Page 64 of Cannon

As I stepped out, I heard the renewed buzz of excitement behind me. Good. They needed that fire, that hunger. A nightlike tonight came maybe twice a year, and I wasn’t about to let any of them waste it.

Once I had left the dressing room, I realized I’d left my phone charger in the car. With the night ahead, I couldn’t risk my battery dying. There were too many VIPs to manage, too many potential fires to put out.

“Shit,” I muttered, checking my phone’s battery. Fifteen percent wouldn’t get me through the next hour, let alone the whole night.

I headed toward the back exit, my heels clicking against the concrete floors. The cool night air hit my face as I pushed through the door, and that’s when I saw it, a gleaming black Bentley taking up two spaces in my staff parking area. Chrome wheels that probably cost more than most people’s rent, custom paint job so shiny you could check your makeup in it.

And there was Smoke, stepping out cockily, adjusting the cuffs of his silk shirt under that ridiculous mink coat. In summer. In New York. The man was a walking billboard for poor financial decisions.

“Queen Marie,” he called out, flashing those gold-capped teeth. “Just the woman I was looking for.”

I suppressed an eye roll. “I’m busy, Smoke. We open in fifteen.”

“Too busy for your best customer?” He approached, that heavy cologne of his hitting me before he did. Up close, I could see the new diamonds in his ears, probably another twenty grand he didn’t need to spend.

“I need to grab something from my car,” I said, trying to move past him, but he stepped in my way.

“Listen, I got my boys coming through tonight. VIP section.”

I fixed him with a hard stare. “Your boys need to lay low tonight. No selling, no sampling, nothing. The place is gonna be crawling with celebrities, security, and yes, probably cops too.”

His smile faded. “My people paid good money for those tables.”

“And they can drink and enjoy the show like everybody else. But this is not the night to move product in my club. Too hot.”

“My business is my business,” he said, voice dropping low. “You get paid regardless.”

“Not if I lose my liquor license or get shut down because your dumbass crew can’t be discreet.” I stood my ground, even as he stepped closer. “Not tonight, Smoke. I mean it.”

He studied me for a long moment, then surprisingly, his smile returned. “Fine. We’ll behave. I been getting what I need anyway.”

I knew that his boys were making a grip running drugs through my club and I hated it. “You looking good tonight, Queen. Real good.”

I jerked away, slapping his hand down. “Don’t touch me.”

A strange heat flushed through me, shame, disgust, and something else. Like I’d betrayed Cannon somehow, which was ridiculous. We’d fucked once. He didn’t own me. Still, the feeling lingered.

Smoke’s smile twisted into something predatory as he moved closer, forcing me to take a step back until I felt the wall against my shoulders.

“I got plans for us, Queen. Big plans.” His cologne was suffocating now, expensive but too heavy. “I’m expanding into Brooklyn. Need to open a Sylk Road there. Upscale, just like this one.”

I stared at him, trying to process what he was saying. “Another club? I don’t have time…”

“It ain’t about time,” he cut me off. “It’s about washing my cash. Dirty money in, clean money out. The club’s perfect for it.”

The reality of what he was suggesting hit me like ice water. “No,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not. I built this business legit.I’m not risking everything I’ve worked for to launder money for you.”

Smoke’s expression hardened, his smile vanishing like it had never existed. He moved closer, his massive frame blocking the dim light from the parking lot.

“I wasn’t asking, Queen,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “Brooklyn needs a Sylk Road, and you’re gonna open it. My money, your management. Simple business.”

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my face neutral. “I said no. Find someone else to launder your dirty money.”

His hand shot out, grabbing my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You don’t seem to understand the situation. This ain’t a negotiation. This is me telling you what’s gonna happen.”

I jerked my face away, slapping his hand down. “Get your fucking hands off me.”

“I still love how feisty you are. But we’ll discuss the details next week. No is not acceptable in this regard,” he said as he turned away.