Page 46 of Cannon (King Family Saga #3)

Queen

The Jersey precinct smelled like old coffee and broken dreams. I sat there, gripping the metal chair beneath me, feeling the cold seep through my designer dress and into my bones. Cannon’s massive frame hovered behind me, silent and watchful, his presence the only thing keeping me from crumbling.

“Ms. Davenport,” the detective said, his voice flat as he flipped through his notepad. “Your mother was found in her bedroom yesterday morning. Someone broke in through the back door while she was sleeping. Single gunshot wound to the back of the head. She died instantly.”

The room started spinning. Back of the head. Just like—

“You okay?” Cannon’s deep voice rumbled behind me, his hand briefly touching my shoulder. His intense eyes searched my face, seeing too much.

“Fine,” I whispered, but I wasn’t there anymore. I was back in that hotel room all those years ago, my mother’s screams ringing in my ears.

Back then I thought she was screaming because of pain, but once the haze wore off I knew those screams were of pleasure.

I was only eleven, naive, still believing my mama could do no wrong. I’d grabbed her gun from her purse, hands shaking so bad I nearly dropped it. The door to the hotel room had been cracked open. Inside, I heard grunting, moaning.

“Kill him, baby! He’s hurting me! Shoot him!” She screamed when she saw me enter the room.

I saw a man’s back, his body moving on top of my mother’s. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled the trigger. The back of his head exploded. Red everywhere.

It was Alfred, the man that owned that small hotel. Only after he slumped over dead did I see the look in her eyes. Not fear. Triumph.

“Good girl,” she’d purred, pushing his body off her like it was nothing. “Now help me find his stash.”

“Ms. Davenport?” The detective’s voice yanked me back to the precinct. “We have reason to believe this wasn’t random. Was your mother involved in anything illegal?”

I almost laughed. What wasn’t Adele involved in? Scams, blackmail, drugs—mama once had her fingers in everything.

“No,” I lied smoothly. “My mother is just a widow.”

Cannon shifted behind me. I could feel his disapproval without seeing his face. He knew I was lying, but this wasn’t his business.

Then guilt hit me suddenly. Mama had called me a few weeks ago, her voice high and frantic like it always got when she was slipping.

Talking about being followed, watched. Eyes in the walls, men in cars, the usual paranoid shit that had colored my childhood.

I’d written it off as another one of her manipulative games, especially when she started begging for money.

Thousands to get away, she’d claimed. But I’d shut her down cold.

Told her she wasn’t getting another dime from me to feed whatever new habit she’d picked up. I cut her off.

But now… what if she hadn’t? I was starting to believe she was telling the truth, especially since I got that note weeks back.

That note that was on my car when I was visiting her home.

I thought that she paid someone to leave it for me when I was visiting her.

The timing was so perfect. I thought she was playing me.

Thought she was running a con on me to get me to give her money. But she wasn’t.

So, who could it be? Who killed my mother? Who knew Alfred Dixon? Whenever I’ve researched that man, I could never find any family. As far as I knew he was a loner, but I was clearly wrong. I had to find who this was because I’m sure they were coming for me or ZaZa next.

The detective dismissed us after two more hours of the same circular questions. I was drained, empty, like someone had scooped out my insides and left nothing but a hollow shell.

Cannon stayed silent until we were in my car, speeding across the bridge back to Harlem. The city lights blurred through my tears, which I refused to let fall. Queens in my world don’t cry where others can see.

“You think this is connected to that guy I killed, right?” I finally said, my voice barely audible over the purr of the engine. It’s just too much of a coincidence.”

“I killed that man damn near thirty years ago,” I whispered, staring out the window. “Why now?”

“Someone’s been plotting for a while. People can hold grudges for lifetimes.” His intense eyes flicked to me briefly. “Someone who knows what happened in that hotel room.”

A chill ran through me. “Only three people knew. Me, mama, and the dead man.”

“Someone else found out.” Cannon merged smoothly onto the FDR Drive. “My brothers are good at digging up shit people think is buried. I’ll have them run a deep background on Alfred see if he has family looking for revenge.

Every time I Googled him, nothing would come up. Apparently no one even showed up to his funeral but a preacher, the undertaker and some of the hotel staff.

