Chapter 22 #3
Norman caught the shift in his eyes. That cold, dark storm that always came right before blood spilled. He didn’t wait to be dismissed. Just gave a respectful nod and walked out, knowing when Ice Gaines reached this level of silence, shit was about to get violent.
“He starting with the woman I love.” The room froze.
Harper and Dorian whipped their heads toward each other, wide- eyed.
Roman sat up straighter. Jules raised a brow. Von paused mid- keystroke.
No one said shit. Not because they didn’t believe Hassan meant it—but because none of them thought they’d live to see the day Ice Gaines admitted he was in love.
“We need to level the fucking playing field.” Hassan’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Von, you got something I can use?” Von smirked, his fingers already flying across the keyboard.
Hassan shot him a look. “Mane, why y’all always smiling before giving me what I need?”
“Because this one? This one’s perfect,” Von said, scrolling to a photo and flipping the screen around.
“Carlos has a granddaughter. Senior at University of Memphis. Fine Arts major. Last name’s different, but the car she drive, the way the school’s been paid off, all that told me she livin’ off that DeVille money.
And from the way Carlos protects her, she gotta be his pride and joy. Youngest grandchild. Only girl.”
Hassan’s jaw clenched. “I want her close.”
“We can get her to you,” Dorian said without hesitation. Harper’s head nodded like the decision was already made.
“No,” Jules cut in, low and sharp. “You two need to sit this one out. This is business. Grown man business. I ain’t raise this nigga to have civilians in his war room.”
Dorian’s eyes narrowed like twin blades. “With all due respect— fuck that. You might be the OG in here, but I’ll still shoot your fine old ass behind my cousin.”
Jules let out a slow chuckle, eyes gleaming. “I fuck with her.”
“She not just here for show,” Roman added, voice flat. “That’s blood.”
But even Roman’s jaw ticked slightly. He didn’t want Dorian anywhere near this shit. Neither did Hassan.
“No.” Hassan and Roman said it at the same time.
“Fuck what y’all talkin’ about,” Dorian snapped.
“If this girl gets us one step closer to Sevyn, I’m doin’ it.
And let's be real—what it look like with y’all big asses showing up on a college campus trying to snatch a girl up?
Ya’ll gon’ have SWAT on y’all in minutes. Nah. Let me and Harper handle it.”
Harper chimed in, calm but firm. “Carlos and his people don’t know us. We blend in easy. We young, we pretty, we just graduated. We’ll butter her up, get close, get her where you need her.”
Everyone sat quiet for a beat, weighing it.
“Fire and brains,” Jules muttered, shaking his head with a smirk. “Yeah, I fuck with them.”
Dorian smirked back. “Flattered, but I don’t fuck with grandpas.”
Roman cut a cold look toward Jules. “Watch it, old man. That’s mine.”
Jules grinned. “I got seasoned meat waiting at home. Don’t flatter yourself, young blood.”
Hassan leaned back, his thoughts racing. As much as he hated putting them in the middle of this, Dorian had a point. They were the best shot at getting the girl without catching a war before it was time.
“Fine,” he said. “You two bring her to me.”
“Signed, sealed, delivered—faster than Amazon Prime,” Dorian said, deadly serious.
Harper laughed. “Shit, a glass of wine and a free full set , and anybody her best friend. Ask Sevyn how she got me.”
Even Hassan cracked the smallest smirk—but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Because war was here now. And they had one shot to win.
“Now, did you do that favor?” Hassan asked, locking eyes with Roman.
Roman smirked. “Man, that nigga just wanted a Hongqi L5.” Jules leaned back in his chair like that was a light ask. But it wasn’t.
That car? A million-dollar Chinese classic—only three in existence. Roman pulled strings through his deep-set Asian car plug, and somehow came back with one. That favor alone could move armies.
“We got all the machinery and muscle we need now,” Roman said.
“I got a fed high up watching everything—sky and ground. If Carlos tries to move Sevyn by car, jet, private plane, or fuckin’ hot air balloon, he ain’t leavin’ Memphis,” Jules added as Hassan nodded.
“Also,” Jules said, reaching for a long, matte black case on the desk.
“I know you don’t fuck with guns… so I got you this. ” He snapped the case open.
The light caught on cold steel.
Inside lay the Honjo Masamune—the deadliest sword ever made.
Rooted in Japanese warrior culture, forged for honor and death.
Illegal. Priceless. Mythical. And now it was Hassan’s.
Beside it was a smaller blade—an obsidian knife.
Compact enough for a pocket, sharp enough to slice flesh like air. One touch, and you bled.
