Page 90 of Cannon

Creed raised an eyebrow. “No witnesses def means……”

“Everyone inside gets put down,” Riot finished, his voice cold. “It’s the only way.”

“Yep,” I agreed.

“Cool, let’s roll,” Creed said.

Three hours later, we were parked a block from Zip’s in a blacked-out Suburban. The night was thick with humidity, the kind that makes your clothes stick to your skin. I checked my piece one last time, a matte black Glock with the serial number filed off. Untraceable. Just how I liked it.

“Remember,” Creed said as we pulled on our masks, “Nero is the priority. We need him alive.”

I nodded, feeling that familiar calm settle over me. The stillness before violence that I’d known since I was a teenager. “Let’s move.”

We approached from different angles, Creed taking the back, Riot and I walking straight to the front door. The bouncer barely had time to react before I put two in his chest, the silencer making it sound no louder than someone clapping their hands. His partner reached for his weapon but Riot was faster, dropping him with a single shot to the head.

Inside, the music was thumping so loud nobody heard the bodies hit the ground outside. About fifteen people scattered around, drinking, laughing, unaware that death had just walked through the door.

I spotted Nero immediately, holding court in the VIP section, gold chains glinting under the dim lights, surrounded by women and his crew. Our eyes locked for just a second, recognition flashing across his face before panic set in.

“NOW!” I shouted, and all hell broke loose.

Riot opened fire on the bar, taking out the bartender and two of Nero’s soldiers in a spray of bullets. I moved toward VIP, methodically putting down anyone who reached for a weapon. Blood sprayed across leather couches. Women screamed, scrambling for cover.

We let the bitches leave because they had nothing to do with this. This was just between us and his crew.

Nero tried to run, but I caught him by the collar, slamming the butt of my gun against his temple. He dropped like a stone, blood running down his face.

“Got him,” I called to Riot, who was finishing the last of Nero’s crew. I hoisted Nero’s unconscious body over my shoulder like a sack of flour while Creed swept through the back rooms, making sure we hadn’t missed anyone.

“Area clear,” he called, emerging with blood spattering his mask.

We moved fast, dragging Nero out to the SUV and tossing him in the back. I zip-tied his hands and feet while Riot kept watch, his gun trained on the club entrance.

“Let’s roll,” Creed said, sliding behind the wheel.

The drive to the abandoned warehouse in Red Hook was tense and silent. Nero started coming to about halfway there, moaning and cursing through the gag we’d shoved in his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up,” I growled, pressing my gun against his temple. “Or I’ll put you back to sleep permanently.”

His eyes, so much like his father’s, went wide with fear. Good. Fear would make him cooperative.

The warehouse loomed dark against the night sky, a hulking shadow of rusted metal and broken windows. Perfect for what we needed to do. We dragged Nero inside, zip-tied him to a metal chair bolted to the concrete floor, and ripped the gag from his mouth.

“You dead men,” he spat, blood dripping from his split lip. “My pops gonna hunt every last one of you down.”

I laughed, the sound echoing in the empty space. “That’s the plan, little man.”

I pulled out my phone, grabbed Nero by his braids, and snapped a picture of his bloody, terrified face. The flash illuminated the fear in his eyes, the warehouse’s grimy interior creating the perfect backdrop of despair.

“What you want?” Nero asked, his voice cracking. “Money? My pops will pay whatever…”

“I don’t want his money,” I cut him off, scrolling through my contacts until I found Smoke’s number. “I want him.”

I typed out a message under the photo:Come alone to the old Eastman Shipping warehouse in Red Hook. You got one hour. Your son’s life depends on it.

My thumb hovered over the send button for just a second. This was it. The beginning of the end for Smoke. The man who’d mentored me, then betrayed me. The man who was threatening Queen and everything she’d built.

I hit send.