Chapter 23 #4
There was no response. Just silence. But she knew he was listening. She didn’t need words. She could feel his rage, his guilt, his pain— simmering on the other end of that call like a storm about to break.
“Aight, baby. We’ll see you at the location,” Roman said, and the call ended.
Dorian came back into the room with a sly grin on her face, and both Harper and Celine perked up—each for different reasons. “I’ve got a plan,” she said smoothly, “but we have to walk out with them and act like everything’s normal.”
“Anything to get rid of those clowns, I’m down,” Celine replied with an eager nod as Harper nodded too. Dorian threw Harper a subtle, knowing look—it was time.
Celine pulled the pins from her hair, letting her curls tumble freely over her shoulders, then quickly finished her makeup with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times before.
The three of them left the dorm room like any other group of college girls heading out for the night—laughing, chatting, light on their feet—but of course, the two guards trailed closely behind.
The courtyard was crowded, packed with students soaking in the homecoming buzz.
Music bumped from every corner, laughter echoed, and the air was thick with freedom and excitement.
Dorian and Harper blended in effortlessly, talking with Celine like they were old friends.
Ten minutes in, just as Von said it would, the entire campus went dark.
Lights out. Alarms blaring. Screams.
Panic erupted like a match to gasoline. Students scattered in every direction, and security turned their heads in confusion, just long enough for Dorian and Harper to move.
“Come on, Cee,” Harper whispered urgently, grabbing her arm. They weaved through the chaos like smoke through cracks, fast and undetected. Celine was confused, her instincts telling her something wasn’t right, but the adrenaline—and tequila—kept her moving.
They spotted the black Escalade at the edge of the courtyard, headlights dim, engine running. The doors swung open and they dove inside, slamming them shut behind them as Roman hit the gas and peeled off.
“Who are they?” Celine asked, her voice suddenly wary.
Her eyes locked with the two men in the front—one with a playful grin, the other stone-faced and unreadable.
Hassan’s piercing blue eyes met hers through the rearview mirror, and something about the coldness in them made her sit a little straighter.
“That’s my boyfriend, and his best friend,” Dorian answered casually, like none of this was abnormal.
Roman threw a smirk over his shoulder. “Wassup. Heard you tryna pop out tonight and get lit?” he said with a chuckle, cutting the tension.
Celine blinked, then smiled—still drunk, still reeling, but feeling like she’d just escaped something suffocating. “Hell yeah. Just happy to be away from those two fools,” she said, referring to her guards with a wave of her hand.
They all knew the clock was ticking. Celine’s security had likely alrea dy called it in—reported her missing. But by the time anyone figured out what happened, they’d be long gone.
Roman drove them far out of the city, beyond reach and far off the radar, to one of Hassan’s hidden vacation homes.
The ride was quiet aside from the occasional chuckle or hum of the engine.
Celine, too drunk to care or question anything else, eventually slumped back in her seat and passed out cold.
And just like that, the first piece of the plan was in place.
They carried Celine’s limp, drunken body into the basement of the vacation house and laid her on the bed in the large room Hassan had prepared.
Despite his cold reputation, he wasn’t heartless—especially not toward innocent women.
The room had a plush queen-size bed, a fully stocked mini fridge, and a snack bar with all the comfort food a college girl could want.
No TV. No electronics. No traceable tech.
Dorian and Harper had already tossed her phone out the window while she was passed out, making sure she couldn’t be pinged or tracked.
This house was far from the city, deeper than any GPS signal could reach.
Carlos wouldn’t find her here—not through cameras, satellites, or his many eyes in Memphis.
Hassan hadn’t wanted to play this card. He never involved women or kids in business, never crossed that line.
But Carlos DeVille had. He made it personal when he took Sevyn.
And if that’s how he wanted to play, Hassan was going to make sure he understood what that felt like—cutting deep, straight through the heart.
Back in the living room, Hassan’s expression hadn’t shifted since they left the basement. Cold. Stone-like. Void.
“You’re not gonna hurt her, right?” Harper asked quietly, her voice unsure despite knowing him. Celine was young, innocent, and sweet. Whatever her family was involved in, she wasn’t part of it. She didn’t deserve pain. Didn’t deserve to die behind a war that had nothing to do with her.
“No,” Hassan answered flatly, his voice like ice. “I don’t hurt kids. This is to send a message. That’s all.”