By the time we pulled up to my apartment, I felt like I’d aged ten years. My heels clicked against the pavement as Cannon walked silently beside me, his massive frame casting a long shadow in the streetlight.

Once inside, I slid out of my shoes and headed to the bathroom in the back.

I noticed ZaZa was standing in front of her full-length mirror, turning side to side, admiring herself in a tight red dress I’d never seen before.

But what stopped me cold were the shoes.

On her feet were a pair of Louboutins, the kind that cost more than most people’s monthly rent.

“Where you headed looking like that?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe, trying to keep my voice casual despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.

ZaZa spun around, her face lighting up. “Mama! I didn’t hear you come in.” She did a little twirl. “You like? I’m meeting Marcus at Monarch.”

I stepped closer, pointing to her feet. “Those new? I don’t remember seeing those in your closet.”

She smiled, lifting one foot to admire the red sole. “Marcus got them for me.”

How could a grad student afford shoes like those? I didn’t believe her. Something was very off.

I eyed the shoes once more, my mind immediately going to the missing money at Sylk Road, but I bit my tongue. There were more pressing matters.

“Baby, sit down for a minute,” I said, my voice suddenly thick. I took her hand, pulling her to the edge of the bed. “I got some bad news.”

ZaZa’s smile faded. “What’s wrong, Mama?”

“It’s your grandmother.” I squeezed her hand, the words sticking in my throat. “She was murdered yesterday. Someone broke into her place and… she’s gone, baby.”

ZaZa’s face crumpled like paper in water. “What? No, no… we just talked last week…” Her voice broke, tears welling up and spilling down her cheeks, mascara creating dark rivers.

I pulled my baby girl into my arms, holding her tight as she shook with sobs. No matter how fucked up Adele had been, she was still ZaZa’s grandmother, and they’d always had a special bond that sometimes made me jealous.

“Shh, I got you,” I whispered, rocking her like I used to when she was little. Her tears soaked through my dress, but I didn’t care. “I got you.”

When she finally calmed enough to speak, she pulled back, her face swollen. “What happened? Who did this?”

“Police don’t know yet,” I said, leaving out everything about Alfred Dixon. ZaZa didn’t need that burden. “But I promise you, we gonna find out.”

She nodded, then suddenly remembered her plans. “Shit, Marcus is waiting for me.”

“Call him, baby. Tell him what happened. He’ll understand.”

I watched as she made the call, canceling their date, her voice breaking again as she explained.

Whatever I thought about Marcus, he seemed genuinely concerned, telling her to take all the time she needed.

After hanging up, ZaZa cried herself to sleep in my arms, still wearing that red dress and those expensive-ass shoes.

I slipped out once her breathing deepened, finding Cannon in my living room, his massive frame looking out of place on my white leather couch. His ice-blue eyes followed me as I poured myself a double shot of cognac.

“She okay?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Far from it.” I knocked back the liquor, welcoming the burn. “But she’s asleep now.”

Three hours later, with Cannon still in my apartment, I crept back into ZaZa’s room. Her laptop sat on her desk, closed but not locked. She’d always been careless that way. I glanced at her sleeping, guilt gnawing at me, but I needed answers.

Back in the living room, I opened the laptop while Cannon watched, his expression unreadable.

“My brothers are digging into Alfred. We should hear something soon.” He said quietly.

I nodded, too focused on my mission to respond. ZaZa’s password was the same one she’d been using since high school. It was her birthday backwards followed by her middle name. Some things never change.

Once I was in, I navigated straight to her banking app. My heart was pounding so hard I swore Cannon could hear it from where he sat, his massive frame perched on the edge of my couch, watching me with those penetrating blue-green eyes.

“Fuck,” I whispered as the screen loaded.

“What?” Cannon leaned in, his shoulder brushing mine, sending an unwelcome spark through my body despite the situation.

I turned the screen toward him. There it was, a deposit of $30, 000 made three days ago.

The exact amount missing from Sylk Road’s account.

My fingers trembled as I clicked through her purchase history.

Designer clothes, makeup, and there it was, a receipt for those red-bottomed Louboutins she’d been flaunting tonight.

“My own daughter,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “It was her all along.”

“You sure?” Cannon asked, though we both knew the answer.

