Page 3 of Cannon (King Family Saga #3)

Queen

If I had a dollar for every nigga who walked into my life and tried to control me, I wouldn’t need to run a strip club.

I’d own the damn block. The liquor store, the weed dispensary, the fake-ass church on the corner that’s always milking their members for a building fund for a non-existent building.

Instead, I was upstairs in my office at Sylk Road, annoyed, tense, and tolerating the likes of Smoke in my presence. The bass from the club thumped beneath us like a war drum.

Sylk was alive tonight. Bottles popping.

Heels clacking. Girls sliding down poles like they popped out of the pussy doing tricks.

The lights on the main floor strobed slow and sultry, bathing everything in deep reds and wet violets.

Velvet booths held old and new money. They were tossing bills like confetti.

The scent in the air was layered. Sweat, expensive cologne, champagne, and the strong aroma of ambition. There was a bite to it. A weight. The kind of air that made weak girls dizzy and strong ones sharper.

I built this place to feel like sin wrapped in silk. Intimate, indulgent, but never sloppy. Nothing cheap happened here. I hated cheap strip clubs.

Smoke sat across from me on the velvet seat as if he were the boss. His legs were stretched wide and he was leaned back smoking a cigar. I had the windows cracked because my office could get very stuffy. He was wearing gold chains, Timberlands and a crisp white tee.

Smoke was an OG. He wanted me but I learned long ago to not mix business with pleasure. Besides, he was true to his name and couldn’t be trusted.

“I take it you been thinkin’ about my offer,” he finally said, voice low.

“I thought about it,” I said, flicking ash from my clove into the tray beside me. “And I came to the same conclusion I always do when it comes to you. Fuck no.”

“Goddamn, you so sexy when you mad,” he said, licking his bottom lip. “Mouth like a razor. Pussy probably bite too.”

I gave him nothing. Just leaned back, unimpressed. “Listen, the club’s turning a profit. I paid you back. Every dime. So unless you came to buy a dance, you can see your way out.”

Smoke chuckled, but it was empty. Just a sound he made when he was about to strong-arm you and wanted to soften the blow.

“That little loan bought you more than breathing room, Queen Marie,” he said, dragging my full name out like foreplay. “It bought you me. And now I’m ready to collect.”

My jaw tightened.

“You want to run drugs through my club and clean your dirty cash here. And I already said no.”

“I just want to provide a premium service to a premium clientele and clean my drug money. That’s the same money that I lent you to keep the lights on in this mothafucka,” he said.

A few years ago Sylk had gotten into some financial trouble and I was close to having to close the doors.

Because of my conwoman mother, my credit was in the trash and I couldn’t get a loan from a legitimate bank.

So, I turned to Smoke for a loan. That nigga killed people who didn’t pay him back on time, so I made sure I did.

I worked hard, became more shrewd and watched every penny that came through my hands.

I paid him off and lived simply. My life wasn’t luxurious but it was mine and I had no debt.

I simply stared at him. The music from the club rattled the air vent, bass-heavy and slow. Downstairs, Jupiter was probably working the pole like it owed her money. She had some hedge fund manager thinking he was in love, and he came every night to see her, spending big dollars.

“If I say no?” I asked, even though I knew.

He shrugged. “Then we gon’ have some serious issues. I’ll burn this mothafucka down with you inside. Shit, at least if you got insurance, it’ll go to that crazy-ass daughter of yours.”

“Watch it,” I threatened.

He let out a low laugh before taking another pull of his cigar.

“Look, I like you Queenie. You a boss bitch doing ya thing. I’ve always respected you but when you took that loan from me, you got in bed with the devil.

I know what your books look like. I’m gonna clean my money here.

And don’t worry, I’ll compensate you for your inconvenience.

I know you gotta be tired of driving that twelve-year-old Acura. ”

I rolled my eyes at his assumption. I was fine with my car. And I knew why he was asking about laundering money in my club. His other clubs had been shut down for various violations. He was running out of ways to wash his drug money. And now somehow that was my problem.

