Page 102 of Cannon

Javi stood there, a smug smile stretching across his face despite the bruises I’d left last time we met. His suit was pressed and pristine, the badge around his neck gleaming under the fluorescent lights like he was some kind of hero instead of the corrupt piece of shit I knew him to be.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping inside with that smirk I wanted to smash off his face. “Look at the mighty Cannon Price now.”

I leaned back, keeping my expression blank. “You got something to say, or you just here to waste both our time?”

Javi dismissed the guard with a nod, waiting until we were alone before he spoke again. “After our little… altercation at the club, I decided to do some digging on you. Real interesting what I found.”

“Congratulations on doing your job,” I said, my voice flat. “You want a cookie?”

He chuckled, pacing in front of me like he was enjoying this. “My research led me out to Jersey. Had a real nice chat with your sister Reese.”

My blood went cold, but I kept my face neutral. Reese. Of course.

“She had a lot to say about you,” Javi continued, watching my reaction. “Told me you’ve got quite the temper. Said you’re abusive, dangerous, not to be trusted.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Those bruises on her face looked pretty convincing.”

“Get out,” I growled, not bothering to stand. I wasn’t giving this motherfucker the satisfaction of seeing me jump to attention.

“That’s no way to talk to the man who holds your future in his hands,” Javi said, signaling the guard to leave us alone. The door clanged shut behind him, and we were locked in together—just me and the pig who’d been itching to take me down since day one.

“You got nothing on me,” I said, my voice low and controlled despite the fury burning through my veins. “Reese is lying, and you know it.”

Javi leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “Maybe. But her statement’s pretty convincing. The bruises look real enough. And with your record?” He whistled low. “The DA’s gonna have a field day with you.”

I finally stood, my muscles tight with the effort it took not to wrap my hands around his throat. “What do you want?”

His smile widened. “Now we’re talking business.” He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You can make all this go away if you leave Queen alone,” he said. “That’s my offer. You walk away from her, never contact her again, and these charges disappear. You stay in your lane, I’ll stay in mine.”

I stared at him, letting his words hang in the air between us. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across his smug face. This motherfucker really thought he had me cornered.

“Fuck you.” The words came out calm, almost conversational.

Javi’s expression shifted, surprise flashing across his features before settling back into that cocky smirk. He laughed, the sound echoing off the concrete walls.

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way.” He straightened his tie, all business now. “You had your chance, Price. Hope Queen’s worth it, because you’re looking at three to five years with your record. Violating parole, domestic assault… it adds up.”

I leaned back against the wall, my face giving nothing away. “You done?”

“Almost.” He moved toward the door, then turned back. “Know what’s funny? While you’re in here, I’ll be in her bed, comforting her, letting her know what kind of man you really are.” He patted the cell door. “Enjoy prison, Price.”

When he was gone, I slammed my fist against the wall, pain shooting up my arm. Didn’t matter that I knew he was lying. Queen wouldn’t touch that nigga again. Just the fact he feltcomfortable saying that shit to me. As soon as I got out of here, I was gonna make him pay.

Another hour dragged by in that concrete cage. The guard finally walked by and I caught his attention.

“When do I get my phone call?” I demanded, my voice steady despite the rage churning inside me.

He looked me over with bored eyes. “Now’s good as any time, I guess.”

They led me to a dingy room with a pay phone bolted to the wall. I punched in Creed’s number, watching the guard lean against the doorframe, pretending not to listen. The phone rang six times before going to voicemail.

“Fuck,” I muttered, hanging up.

I dialed again, this time punching in Riot’s number. After three rings, he picked up.

“Yo, this is Riot.”

“Aye, this is Cannon.”

“What you want nigga? Is this about the money. You gotta come to the office tomorrow. Creed told me you finally decided to claim what’s yours. About damn time you accepted the money.”