Page 28 of Cannon (King Family Saga #3)

Cannon

I stood at the door, watching the last drunk nigga stumble his way out into the night.

My shoulders relaxed for the first time in hours.

Best night we’d had since I started working here, no fights, no weapons, no drama.

Just money flowing and music pumping while I kept watch over it all like a sentinel.

I’d seen more notable mothafuckas in here than I did in People magazine. Sylk Road was that spot.

My baby should be proud at what she built. What the fuck was I talkin’ about? My baby? I didn’t have space for that shit.

“We did numbers tonight,” Craig said, bumping my fist as he headed for the exit. One of the newer security guards, but solid. Reliable.

“No doubt,” I replied, my eyes already drifting across the club to where Queen stood at the bar.

She was laughing with the bartenders, all business in that tight black dress that hugged every curve like it was painted on.

But I knew better. Behind that smile, something was eating at her.

Had been all night, even with the club packed wall-to-wall with ballers dropping stacks on bottles and dances.

I dapped up the last of my security team, watching them file out while keeping Queen in my peripheral.

The way her shoulders tensed whenever she thought nobody was looking.

The tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The quick glances toward the door like she was expecting someone, or worried someone might show up.

“You good, boss?” Troy asked as he clocked out, the last of my guys to leave.

“Yeah,” I nodded, still distracted. “You handled that situation in VIP clean. Good looking out.”

“Just doing my job,” he said, heading for the door. “See you tomorrow.”

Once he was gone, it was just me, Queen, and the three bartenders breaking down their stations. I moved across the empty dance floor, weaving between abandoned tables still cluttered with empty bottles and glasses. The smell of perfume, sweat, and liquor hung in the air…the scent of money made.

“…and make sure those invoices get paid first thing Monday,” Queen was saying as I approached. “That distributor’s been on my ass about late payments.”

“Got it, boss,” the head bartender nodded, not even looking up as he counted out his drawer.

Queen sensed me before she saw me, her body stiffening slightly as I came to stand beside her. Up close, the tension in her jaw was unmistakable.

“Place is secure,” I said, keeping my voice low enough that only she could hear. “Everyone’s out except staff.”

She nodded, still not looking at me directly. “Good. Thanks.”

“You want me to stay until they finish closing?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” she replied, finally meeting my eyes. Something flickered behind her gaze, worry, maybe fear, before she masked it. “Just to be safe.”

I studied her face, taking in the slight crease between her brows, the way she kept absently touching the gold necklace at her throat. Whatever had her spooked earlier was still there, lurking beneath the surface.

“What’s really good?” I asked, moving closer to her, keeping my voice low. “Something’s been off with you all night.”

I watched as the bartenders finished their closing duties, one by one heading for the back exit with tired nods in our direction. The last one, Mike, called out, “All locked up front, Queen. You need anything else before I bounce?”

“We’re good,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Great job tonight.”

When the door finally closed behind him, we were alone in the empty club. The silence felt heavy, broken only by the hum of the coolers behind the bar. Queen moved away from me, slipping behind the bar to pour herself a shot of top-shelf tequila. She knocked it back without even flinching.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” I asked, leaning against the bar. “Or we gonna keep pretending everything’s cool?”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just worried about ZaZa. She’s been doing better, but you know how it is. One day good, next day…”

I stared at her, watching the way her eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine. The way her fingers tapped nervously against the empty shot glass.

“Stop lying to me,” I said, my voice harder now. “I know when something’s eating at you, and it ain’t just about your daughter.”

Queen’s head snapped up, fire flashing in her eyes for a second before it dimmed. She poured another shot, her fingers trembling slightly.

“You want the truth?” she finally said, slamming the bottle down harder than necessary. “Fine. It’s about a nigga named Smoke. That’s who’s running drugs through here.”

The name hit me like a punch to the gut. “What about him?”

“He wants me to open another Sylk Road in Brooklyn. Using his money.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Says it’s not a request.”