“I accused Nori. I fucked up my friendship.” Shame washed over me, hot and thick. “Been riding her ass for days, and it was my own flesh and blood stealing from me.”

The betrayal cut deep, opening wounds I thought had scarred over years ago. First my mama using me to kill a man, now my baby girl stealing from me. Was I destined to be used by everyone I loved? I was tired of it. I was tired of taking care of sick and ungrateful users.

“What you gonna do?” Cannon’s voice was low, steady.

I slammed the laptop shut and stood up so fast I got dizzy. “What I should’ve done with my mama years ago. Set some goddamn boundaries.”

I stormed down the hallway to ZaZa’s room, flipping on the light without warning. She startled awake, her eyes puffy from crying, still in that red dress.

“Mama? What’s—”

“Don’t ‘Mama’ me,” I snapped, tossing her laptop onto the bed. “You wanna explain the thirty thousand dollars that magically appeared in your account? The same thirty thousand that disappeared from my club’s account?”

Her face crumpled, but this time I wasn’t buying the tears. “I—I can explain—”

“Explain what? How you stole from me? How you let me accuse Nori, knowing damn well it was you?” My voice rose with each word. “I raised you better than this!”

ZaZa sat up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. “Marcus and I found this apartment in Brooklyn. We needed first and last month’s rent, security deposit… I was gonna pay you back, I swear! He got this new job lined up and he told me he would give it right back…”

“So you stole from me instead of asking?” I was shaking now, rage and hurt battling inside me. “After everything I’ve done for you? Everything I’ve sacrificed?”

“You never would’ve given me that much! Marcus said…”

“Fuck him! This is about you betraying me!” I slapped my palm against the wall, making her jump. “My own daughter. Just like your grandmother, taking what you want, using people—”

“I’m nothing like her!” ZaZa screamed, standing now. “And you wouldn’t understand anyway. You never support what I want!”

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was thirty years of carrying the weight of a murder, maybe it was simply being tired of family seeing me as nothing but an ATM. Whatever it was, I was done.

“Pack your shit,” I said, my voice suddenly ice cold.

ZaZa blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Pack. Your. Shit.” Each word felt like a knife leaving my mouth. “You wanna be grown? Go be grown. But not under my roof.”

“Mama, please… I’m sorry!” Her voice cracked, real fear replacing the defensive anger.

“You got thirty minutes.” I turned to leave, then stopped at the doorway. “And leave those shoes. I paid for them, after all.”

In the hallway, I nearly collided with Cannon, who’d clearly heard everything. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes held something that looked too much like concern for my comfort.

“Don’t,” I warned, brushing past him.

Back in the living room, I poured another cognac with trembling hands, listening to the sounds of ZaZa crying and drawers slamming.

Part of me wanted to go back in there, take it all back, hold my baby and tell her we’d figure it out.

But another part, the part that had been used and discarded too many times, stood firm.

She could go live with her intrusive-ass father for all I cared.

Twenty minutes later, ZaZa emerged with a duffel bag and backpack, her eyes swollen, makeup streaked down her face. She’d changed into jeans and a hoodie, the Louboutins replaced with sneakers.

“Where am I supposed to go?” she asked, her voice small.

“Call Marcus “I said, not looking at her. “Isn’t that what you were planning anyway?”

She stood there for a long moment, as if waiting for me to change my mind. When I didn’t, she walked to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob.

“I really am sorry, Mama.”

Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that made my knees weak. I collapsed onto the couch, the cognac glass slipping from my fingers, shattering on the hardwood floor.

“Fuck,” I whispered, dropping my head into my hands.

I felt the couch dip as Cannon sat beside me, his warm presence both intrusive and comforting.

“Are you sure about that?” Cannon asked.

“Of course not, but I just… I can’t with her right now. All I asked of her was to get a job and stay consistent on her meds. Stealing from me crossed the line. ZaZa has to learn to be accountable for her actions.”

“I feel you. Just know, I ain’t leavin’ ya side,” Cannon replied.

“Thank you. I need to call Nori first thing in the morning.”

“Yeah, fix that shit with your home girl,” he said, planting a kiss on my cheek.

The world was falling apart, but it felt right with Cannon by my side.