Page 6 of Cannon (King Family Saga #3)

Cannon

As soon as I left Reese’s spot, I took my ass to Walmart. I needed a few things so that I could jumpstart my plan. I had a few loose ends to tie up and the first thing I needed was a little cash to hold me over until I could get access to my real money.

I tossed the bag of supplies in the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel, the crunch of gravel under the tires the only sound in the quiet parking lot. Midnight had swallowed the city whole, but I stayed wired, eyes sharp, adrenaline simmering under my skin like I was back on the yard.

I had what I needed, gloves, flashlight, a new shovel, and a cheap-ass burner.

I wasn’t planning on staying in Reese’s house long, and I damn sure wasn’t gonna be moving around broke. I needed my own. My own crib, my own paper, my own plan.

I was headed to the house that I grew up where I buried a bag of cash.

The Prices’ old home was still owned by Reese, but she was currently renting it to a young family.

She told me she would evict them so that I could live there and I told her “hell no.” I damn near came to blows with her, suggesting that she look out for me like that.

I believe that men become better when we overcome adversity. I was not letting a woman make sure that I was good. If push came to shove, I’d rather sleep on a park bench for months until I got it on my own.

But that bag I buried? It was from back when I first started hustling. I had the good sense to save my first $5, 000. Just a little something I stashed for a rainy day.

And it had been stormin’ for five years.

It was always supposed to be my last resort. Something that no one knew about.

I headed toward the old Price house in Jersey. That house was where it all started and ended. It used to feel like home. Now? Just another place that belonged to somebody else.

I parked a block away. Killed the engine. Sat there for a minute.

The house looked smaller than I remembered. New paint, different porch lights, but the bones were the same. The windows were dark except for one dim glow in the back, maybe a nightlight, maybe a bathroom. Whatever. I wasn’t planning on getting caught.

I grabbed the shovel and slid on the gloves, moving like a shadow through the side alley. My boots crunched soft against the dirt path behind the tool shed. That’s where I buried it. Several feet deep. Wrapped in tarp, tucked beneath a pile of rocks.

I started digging. Slow at first. Controlled. The dirt was harder than I remembered, packed from years of rain and neglect. Every stroke of the shovel sent vibrations up my arms, sweat already breaking across my forehead.

Cursing under my breath, I wondered if I was off by a few feet. Wondering if some new resident found it and spent it.

Just when I was about to say fuck it, I hit something.

A dull thud. My chest tightened.

I dropped to my knees and clawed at the dirt with gloved hands until I uncovered the edge of a thick plastic tarp. I yanked it loose, revealing the black duffel I’d wrapped duct tape around ten different ways.

I opened it, heart thumping.

The cash was still there. Damp but intact. $5, 000 in rubber-banded stacks. Not life-changing money, but enough to make a move.

There was also an old prepaid flip phone with a dead battery, and a Polaroid photo I didn’t remember packing, me and Reese on the front porch, barefoot and grinning. Nathan must’ve taken it. Back when the world still felt solid.

The back porch light suddenly flipped on.

I froze. Eyes narrowed. Somebody was up.

A dog started barking from inside. Curtains shifted. I grabbed the duffel, hauled ass back toward the alley, cutting behind the neighbor’s bushes and leaping the side fence like my freedom depended on it. Which it did.

I dove into the car, tossed the bag on the floor, and peeled off into the night, dirt still under my nails and old memories scraping the back of my skull.

I didn’t even know where I was headed when I hit the freeway. I just drove. Knuckles tight on the wheel, jaw locked, brain still back there in that dirt.

Being near that house made me think of how life was before I started hustling. Before the streets got a hold of me. It was my fault my adoptive father was dead. That guilt eats at me every day.

I needed a drink.

Somewhere dark. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere that didn’t play no happy-ass music. As I drove to the city, Reese called me but I didn’t bother answering. I had already decided I was going to stay in a hotel for the night. Gage had pissed me off and I needed space.

I needed to be alone and I had not had moments alone since I was last in solitary.

Just after she called me, I received a call from Tyran’s number.

“What up? You ready to get rich?!” I asked.

“Hey…” A woman’s voice responded.

“Who is this?”

“You don’t recognize my voice anymore?” she asked.

It was Draya, Tyran’s sister and my ex. “What’s going on? Where’s Ty?” I asked.

I heard her sniffle as she was about to respond to me. “Ty…” Her voice cracked.

“What is it?”

“He OD’d last night. I saw that you called and texted him this morning…”

“Wait what?”

“Last time we spoke was yesterday. He told me that we were about to finally be rich. And he went out to party. Snorted some tainted coke and overdosed…” she cried.

“FUCK!” I barked.

I hated that he died. I really did. I felt bad for his family. And it hurt me because he was a good friend of mine. But he was also my only access to my fuckin’ money.

“Cannon?” Draya called my name.

I’d be an asshole if I probed about the money but as far as I knew, he hadn’t told anyone about it. We both vowed to keep it under wraps until we got our cash. I didn’t want any of the niggas I worked with and for to know I had this kind of money.

I wanted to raise that nigga from the dead, and kill his ass all over again for overdosing.

“What did he take?” I asked.

“His coke was laced with fentanyl, they think. We haven’t done the official autopsy,” she confided.

“Aight. I’ll come out there to see you soon.”

“Cannon?”

“What?”

“I’m glad you’re out. My brother really respected you and was upset when you went away. You gave him confidence.”