I crossed my legs slow and leaned forward. “Just coke. No pills. No fentanyl. I catch somebody OD’ing in my club, I’ll take my chances with NYPD and point them right to you.”

He grinned like that excited him. “Deal. My shit’s clean. I only source the best.”

“You better.”

Smoke stood, adjusting his watch like I didn’t just sell a piece of my soul between puffs of smoke.

“You ever think about expanding?” he said on his way out. “Vegas? Miami? Sylk Road deserves a franchise.”

“I’m good,” I muttered, already lighting another clove. “I don’t need the whole world. I just want my corner of it to run smooth.”

He nodded and walked out. “I look forward to doing more business with you. Maybe one day you’ll finally say yes to a date.”

It would be a cold day in hell before I ever dated that man.

The door clicked shut behind Smoke, but the stench of his cigar smoke and arrogance lingered in the air. I cracked the window wider, letting in the noise from Lenox Avenue and the cool rush of Harlem night. I needed it. Anything to shake off that uneasy feeling that came from dealing with him.

I was exhausted after he left. I took a slow drag, then crushed the clove out once I was done. I began to review my books for the night but then a sharp knock cracked the door open.

Darius’s big head peeked in, eyes darting like he was expecting to get smacked. He was my head of security but he was terrible at his job. I needed to replace him soon. He was my best friend, Nori’s cousin. This might harm our relationship but his ineptitude was harming my business.

“You better have a damn good reason,” I said flat.

“You uh…” He stepped inside, breath short. “You might wanna come downstairs.”

“You look like somebody snatched your chain. Spit it out.”

He scratched at the back of his neck. “I think Bebe’s fuckin’ a patron.”

“Okay? And?” I stood and straightened my red body con dress. “Handle it.”

Darius hesitated. “It’s… Nero. He’s in Champagne Room Two.”

My chest tightened but I could understand why he didn’t want to say anything to Nero. Nero was Smoke’s son. However, it was still his job. I stared at Darius for a second. Then walked right past without a word.

By the time I hit the main floor, my patience was gone. I needed someone who could handle shit like this without me. I shouldn’t have to run interference on this. This is why I hired security. Darius was a bitch made nigga. This is what I get for trying to help out a friend of the family.

Sylk was still in full swing, bodies grinding, neon lights pulsing and liquor flowing. But when I walked through, the energy shifted. Dancers slowed. Conversations hushed. Even the DJ lowered the bass like the whole place knew Mama had stepped in.

My heels cracked against the marble like warning shots.

Champagne Room Two sat at the end of the hallway, all plush velvet and stained secrets. I didn’t knock. Didn’t announce myself. I kicked the door open.

Bebe jumped back like she’d seen a ghost. She had been on his lap riding him.

Nero was slouched in the seat, pants halfway down, a bottle of Ace of Spades on the table and his dick hanging out. At least he used a condom with this hoe.

I gave him one look and curled my lip.

“Put your lil dick away, Nero. This ain’t that kind of party.”

“What you say, bitch?!”

“You heard me. Get the fuck out of my club right now!”

Bebe scrambled to stand while grabbing her g-string.

Nero stood, puffed out like he was grown. “You know who the fuck my father is. Why you trippin’?”

“I don’t care if you’re the son of Yahweh.”

I stepped forward, voice steady. “This is my club. And in my champagne room and ain’t no fuckin’ goin’ down. Period.”

His eyes narrowed. “You lucky my pops got a soft spot for you.”

I raised my brow and stood aside so that he could exit. He pulled up his pants and put his gun back in his waist before giving me the evil eye as he left.

As soon as he was gone, I grabbed Bebe by her Brazilian wavy weave and yanked her out of the champagne room.

“Queen! Wait!” she stammered, stumbling behind me on her stripper heels.

“Shut the fuck up.”

I rushed into the dancers’ dressing room where other girls were preparing to go work the stage.

The second I pushed open the door, heads turned. Music still thudded faintly through the walls, but in here, the gossip was the loudest thing blaring.