My jaw clenched so tight I could feel my teeth grinding. “For what?” Even though I knew. I just wanted to confirm.

“What do you think? Money laundering.” She knocked back the second shot, wincing as it went down. “Clean his dirty cash through my legitimate business.”

The pieces clicked together in my head. Her strange behavior all night, the way she’d been looking over her shoulder. Smoke had gotten to her.

“When did he approach you about this?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave.

“Tonight. In the parking lot.” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Said it wasn’t a negotiation.”

I felt my blood begin to boil, a slow, dangerous heat spreading through my veins. The thought of Smoke cornering her, threatening her—my Queen, made something primal rise up inside me.

“Did he touch you?” The words came out as a growl.

She hesitated just long enough for me to know the answer before she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m fucked. If I say no, he’ll make problems for…”

“I’ll handle Smoke.”

My voice came out flat, dangerous. The tequila bottle froze in Queen’s hand mid-pour, her eyes snapping up to mine.

“You don’t understand what you’re saying,” she replied, setting the bottle down. “Smoke isn’t some random hustler. He’s connected. Dangerous.”

Something hot and ugly twisted in my gut. Did she think I was some soft-ass security guard who couldn’t handle real problems? Like I was just muscle for show?

“You think I don’t know who the fuck Smoke is?” I moved closer, my voice dropping lower. “I know him better than most. Better than you.”

Queen’s eyes widened slightly. “What are you talking about?”

“Me and Smoke go way back. Before I went inside.” I leaned across the bar, close enough to smell her perfume. “He was my mentor once. Taught me the game when I was just a kid running corners.”

She shook her head, not believing me. “That’s impossible. You never mentioned—”

“There’s a lot I haven’t mentioned. You barely know shit about me.” I cut her off. “But trust me when I say I know exactly how to handle him.”

“No.” Queen’s voice hardened, her boss-bitch persona sliding back into place. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m not letting you get involved. This is my problem.”

That shit stung. After everything we’d shared, she still didn’t trust me. Still saw me as an employee.

I felt my jaw tighten, rage building inside me like a storm. She really thought I couldn’t handle Smoke? Like I was some regular-ass security guard who needed protecting?

“My problem?” I stepped around the bar, closing the distance between us in three long strides. “Is that what you think? That I’m just some nigga who works for you? That I can’t handle a nigga like Smoke?”

Queen backed up until she hit the wall of bottles behind her. “That’s not what I…”

“Nah, that’s exactly what you meant.” I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. “You think I’m beneath him. Lesser than. Like I ain’t been in these streets longer than you been running this club.”

“Cannon, I swear…”

“Shut up the fuck up,” I cut her off, tightening my hold just enough to make her gasp. “You think I’m scared of Smoke? That motherfucker should be scared of me. I let him breathe because it suited me, not because I couldn’t handle him.”

I yanked her across the bar top, scattering glasses that crashed to the floor. She gasped as I pulled her body flush against mine, her tits pressed against my chest.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I was just trying to pro…”

“To what? Protect me?” I laughed, the sound dark and dangerous even to my own ears. “Baby, I’ve been moving in shadows you can’t even see. Don’t ever think I need your permission to handle my business.”

I spun her around, bending her over the bar, her ass pressed against my hardening dick. My hand stayed wrapped in her hair, keeping her pinned while my other hand slid up her thigh, bunching her dress around her waist.

“You been treating me like I’m beneath you since day one,” I growled in her ear, feeling her shiver against me. “Time you learned who’s really in control here.”

“Cannon, please,” she moaned, but her body betrayed her, pressing back against my erection.

“Please what?” I demanded, my fingers finding the lace of her panties, already damp with her arousal. “Please stop? Or please fuck you right here on this bar to remind you who you belong to?”

She didn’t answer, just whimpered as I tore her panties aside, exposing her wet pussy to the cool air of the empty club. I unzipped my pants, freeing my dick, rock-hard and throbbing.

“Answer me,” I demanded, slapping her ass hard enough to leave a handprint. “You want this dick or not?”

