Page 38 of Cannon (King Family Saga #3)

Cannon

I stared at Creed’s text, feeling the weight of my past and future colliding.

Intel checks out. Time to handle Smoke. Meet at my penthouse in an hour.

The phone felt heavy in my hand as I weighed my options. I’d just walked away from the only family I thought I had, discovered my sister was a manipulative sociopath who had me kill an innocent man.

But now it was time to handle business. I needed to take care of Smoke for shooting at me and threatening my woman’s life.

I hit call instead of texting back. Creed answered on the first ring.

“You got my message,” he said, his voice all business.

“Yeah, I got it. What exactly checked out?” I asked, pulling onto the FDR Drive, the skyline of Manhattan gleaming across the water like broken glass.

“Everything you told us about Smoke’s operation. His suppliers, his stash houses, his security detail. We’ve been watching for three days, and it’s all exactly how you described it.” There was a pause, then, “My brother’s actually impressed.”

I snorted. “Riot? Impressed? Tuh.”

“He respects your intel. That’s a start.” Creed’s voice dropped lower. “Look, we’re making a move tonight. Nero will be at Zip’s. We’ll kidnap his ass to lure Smoke out.”

“Aight, bet.”

“Can you be here in an hour?”

“Yeah.”

I ended the call and tossed my phone on the passenger seat, my mind still twisting from everything that happened with Reese. The betrayal cut deep, but I couldn’t dwell on that shit now. I had business to handle.

An hour later, I was stepping off the elevator into Creed’s penthouse. The place was still immaculate, but this time it wasn’t just Creed waiting for me. Riot stood by the window, his back to me, tension radiating off him like heat waves.

“We could do this hit without that nigga,” Riot muttered without turning around.

I ignored him, nodding at Creed instead. “Let’s get this shit started.”

“Both of you, sit down,” Creed commanded, gesturing to the leather chairs across from each other. Neither of us moved.

Creed sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “For fuck’s sake. We got a job to do tonight. I need you two to put your bullshit aside for a few hours.”

“Tell that to your brother,” I said, crossing my arms. “I’m here to handle Smoke, not play family reunion.”

Riot finally turned, his dark eyes narrowing on me. The bruise under his right eye had faded, almost matching the one under mine.

“Look at you two,” Creed said, shaking his head. “Both sporting matching bruises that you gave each other. Both too stubborn to admit how alike you really are.”

We wasn’t shit alike. They grew up with silver spoons, I grew up hustlin’. I don’t know why that nigga Riot was so angry and I didn’t give fuck.

“This nigga is so smug. He probably thinks that we had it good just because Silas was our pops,” Riot let out a dark laugh.

“That’s exactly what I think.”

“Listen, we ain’t gotta hash all this shit out tonight. But it wasn’t sweet. That nigga tortured us. And then in the end, he turned out to be a pedophile . To this day we are still killin’ niggas associated with kiddie porn. And Riot was the one that put a bullet in his head.” Creed replied.

“Da fuck?”

I had no idea that Silas was so sick. I knew he was evil but had no idea it was that bad.

That man forced Tessa to give me up and then killed my birth father because he had sex with his wife.

That was all in Tessa’s letter. She never mentioned him being an abusive pervert.

And Riot… I would’ve done the same thing.

Bullet straight to the dome for some shit like that.

“Yeah. So let that animosity go,” Creed replied when he saw the look of shock on my face.

I shifted uncomfortably, processing this new information about Silas King. The sick bastard was even worse than I’d imagined.

“Enough family drama,” I said, refocusing. “Let’s talk about tonight.”

Creed nodded, spreading a blueprint across the glass coffee table. “Zip’s. Smoke’s pride and joy. According to your intel, Nero will be there tonight with the crew. Just six of them.”

“Security?” Riot asked, studying the layout.

“Two at the door, one behind the bar, two roaming. Basic shit,” I responded, remembering exactly how they liked to run things. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“We go in hard and fast,” Riot spoke. “Neutralize the security, grab Nero, and bounce before anyone can call for backup. No witnesses.”

Creed raised an eyebrow. “No witnesses def means……”

“Everyone inside gets put down,” Riot finished, his voice cold. “It’s the only way.”

“Yep,” I agreed.

“Cool, let’s roll,” Creed said.

Three hours later, we were parked a block from Zip’s in a blacked-out Suburban. The night was thick with humidity, the kind that makes your clothes stick to your skin. I checked my piece one last time, a matte black Glock with the serial number filed off. Untraceable. Just how I liked it.