Harper nodded, but her stomach still twisted. Hassan’s softness— the light Sevyn brought out of him—was gone. And in its place was the man the streets feared. The man who’d burn Memphis to the ground without blinking.
“Get Carlos DeVille on the phone,” Hassan said, turning to Roman. “Let him know I want to meet. I have something that nigga needs.”
Thanks to Jules, they’d found a way to contact Carlos directly. The man was a ghost, invisible even in a world full of criminals, but Jules had connections buried deep. Roman nodded once and stepped out, pulling out a burner and dialing a blocked, untraceable line.
“You two stay here and watch her,” Hassan told Harper and Doria n without looking back. “Give her whatever she asks for—except a phone. Don’t make it look like a kidnapping. Just hold her until I say move.”
Harper and Dorian exchanged glances, both settling into the leather couches like they hadn’t just committed a felony.
“And what the fuck are we supposed to tell her when she wakes up in a house in the middle of nowhere instead of her dorm room?” Dorian asked, arms folded, tone clipped.
Hassan paused in the doorway, glancing back with the same unreadable expression. “Come up with some shit.”
Then he was gone, the door shutting behind him like the end of a warning.
Dorian sighed deeply, sinking further into the couch as Harper stared at the floor. Neither of them said it out loud, but it echoed in their heads all the same.
They just hoped all of this wasn’t in vain.
Because the thought of Sevyn somewhere—hurting, scared, or worse—was already killing them.
And if she was gone…
They knew Hassan wouldn’t just break. He’d burn the whole fucking world down.
Hassan climbed into the Escalade without a word, slamming the door as Roman pulled off.
His phone rang, cutting through the silence, and he groaned low under his breath.
Everything had been getting under his skin lately.
The smallest shit could set him off. The longer Sevyn was gone—with no word, no proof of life, not even a whisper of where she was—he felt himself spiraling.
The pressure was building, rage simmering beneath the surface with no outlet.
He looked at the screen: Jules . He answered with a tight jaw.
“Aye, I got something you need to hear. Meet me at the gym,” Jules said, then hung up.
Hassan said nothing in return. He was back to being silent, back to the version of himself that felt nothing.
The version that only surfaced when the people he loved were threatened.
The version that didn’t stop until someone bled.
And he wasn’t coming out of it until Sevyn was back in his arms—safe, warm, alive.
“Go to Jules’ gym,” he muttered to Roman, eyes locked on the road ahead.
Roman nodded, glancing at him briefly. “Carlos wants to meet. The granddaughter worked.”
Still, Hassan didn’t flinch. No reaction. Just that empty, unreadable stillness.
“Let him wait. Let that nigga stew in the panic for a while,” Hassan said c oldly. “He took mine. I’ll make sure he feels it too.”
He wasn’t rushing to meet with Carlos. Let him sweat. Let the weight of what he lost start to press on his chest the same way it crushed Hassan’s every second Sevyn was gone.
“If Braxton would’ve stayed the fuck out the way,” Hassan continued, voice tight, “none of this shit would’ve happened. My demons would’ve stayed buried. My past would’ve stayed where the fuck it belonged.”
“Take me to my car first,” he added, his tone final.
Roman didn’t ask why. He already knew. He shifted lanes, heading toward the casino where Hassan’s Ferrari was parked.
He needed to sit outside her place again.
He had to. He’d done it every day since she was taken—parking outside her penthouse, engine idle, watching the lights and imagining her inside.
Maybe doing her nightly routine, wrapped in a robe with that skin glowing.
Maybe watching a movie, or curled up in bed with a book, soft music playing in the background.
Peace. He used to feel it just being near her. Now it felt like a dream he couldn’t wake up from.
He gripped the door handle tighter, her voice still echoing in the back of his mind. Soft. Reassuring. The only sound that ever calmed the storm in him.
But she was gone. And if he didn’t get her back soon… Somebody was going to die slow.
???
Sevyn stirred in her sleep, warmth wrapping around her like a soft blanket.
In her dream, she was curled into Hassan’s chest, his scent grounding her, his presence washing over her like peace.
Her fingers traced the side of his face, and he leaned into her touch with his eyes closed, like her love was the only thing keeping him together.
“Hey, baby,” she whispered, brushing her lips over his jaw.