“Yes,” she finally gasped, her voice breaking. “Yes, I want it.”

“That’s what I thought,” I said, positioning myself at her entrance. “You’ve been wet for me all night, haven’t you? Even while you were playing boss bitch, pretending you didn’t need me.”

I thrust into her with one brutal stroke, burying myself deep. She cried out, her walls clenching around me, holding me tight. I held still, savoring the feeling of her tight pussy stretched around my dick.

“Fuck,” I groaned, my grip tightening in her hair. “This what you needed, Queen? To be put in your place?”

“Yes,” she moaned, trying to move against me, desperate for friction. “Please, Cannon.”

I started moving then, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, each thrust harder than the last. The bottles behind the bar rattled with the force of our fucking, glasses tinkling like wind chimes.

“You think any other nigga could fuck you like this?” I growled, my free hand reaching around to rub her clit. “You think any man could make you feel what I make you feel?”

“No,” she gasped, her body trembling as I worked her clit in tight circles. “Only you, Cannon. Only you.”

I pulled out suddenly, spinning her around to face me. Her makeup was smeared, her lips parted, eyes glazed with lust. I lifted her onto the bar top, shoving aside bottles and glasses to make room.

“Spread your legs,” I commanded. “I need to see that pretty face when you come on my dick.”

She obeyed instantly, opening herself to me, her pussy glistening in the dim light. I stepped between her thighs, guiding my dick back inside her with one smooth thrust.

“Oh God,” she moaned, her head falling back, exposing the long line of her throat.

I wrapped my hand around that throat again, not squeezing, just holding, reminding her who was in control. My other hand gripped her hip, pulling her against me as I fucked her hard and deep.

“Look at me,” I demanded, feeling her getting closer to the edge, her walls fluttering around me. “I want you to see who’s making you feel this good.”

Her eyes locked onto mine, vulnerable and open in a way I’d never seen before. Something shifted between us, something deeper than just sex.

“I’m gonna handle Smoke,” I told her, my voice rough with exertion. “And anyone else who threatens what’s mine. You understand me?”

She nodded frantically, her hands clutching at my shoulders. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

“Good girl,” I praised, increasing my pace as I felt my own release building. “Now come for me. Show me who this pussy belongs to.”

As if on command, she shattered, her back arching off the bar as her orgasm tore through her. Her pussy clamped down on my dick like a fist, milking me, pushing me toward the edge.

“Fuck,” I groaned, burying myself deep as I came, filling her with pulse after pulse of hot cum.

For a moment, we stayed frozen like that, both of us panting, her legs still wrapped around my waist, my hand still gently holding her throat. Then slowly, I released her, helping her sit up on the bar.

Her eyes met mine, no longer afraid or defensive, but clear and somehow softer than before.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, reaching up to touch my face. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t enough.”

I caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Don’t ever doubt me again. Smoke is nothing. Nothing compared to what I can do, what I will do to protect you.”

She nodded, something like wonder crossing her features. “I believe you.”

I helped her down from the bar, both of us adjusting our clothes in the aftermath. The club was a mess, glasses broken, bottles knocked over, liquor spilled across the floor, but neither of us cared.

I helped her stand, turning her to face me. Her makeup was smeared, her hair a wild mess from my hands, her dress still bunched around her waist. She’d never looked more beautiful.

“You good?” I asked, my voice gentler now that the storm had passed.

She nodded, a small smile playing at her lips. “Yeah. I’m good.”

I pulled her against my chest, one hand stroking her back. “I meant what I said. About Smoke. About handling it.”

She looked up at me, really seeing me this time. “I know. I trust you.”

Those three words hit different, settling in my chest like something precious. Trust wasn’t given easily in our world, especially not by a woman like Queen.

“Come on,” I said, fixing her dress. “Let’s get you home.”

As I looked down at Queen, her hand in mine, I knew one thing for certain: I’d burn this whole fucking city down before I let Smoke or anyone else touch what was mine.