I ain’t wanna hear that shit. He died with the keys to our money. But maybe all wasn’t lost. When things died down, I’d ask Draya if I could go through his office or home to see if I could find his password. Maybe he had it written down.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry for your loss. I gotta handle something but I’ll come see you in a few days.”

My blood was fuckin’ boiling and I was beyond pissed. Knowing that I was coming into that money was one of the only things keeping me going while I was locked away. I went in for some bullshit but I knew that when I came home, I could start over fresh.

Now, I really had to get a fuckin’ job. Fuck!

I pulled in front of a no-name bar in Harlem. It was one of those spots that received working men who were working second and third shifts. They would be too tired to start some shit.

Perfect.

I walked in and sat at the bar. “Henny with ice,” I ordered.

He poured it without a word.

I sipped, then sat in silence. Bitcoin boomed over the last five years since I was away. I put in about three million dollars. Damn near every dime I earned. The goal was to hide it from the government in case I ever caught a RICO trial. That shit was worth over fifty million now.

I stared down into the glass, thinking about all of the betrayals that led me here. All the decisions that got me here.

My story doesn’t end and begin with me being a hustler. I was smart when I was out there putting in work, but I was set up and locked away. I’d deal with those that set me up soon, though.

But first, I needed my own place, which meant I needed consistent cash until I got access to what was out of reach for me. I’d have to get a normal job. I knew that Smoke would want me back, but I didn’t want to take any more risks.

I knew that Tessa King had left me some cash, but I ain’t want her guilt money. That bitch gave me up for adoption and didn’t want a relationship with me. Then her husband killed my birth father. She didn’t say shit to me until last year after her husband was dead.

As I sipped my drink and ignored calls from Reese, in walked this fine ass woman. She was about 5’7, voluptuous curves, dressed in a tight dress, and a pair of stilettos. Those heels made her calves pop, my eyes zoomed into her shapely legs.

Her skin was a smooth color of sienna, and looked soft to touch. Her bedroom eyes were accompanied by lush lashes, but her full dick-sucking lips were curled in a frown. She looked mean as fuck. I wanted to fuck that meanness out of her but I held my composure.

I ain’t have time to deal with bitches. They were a distraction to everything I had going on right now.

“Nori, just come through in the morning. I’m exhausted and I got a lot on my plate right now,” she said before ending her call.

She breezed by me, the scent of her perfume pulled me in. I could tell she was a little older than me because of how confident and mature she moved. I preferred women with age because immature bitches gave me a headache.

But my preferences didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was getting to my money.

“Double shot of Don Julio Reposado,” she commanded the bartender.

She wasn’t with the pleasantries but that was how I spoke to that nigga too.

“What’s the magic word?” The bartender asked.

“Excuse me?” she scoffed.

“What is the magic word?” he said while raising his eyebrow.

“Oh…” she feigned acknowledgement. “Right now…” she growled.

“You disrespectful bi—”

I jumped up and slammed his face to the bar. “Get the fuck off me!” he howled.

“Nah, you the disrespectful bitch, apologize to her and pour her a drink on the house,” I demanded. My hand was firmly on his face and he couldn’t get up if he tried.

She looked over at me and smirked. “Okay… okay…” he whimpered.

I let him loose and he quickly poured her requested drink.

“Thanks, but I can handle myself,” she said while rolling her eyes before sitting at the bar. She left a seat in between us, which was cool. I didn’t feel like her making small talk with me.

“I’m sure you can,” I responded, looking her up and down with lust in my eyes. Her confidence quickly turned into something bashful. I couldn’t lie, it made my dick hard to see her soften under my gaze. She came in here ready to fight but she settled down with a glare from me.

The bartender handed her the drink. “Thank you little boy… It’s Monty right?” she replied to him, her disposition much more relaxed from when she first walked in.

He nodded and turned away.

“Oh you know him?”

“I own the strip club down the block. I’m friends with the owner of this bar. Monty is new and doesn’t know any better. But I’ll let his boss know how he treated me.”

“Wait, you’re Queen?” Monty said as he turned back around with fear in his eyes.

“Yep,” she replied.

“I’m so sorry, Queen. I didn’t know…” Monty began to grovel.

“Too late for apologies. Leave me alone with my drink and maybe I’ll forget about what happened here tonight,” she said as she shooed him away.

I liked that she was confident and sassy. She wasn’t no fuckin’ pushover. She was the type of challenge I’d love. I’d love to have her powerful ass submitting to me. But I needed to stay focused.

“What strip club is on this block?” I asked.

“Sylk Road. It’s the premier gentlemen’s club in this city. But judging by the dirt under your nails, it might not be your style,” she said full of judgment, a smirk on her lips. That dirt was from digging up my cash.

“It’s def not my style. Paying for naked bitches to dance and then having to share them with other men in the club is for simps. When a bitch dances for me, it’s only for me. And it don’t take her dollars to do it,” I said while leaning her way.

I watched her face freeze with an acknowledgement that I wasn’t her typical clientele. I hated strip clubs and always thought they were a waste of money and time. What the fuck I look like sitting in the room with a bunch of horny niggas looking at bitches dance?

“You look nice and strong. What do you do?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Whatever is necessary.”

“I’m looking for security for my club. Someone to manage all the other guards. Are you looking for a new gig?” she asked.

“I might be interested.”

“Come see me tomorrow at 2 PM.”

“I’ll see you then, Queen?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m Queen and you are?”

“Cannon.”

“Goodnight, Cannon,” she said as she sashayed out of the club.

And honestly her presence made it a good night.