I threw Bebe to the ground in front of all the dancers. Her wig slid off when I let go.

“Let me make something real fuckin’ clear. If I catch any of y’all selling pussy in my club, you’re out. I don’t care who it is. I don’t give a fuck if Barack Obama wants you to ride him! You don’t do it in my club!”

Bebe began to speak, “Queen, please… I wasn’t even—”

I waved her off. “I caught you fuckin’ him. Don’t try to lie.”

“I’m sorry…” she whimpered. The other girls looked over at her stunned but some were disgusted. I ran a classy establishment here and I didn’t want men coming here thinking that they could pay for pussy. The men tipped well here, so there was no excuse.

I was already on edge from my meeting with Smoke and I wasn’t in the mood for any more bullshit.

“If y’all wanna be whores, you need to go over to Queens and dance at Coochies. Otherwise, rake up your money, be smart about it and get out of this industry before you age out. As for you,” I directed my attention to Bebe, “you are fired. Get your shit and get out of my club.”

She folded. “Please. I need this job…”

“Then you should’ve thought about that before you tried to turn my club into a brothel.”

I stepped closer, low and lethal.

“You think I bust my ass to save this club, just to end up shut down by some undercover cop or a Yelp review talkin’ bout ‘full service’ in the back? When you sell pussy you put the other girls at risk for being assaulted!”

She shook her head. Tears now. “I’m sorry.”

I looked around at the others. Some standing still in thongs and nipple pasties, elaborate makeup, watching like churchgoers in the front pew.

“Sylk Road pulls men with money. Real money. You wanna sell coochie? That’s your choice. But you won’t do it in my house.”

Even though strip clubs had a reputation for being shady, I tried to run a clean establishment.

And I considered myself helping beautiful women by creating a safe environment where they could dance and make more money than the average woman.

The money wasn’t long money. You could burn out of this lifestyle fast, but it could set you up real nicely if you played your part right.

I tried to make sure I only appealed to men with real money and therefore I had to make sure it stayed free of prostitution.

I turned to Bebe and spoke, “Take your Dollar Tree lashes and your Motel 6 hustle and get out now.”

I stormed back into my office, heels pounding like gunshots. The second the door clicked shut behind me, I ripped those stilettos off and threw them across the room. One hit the wall. The other bounced off a chair.

I sank into my seat, rubbed at my temples with both hands. My heart was still racing, chest tight like somebody was sitting on it. Smoke. Nero. Bebe. All them mothafuckas picking at my peace like vultures circling my sanity.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the monitors on the wall. My girls on stage. My bartenders pouring drinks.

This was my empire. Built it from nothing. Fought tooth and nail for every inch. But tonight… it felt shaky. Like I was holding up a house of cards with bruised knuckles and a prayer.

The door opened before I could call him. Darius stuck his goofy-ass head in like he knew what time it was.

“Queen, I—”

“Shut the door.”

He did, slow as hell.

I didn’t look at him right away. Just watched the monitors, let the silence stretch. Let it hang heavy. Let him sweat.

Then I turned.

“You’re fired.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Turn in your earpiece and your key.

“Come on, Queen…”

“You too scared to tell Nero to zip his dick up. What the fuck you gon’ do when there’s a real security threat?”

He opened his mouth, closed it.

“I gave you this job ’cause Nori begged me to. But I can’t let my loyalty to her cost me my safety or the wellbeing of the club.”

“But Queen…”

“I’ll give you two weeks’ severance and a recommendation. But I can’t have you in my club.”

“Aight, bet,” he said as he walked away.

I still had other bouncers but I needed someone to oversee them. I needed someone who could be my eyes and ears when I wasn’t here. Someone who could handle the tougher aspects of the job. I was a boss bitch but I needed muscle.

Before I could dwell too long on that, my phone buzzed.

It was a text from my ex-husband, Javi.

Javi: Need you to come down to the precinct. Now.

I stared at the screen. My throat tightened. In my heart I already knew what this was about.