Page 21 of Cannon (King Family Saga #3)

Queen

I dreamed of him choking me again that night, only this time we weren’t in my office.

We were in my bed, his massive body covering mine, those glacier eyes burrowing into me while his hand squeezed just tight enough to make me dizzy.

I woke up sweating, my thighs slick with my essence, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out.

“Get your shit together,” I whispered to my empty bedroom, but my body wasn’t listening.

Today ZaZa was coming home from the hospital, and here I was, soaked between my legs over a man who worked for me. A man who threatened to bend me over my own desk. A man who’d slid his hand up my thigh yesterday like he owned the space between my legs.

The shower didn’t wash away the feeling of his fingers ghosting over my pussy. The hot water pounded against my skin, but all I could feel was Cannon’s touch, all I could hear was his voice. “When I decide I want you, and I will, I’m gonna take you.”

Who the fuck talks like that? And who the fuck gets wet over it?

Me, apparently. I can’t believe I was melting for some ex-con with ice in his eyes and danger in his hands.

I pulled myself together, did my makeup, and got dressed in a flowy silk jumpsuit, comfortable but put-together.

By the time Javi texted that they were fifteen minutes out, I’d already burned sage through my entire place in an attempt to get the energy right.

Who knew what storm my baby girl was going to bring in here.

My sanctuary needed to feel perfect. After years of hustling and grinding, I’d created this space where nobody’s energy could touch me.

My condo was my habitat of peace: plants cascading from macramé hangers, bookshelves filled with everything from C.N.

Mabry to business strategy, plush rugs layered over hardwood, and fabrics in deep jewel tones draping every surface.

The doorbell rang, and I took one deep breath before answering.

ZaZa stood there looking small, her caramel skin pale from too many days indoors. Javi hovered behind her with her bags, trying too hard as usual.

“Welcome home, baby,” I said, pulling her into a hug that she barely returned. Her body felt fragile against mine, like she might break if I squeezed too hard.

“This isn’t my home,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

I ignored the sting. “It is now.”

I led her through the entryway, watching her eyes widen as she took in the space.

My girl had been to my place before, but never to stay, never to live.

She ran her fingers over the spines of my books, touched the leaves of my monstera plant.

She hadn’t lived with me in the last couple of years since she was away at school and I had done some serious decorating.

“The guest room is yours now,” I explained, showing her the space I’d prepared. “I got you some new bedding, put some plants in here. You can decorate however you want.”

ZaZa nodded, but I could tell she wasn’t really present. The meds made her foggy sometimes. I’d been there with my mama, that vacant stare, that slow processing. It scared the shit out of me.

“I’ll put these in the closet,” Javi said, setting down her bags. He was trying too hard to seem helpful, like he hadn’t been a ghost for most of her life.

“Thank you,” I said, more for ZaZa’s benefit than his. “Why don’t you sit down in the living room? I made some tea.”

We settled on my sectional, ZaZa curled into the corner like she was trying to disappear. I poured tea from the Moroccan pot I’d bought in Marrakech last year, the steam rising between us like a veil.

“So,” I began, setting my cup down on the coffee table. “We need to talk about how this is going to work.”

ZaZa’s eyes flicked to mine, that familiar defiance sparking through the medication haze. “How what’s going to work? My imprisonment?”

“It’s not imprisonment, ZaZa. It’s structure,” I said, keeping my voice even despite the way her words cut me. “This is about your health and safety.”

“Whatever.” She stared down at her untouched tea.

“Look at me.” I waited until those eyes that were so much like mine reluctantly met my gaze. “There are three non-negotiables while you’re living here. First, you take your medication. Every day, on schedule. I’ll be checking.”

Her jaw tightened, but I pressed on.

“Second, you need a real job. Something stable with regular hours. Structure helps with your condition, and you know it.”

“My condition,” she repeated flatly. “You mean being crazy like grandma?”

The words hit like a slap. I swallowed hard. “You’re not crazy. You have bipolar disorder, and it’s manageable with the right treatment.”

“And the third non-negotiable?” she asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“No drugs and no alcohol.”

