Page 116 of I See You

His throat closed. His heart dropped.

Inside were photos he hadn’t seen in decades. Photos he’d spent years trying to forget. Bloodied bodies. His mother, her eyes wide open and lifeless, her chest caved in. His father sprawled beside her, the bullet hole between his eyes as cold as the look he always worein life. It hit Hassan like a freight train. Even now, after everything— after all the pain, the trauma, the rage—seeing his mother’s lifeless body shattered something in him all over again.

His hands trembled, but he didn’t put the photos down. He stared. Forced himself to. The weight of her death still sat heavy in his chest. Still hollowed him.

Then came the next photo. The man who killed his parents. Or what was left of him.

Hassan had barely been ten when he hunted that bastard down. And looking at the scorched, mangled body in the photo, he didn’t feel guilt. He felt...satisfaction. The man’s head had been severed, skin flayed, body charred to the point of unrecognizable. That wasn’t murder. That was vengeance.

“Why you showin’ me this shit, man?” Hassan said, his voice low and brittle—just enough of a crack to show how close he was to falling off the edge.

Jules leaned forward. “Because that nigga you gutted? He wasn’t just some street rat. He was part of the same family your pops stole from. That murder? It tied loose ends together. Now, Desmond’s heat is bleeding into your world, and they diggin’ in places you thought were buried.”

Hassan shoved the file away like it was covered in poison, his breath shallow. The photos of his parents—their faces—lingered in his mind like ghosts. But the photo of the man he killed? That was peace.

He lit the blunt with shaky fingers, dragging deep to keep thefire inside him from exploding. “So? What the fuck I gotta do with Desmond and his fucked up business ways?”

"Desmonddidsomemoneywiththatfamilyandgotcaughtin a deal gone bad. Now they want retaliation—and they got the laws involved. Top federal-ass niggas. Braxton’s on the case, looking to pin Desmond. But the trail connects to the deal your father was wrapped up in years ago. The nigga you killed? He was the nephew of the family’s head. And now that old man wants Desmond taken down… and the nigga who took out his blood.”

Jules’ words settled heavy in the room as Hassan exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, his thoughts moving faster than he could contain.

He was gonna need more than this blunt to stay sane.

“That fucking family got more dirt on their hands than I do,” Hassan muttered, jaw tight as his fingers trembled against the blunt.

“What the fuck they bringing the laws in for?”

“Families like that got connects everywhere—especially in law enforcement,” Jules said, calm but firm. “Them badge-ass niggas dirtier than half the dealers on the street. This shit ain’t just personal. It’s political. Loose ends like this fuck up business… and government. They’re trying to wipe the whole board clean. Everyone involved. No survivors.”

“Who is this nigga?” Hassan asked, brows drawn. He never knew much about the family—just the man who pulled the trigger on his parents. That had been enough to keep his vengeance focused. He never bothered to look deeper.

“Old head name Carlos DeVille,” Jules said, exhaling like the name itself carried weight. “Nigga’s basically a ghost in the drugshit. But he’s the godfather behind some of the top tech companiesin the country. Moves through white rooms with dirty hands. Nigga untouchable.”

Hassan’s jaw tightened. He stared at Jules like he didn’t recognize him for a second.

“You taught me no nigga is untouchable.”

His voice was sharp, cut with betrayal. The man who raised him, trained him, just bowed his head in front of another man’s power.

“And I’m right,” Jules said, steady. “But he’s harder to reach.”

Hassan didn’t say anything. The silence pressed in around him as a bitter taste formed in the back of his throat.

Harder to reach. Not impossible.

But it was the first time in his life that he felt it—that twitch in his gut, that knot in his chest—powerlessness.

And it fucked him up.

Hassan leaned back in his chair, blowing out a slow, thick cloud of smoke. It drifted lazily above him, but there was nothing lazy about the weight sitting on his chest. His mind was already racing, rage simmering under his skin.

“This shit was supposed to be buried, Jules. You told me it was handled!” Hassan snapped, his voice hardening with every word.

Jules’ eyes sharpened like blades. “Watch that tone, lil’ nigga. You ain’t come from my nuts, but I’ll still slap the soul outta you if you forget who raised you.”

Hassan backed off—not out of fear, but respect. Jules was the only man who could check him and live to talk about it.

“That shit is sealed. Ain’t a soul with access to those photos but me,” Jules continued, calmer now but still deadly. “But that Braxton nigga? He’s connected. He ain’t just some mouthy lawyer or puppet. He got people everywhere. If I could dig this shit up? He can too. So tightenyourshit.Cleanyourtrail.Andmostimportantly—lockup everyghost you got before they start crawling out the dirt.”

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