“Remember,” Creed said as we pulled on our masks, “Nero is the priority. We need him alive.”

I nodded, feeling that familiar calm settle over me. The stillness before violence that I’d known since I was a teenager. “Let’s move.”

We approached from different angles, Creed taking the back, Riot and I walking straight to the front door.

The bouncer barely had time to react before I put two in his chest, the silencer making it sound no louder than someone clapping their hands.

His partner reached for his weapon but Riot was faster, dropping him with a single shot to the head.

Inside, the music was thumping so loud nobody heard the bodies hit the ground outside. About fifteen people scattered around, drinking, laughing, unaware that death had just walked through the door.

I spotted Nero immediately, holding court in the VIP section, gold chains glinting under the dim lights, surrounded by women and his crew. Our eyes locked for just a second, recognition flashing across his face before panic set in.

“NOW!” I shouted, and all hell broke loose.

Riot opened fire on the bar, taking out the bartender and two of Nero’s soldiers in a spray of bullets. I moved toward VIP, methodically putting down anyone who reached for a weapon. Blood sprayed across leather couches. Women screamed, scrambling for cover.

We let the bitches leave because they had nothing to do with this. This was just between us and his crew.

Nero tried to run, but I caught him by the collar, slamming the butt of my gun against his temple. He dropped like a stone, blood running down his face.

“Got him,” I called to Riot, who was finishing the last of Nero’s crew. I hoisted Nero’s unconscious body over my shoulder like a sack of flour while Creed swept through the back rooms, making sure we hadn’t missed anyone.

“Area clear,” he called, emerging with blood spattering his mask.

We moved fast, dragging Nero out to the SUV and tossing him in the back. I zip-tied his hands and feet while Riot kept watch, his gun trained on the club entrance.

“Let’s roll,” Creed said, sliding behind the wheel.

The drive to the abandoned warehouse in Red Hook was tense and silent. Nero started coming to about halfway there, moaning and cursing through the gag we’d shoved in his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” I growled, pressing my gun against his temple. “Or I’ll put you back to sleep permanently.”

His eyes, so much like his father’s, went wide with fear. Good. Fear would make him cooperative.

The warehouse loomed dark against the night sky, a hulking shadow of rusted metal and broken windows. Perfect for what we needed to do. We dragged Nero inside, zip-tied him to a metal chair bolted to the concrete floor, and ripped the gag from his mouth.

“You dead men,” he spat, blood dripping from his split lip. “My pops gonna hunt every last one of you down.”

I laughed, the sound echoing in the empty space. “That’s the plan, little man.”

I pulled out my phone, grabbed Nero by his braids, and snapped a picture of his bloody, terrified face. The flash illuminated the fear in his eyes, the warehouse’s grimy interior creating the perfect backdrop of despair.

“What you want?” Nero asked, his voice cracking. “Money? My pops will pay whatever…”

“I don’t want his money,” I cut him off, scrolling through my contacts until I found Smoke’s number. “I want him.”

I typed out a message under the photo: Come alone to the old Eastman Shipping warehouse in Red Hook. You got one hour. Your son’s life depends on it.

My thumb hovered over the send button for just a second. This was it. The beginning of the end for Smoke. The man who’d mentored me, then betrayed me. The man who was threatening Queen and everything she’d built.

I hit send.

“Now we wait,” I said, tucking my phone away.

Riot paced the perimeter, his nervous energy filling the cavernous space. “He won’t come alone. You know that, right?”

“Of course he won’t,” I replied, pulling up a rusty folding chair across from Nero. “But we’ll be ready.”

Creed positioned himself by a broken window, peering out at the empty lot surrounding the warehouse. “I’ve got men stationed at all entry points. Nobody gets close without us knowing.”

I kept my eyes locked on Nero as we waited, watching sweat bead on his forehead, the fear making him twitch in his restraints. My phone buzzed with Smoke’s reply: Coming. Don’t hurt my boy.

“He’s on his way,” I announced, tucking my phone away.

Creed’s walkie crackled to life. “Three vehicles approaching from the east entrance. Black SUV in the middle, escort vehicles front and back.”

“Right on schedule,” I said, checking my piece one last time. “And predictable as fuck.”

Riot positioned himself behind a stack of rusted metal containers, his rifle ready. “I’ve got the escort vehicles.”

I nodded at Creed. “Let’s give Smoke the welcome he deserves.”

We waited in tense silence, listening as car doors slammed outside, followed by the sound of multiple footsteps approaching. Nero started struggling harder, desperation in his eyes.

“Pops!” he screamed. “It’s a trap!”