Hassan’s eyes gleamed at the weapons, his pulse steady, yet roaring beneath his skin. Since the trauma of guns, he trusted his hands, but these? These were tools for precision. For pain. For war.
“Put it to good use,” Jules said.
Harper and Dorian exchanged a look, slightly disturbed at how the men around them admired these blades like they were diamonds.
“Vittorio called,” Hassan added, tone cold and focused.
“I told him about the DeVille mess. He’s riding with us if shit goes south.
Carlos ain’t like the usual enemy—he’s structured.
Smart. Calculated.We gotta move like chess, not checkers. ” Everyone nodded.
It was past 2 a.m. now, and the weight of the night had finally settled on their shoulders. Plans were in motion. Lines had been drawn. War had officially begun.
Harper and Dorian insisted on heading back to Dorian’s place, unwilling to leave each other’s side. Roman and Hassan dropped them off, said their goodbyes.
But Hassan couldn’t go home. Not without Sevyn.
He drove to her penthouse, parked out front, and sat in silence. The lights were off. The place was quiet. But in his mind, she was inside—curled up on her couch, bare-faced and beautiful, waiting for him.
That fantasy was the only thing stopping him from burning this city to the fucking ground.
???
Sevyn’s eyes fluttered open, only to slam shut again as a sharp pain shot through her skull.
The faint glow from the single overhead light stabbed through the darkness, too harsh for her pounding head to handle.
She groaned softly, every inch of her body aching as she forced her eyes open again, this time slower.
Her vision adjusted to the dim light, revealing a room as cold as it felt—bare walls, no windows, no color.
The air was thick with stillness, and the silence was eerie enough to make her skin crawl.
She was lying on a queen-sized bed, stiff sheets beneath her, and the longer she scanned the room, the more she realized she wasn’t alone—because something, someone, had done this.
She shifted to sit up—then froze. Her wrists jerked, caught. Chains.
Panic surged through her bloodstream like wildfire.
Her legs, too—bound to the foot of the bed.
A scream climbed up her throat, but it came out more like a pained gasp as her body throbbed in protest. Her head thumped violently with each breath, a cruel reminder of the crash —of the black truck, the spinning trees, Dorian’s voice in her ear, then. .. nothing.
“Hey!” she yelled hoarsely, but her voice cracked, weak, frail. The sound echoed off the walls, swallowed by the darkness. No reply. No movement. Just silence thick enough to choke her.
She tugged again at the chains, harder this time, her breath speeding up, heart racing so loud it felt like it would burst out her chest. Her wrists burned from the cold metal and her vision blurred from the pain.
Where the fuck was she? And why?
Tears welled in her eyes—not from the pain, but the fear. Raw, pulsing, paralyzing fear. This wasn’t just a kidnapping. This was a message.
And it wasn’t meant for her. It was meant for Hassan.
The heavy creak of the door jolted Sevyn’s senses, forcing her eyes to adjust to the sudden light spilling from the hallway.
Her pulse quickened. Footsteps echoed, each one louder than the last, and if it weren’t for the damn chains locking her to the bed, she would’ve been out that room in a flash.
A figure stepped into the light. Female. Slim build. Masked face. “Here. You need to eat,” the woman said flatly, setting down a tray of food like it was just any other day.
"Where am I?" Sevyn rasped, her throat dry and voice shaky as her eyes locked on the masked woman standing over her.
The woman didn’t flinch. “Shut the fuck up and eat,” she snapped, her tone sharp enough to slice skin.
Sevyn stared up at her, her jaw tightening. Every inch of her wanted to fight, to scream, to lunge forward—but the cuffs around her wrists and ankles made sure she stayed caged like a fucking animal.
“I’m not hungry,” Sevyn shot back, her tone cutting. “And I’m definitely not eating shit from you.”
The woman sighed, clearly irritated. “Eat it willingly, or I’ll shove it down your throat.”
“Well then get to shoving, bitch,” Sevyn snapped, fire flashing in her eyes. Even shackled, bruised, and exhausted, she wasn't about to give this masked woman a drop of submission.
The woman stilled. Then came the venom.
“I really don’t see what he sees in you,” she spat, hatred dripping off her words. “You a loud-mouthed, hard-headed bitch. But he can’t get enough of you.”
Sevyn smirked, leaning into the tension. “You’ll have to be more specific, sweetheart. A lot of men are obsessed with me.”
The slap came fast—so fast it snapped Sevyn’s head to the side before she could react.
The sting bloomed across her cheek, the metal lic taste of blood filling her mouth.
The ring on the woman's finger had cut her nose, and blood now dripped down her lips.
Still, she turned back slowly, glaring through the pain.