Page 50 of Cannon

“Think about Hunter and Josiah!” she cried, grabbing my shirt. “If you hurt him, you’ll go back to prison. I can’t lose you too! The boys can’t lose you!”

That hit me where it hurt. The thought of going back inside, of leaving my nephews without their uncle… but the rage in my blood demanded satisfaction.

“I’ll handle it my way,” I said finally. “But I am handling it. That’s not negotiable.”

“Cannon, please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face now. “The boys are already scared. If you escalate this?—”

“If I don’t, who will?” I shot back. “You gonna wait till he puts you in the hospital? Or worse? You know I ain’t the type of nigga to let someone hurt you. We’ve been down this road before.”

“I just need time to figure things out,” she whispered. “Please. For me. For the boys.”

I stared at her bruised face, at the sister who’d visited me every month for five years, who’d never given up on me even when I’d given up on myself. But I couldn’t promise her what she wanted.

“I gotta go,” I said, already moving toward the door.

“Cannon!” she called after me. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid!”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t lie to her face like that.

Outside, the evening air did nothing to cool the inferno raging inside me. I slid into Reese’s car, my hands shaking with fury as I gripped the steering wheel. The smart play would be to wait, to plan, to handle this shit carefully. But all I could see was that bruise on my sister’s face, all I could think about was Gage’s hands on her.

It reminded me of the time I killed someone when they attacked and tried to rape her on her way to school. She was about fifteen when she came running to me. It was some nigga she went to high school with. He had a crush on her. I ain’t think twice when it came to ending his life. What kind of man would I be if I let someone else harm the women I loved?

If I loved you that meant I protected you. That meant I’d kill for you.

Gage didn’t know it yet, but he’d just signed his death certificate.

Chapter 19

Queen

I dreamed of him choking me again that night, only this time we weren’t in my office. We were in my bed, his massive body covering mine, those glacier eyes burrowing into me while his hand squeezed just tight enough to make me dizzy. I woke up sweating, my thighs slick with my essence, my heart hammering against my ribs like it wanted out.

“Get your shit together,” I whispered to my empty bedroom, but my body wasn’t listening.

Today ZaZa was coming home from the hospital, and here I was, soaked between my legs over a man who worked for me. A man who threatened to bend me over my own desk. A man who’d slid his hand up my thigh yesterday like he owned the space between my legs.

The shower didn’t wash away the feeling of his fingers ghosting over my pussy. The hot water pounded against my skin, but all I could feel was Cannon’s touch, all I could hear was his voice. “When I decide I want you, and I will, I’m gonna take you.”

Who the fuck talks like that? And who the fuck gets wet over it?

Me, apparently. I can’t believe I was melting for some ex-con with ice in his eyes and danger in his hands.

I pulled myself together, did my makeup, and got dressed in a flowy silk jumpsuit, comfortable but put-together. By the time Javi texted that they were fifteen minutes out, I’d already burned sage through my entire place in an attempt to get the energy right. Who knew what storm my baby girl was going to bring in here.

My sanctuary needed to feel perfect. After years of hustling and grinding, I’d created this space where nobody’s energy could touch me. My condo was my habitat of peace: plants cascading from macramé hangers, bookshelves filled with everything from C.N. Mabry to business strategy, plush rugs layered over hardwood, and fabrics in deep jewel tones draping every surface.

The doorbell rang, and I took one deep breath before answering.

ZaZa stood there looking small, her caramel skin pale from too many days indoors. Javi hovered behind her with her bags, trying too hard as usual.

“Welcome home, baby,” I said, pulling her into a hug that she barely returned. Her body felt fragile against mine, like she might break if I squeezed too hard.

“This isn’t my home,” she mumbled into my shoulder.

I ignored the sting. “It is now.”

I led her through the entryway, watching her eyes widen as she took in the space. My girl had been to my place before, but never to stay, never to live. She ran her fingers over the spines of my books, touched the leaves of my monstera plant. She hadn’t lived with me in the last couple of years since she was away at school and I had done some serious decorating.