Javi cleared his throat, leaning forward with that earnest expression he always wore when he was trying to play daddy of the year.

“I might be able to help with the job part,” he offered. “The precinct has an administrative position open. Filing, answering phones. Nothing too stressful, but good experience.”

ZaZa’s eyes lit up suddenly, the first real animation I’d seen since she arrived.

“Actually, I was thinking maybe I could bartend at Sylk Road,” ZaZa interrupted, her eyes suddenly alive with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to learn, and I could work nights when you’re there to keep an eye on me.”

My whole body tensed. “Absolutely not. No job where you’re surrounded by liquor.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t budge on this. “That’s the exact opposite of what you need right now.”

ZaZa’s face darkened, that familiar storm brewing behind her eyes. She shot up from the couch so fast her untouched tea sloshed onto my imported coffee table.

“That’s no fair! You say you want me to have independence but then shut down every single thing I suggest!” she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. “You just want to control me like you control everything else!”

Before I could respond, she was storming down the hallway, her footsteps thundering against the hardwood floors. The bedroom door slammed with enough force to rattle the picture frames on my walls.

“I won’t be here long anyway!” she screamed through the closed door. “I’ll be with Tavares soon!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly.

“Tavares?” he asked quietly.

I rolled my eyes. “Another made-up boyfriend. She’s been doing this since high school…

inventing men who are supposedly coming to rescue her.

” I kept my voice low so ZaZa wouldn’t hear.

“Last year it was a DJ named Rico who was taking her to Miami. Before that, some basketball player she met online.”

But even as the words left my mouth, a sliver of doubt crept in. Something about the way she’d said this name sounded different. More certain. What if she wasn’t lying this time? What if some man really was filling my baby’s head with promises?

“I’ll look into it,” Javi said, reading my expression. “Run the name through our system, see if anything pops.”

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it for once.

Javi stood up, but instead of heading for the door, he lingered near the couch, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. I recognized that look. It was the same one he’d worn when he was trying to convince me to give him a second chance after I caught him cheating.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping into that soft tone he used when he wanted something, “I’ve been looking at some three-bedroom apartments in Riverdale. Nice neighborhood, good schools nearby.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And maybe… once I’m settled in, ZaZa could stay with me sometimes. Split her time between us.” His eyes lit up with something that looked like genuine hope. “It might be good for her to have both parents actively involved. A change of scenery when things get tense here.”

I let out a short laugh. “It’s always been best for her to have both parents actively involved, but you let me carry the weight all those years. Then when you couldn’t take the pressure, you cheated on me.”

His face fell. “This time is different. I’m serious about stepping up.”

“Right. Just like you were serious about coming to her high school graduation? Or visiting her at college more than once a semester?” I shook my head. “I’ll believe it when I see the lease with your signature on it.”

“I’ve changed, Queen. These past few years without you both… they’ve been hard.”

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly. “Not just ZaZa. You. Us.”

My body tensed. This nigga really thought he could waltz back into my life after all this time? After everything?

“I’ve got things to handle,” I said, standing up abruptly and moving toward the door. My voice was ice cold, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

He didn’t move immediately, just stood there staring at me like he was trying to find the woman who’d once loved him. Good luck with that. My love for him ended when he dismissed our daughter’s diagnosis. And the nail in the coffin was him cheating.

“Right,” he finally said, following me to the door. “I’ll call tomorrow to check on ZaZa.”

I opened the door wide, making it clear our time was up. “Text only.”

Javi nodded, stepped into the hallway, but then turned back one last time. “We made a beautiful daughter together, Queen. That has to count for something.”

I closed the door in his face.

Leaning against the cool wood, I shook my head. The audacity of that man never ceased to amaze me. Several years divorced and he still thought he had a claim on me.

I would never give my all or trust another man again.

Especially not the one who betrayed me. Hell, I was just starting to feel sexual desire for someone after five years.

But my focus couldn’t be on men, not with ZaZa sleeping just down the hall.

Trouble had a way of finding her, and I had the sinking feeling it was about to find me too.