, anything, but what could she say when the one person who made him feel whole had just been ripped from him?
The silence between them wasn’t peace. It was the calm before the deadliest storm Memphis had ever seen.
Minutes later, Hassan pulled up to the roadside where Von had tracked Sevyn’s last location.
Smoke curled into the night sky, thick and black, rising from the wrecked front end of her Maserati.
Flames flickered along the hood, licking up toward the windshield, and for a second, Hassan couldn’t breathe.
Dorian’s voice cut through the air, frantic and sharp.
“Is she in there?!” she cried, her grip on Roman’s hand trembling.
Hassan didn’t answer. He stepped out slowly, eyes locked on the blaze, heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum.
Each step toward the car felt like a step toward hell.
If Sevyn was inside—if the one woman he ever truly loved had died because of him—he’d never forgive himself.
Grabbing a steel pole from the ground, he shattered the back window with a swift, brutal hit.
Glass cracked, fire hissed, but when he leaned in to look, the inside was empty.
No body. No blood. No Sevyn. Relief punched the breath out of his chest, but it was short- lived.
If she wasn’t in the car, that meant she was taken.
Kidnapped. And that thought sent a colder chill through him than the fire ever could.
“She’s not in there,” he muttered, turning back toward the others.
Dorian broke, sobbing into Roman’s chest, her knees nearly buckling.
But then she snapped. “This is your fucking fault, Hassan!” she yelled, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face.
“My cousin should’ve never tried to help your broken ass!
She put everything into saving you, and now she’s gone—kidnapped or dead—and it’s on you!
” He didn’t respond. He didn’t argue. He couldn’t.
Because every word she screamed was true.
If he hadn’t blacked out on Sevyn, if he hadn’t let his past demons bleed into her world, she would’ve never gotte n in that car.
She’d still be in his arms, safe, whole, alive.
“Take them back to the house,” he said, voice low and unreadable as he turned toward his car.
“Fuck no,” Dorian snapped, breaking from Roman’s hold. “You think I’m about to sit in some goddamn house while my cousin’s out there? Either I’m coming with you, or I’m calling our fathers and letting them know you got their daughter and niece fucking killed.”
He stopped cold. Not because he feared their fathers, but because of that word.
Killed. The one thing he couldn’t even entertain.
“She’s not dead,” he said through clenched teeth.
“She’s not.” His eyes cut to hers, and for a moment, the fury boiling behind them was enough to make even Dorian step back.
“Well, we don’t know, now do we, Ice?” she bit back, and that truth sliced deep.
“Aight, bruh. Let’s go,” Roman said, stepping in to deescalate the rising tension before it blew.
Hassan didn’t say another word. He turned, stormed toward his Ferrari, and slid behind the wheel.
Harper was already climbing into the passenger seat.
Dorian jumped into Roman’s Lambo without hesitation.
Hassan might’ve been the most feared man in Memphis, but Dorian was just as unhinged when it came to protecting the ones she loved.
No one was sitting this out. Sevyn wasn’t just someone they loved—she was everything.
And whoever had her just made the mistake of crossing the most dangerous people in Memphis.
Hassan was going to burn the city down before he lost her.
Hassan stormed into the casino, his crew trailing behind as if the fury radiating off him had pulled them in by force.
He breezed past security like they weren’t even there—like they didn’t exist. The casino roared with its usual chaos—chips clinking, machines ringing, people laughing—but none of it compared to the storm brewing inside him.
Every second Sevyn was missing felt like acid eating through his chest. He couldn’t think straight, but he knew one thing: this shit was ending tonight.
They stepped into his office where Von was already glued to his computer, his fingers flying across the keyboard.
Jules leaned against the wall in his black designer suit, sipping Henny like it was just another day in paradise.
Roman closed the door behind them, but all eyes shifted when Harper and Dorian entered the room.
Hassan never brought outsiders into his business—especially not women—but he didn’t care about protocol tonight. Not when Sevyn, the one woman he ever truly loved, was out there possibly being tortured... or worse.
Von lifted his eyes from the screen, locking with Harper’s. She gave him a subtle wave, and he nodded, instantly clocking the grief and rage in her expression. Dorian, though, wasn’t subtle. She stood besid e Harper, her arms crossed, eyes blazing like she was ready to burn the entire room down.
"You already know my cousin Harper," Hassan said, voice flat. "And this is Dorian. Sevyn’s cousin."
Harper gave a soft nod. Dorian didn’t move, didn’t blink—her energy said it all. She wasn’t here to make friends. She was here for blood if necessary.
"Who the fuck is Sevyn?" Jules asked casually, like her name was just noise.
Hassan’s glare snapped to him like a bullet. Dorian’s did the same. "The reason we’re all here," Hassan said coldly.
Emotion tried to claw its way up his throat, but he swallowed it down.
There was no room for softness now. The moment he let it slip, Sevyn was gone.
Dead. And Hassan couldn't live through that—not again. He’d watched his parents get murdered in front of him at six years old.
Somehow, he’d survived it. But if Sevyn died?
That would kill him.
"Norman, what's the status on the Desmond case?" Hassan asked, his voice flat, eyes cutting to the corner where his attorney leaned coolly against the wall. The smirk already curling on Norman’s lips told him everything he needed to know.
"According to my sources, that nigga Braxton got yanked off the case weeks ago," Norman said, casually adjusting his watch. "Prosecutorial misconduct. Insufficient evidence. The whole nine."
Hassan’s brows lifted slightly. "Then why the fuck was he in Sevyn’s office this morning showing her photos and trying to pin me for shit?"
"Because he still wants your head, even if the DA doesn’t," Norman replied. "He was so hellbent on bringing you down, he crossed lines nobody told him to. Withheld evidence, stole sealed documents, even used his legal pull to dig into old files without clearance. That nigga ain’t a prosecutor anymore. Fired from the DA’s office the second they found out. "
Hassan’s jaw flexed, his face unreadable, but beneath that cold exterior, questions were forming fast. If Braxton wasn’t official anymore, what the fuck was he still doing sniffing around his life?
"And the shit with Desmond... my pops... and the DeVilles?" he pressed, needing to connect every dot before someone else got hurt.
Norman straightened up, finally wiping the grin off his face.
"Desmond’s case doesn’t trace back to that old deal your father was caught up in.
Braxton lied—he fed that angle to Carlos DeVille to stir shit up.
Told him it was you who took out his nephew.
That’s why Carlos coming at you sideways now.
But far as that case goes? You in the clear. "
Hassan gave a small nod, his expression unchanged, but Norman knew what it meant. One less weight on his chest—but Sevyn was still missing, and that was the only weight that mattered.