Page 95 of Cannon

“I don’t know how to stop,” I confessed. “I don’t know who I am without this place.”

“Then maybe it’s time to find out.” His thumb brushed a tear from my cheek. “But first, we’re gonna find the motherfucker who did this to Jupiter. Make him pay.”

I nodded, leaning into his touch. In the midst of all this darkness, Cannon was the one solid thing I could hold onto. And right now, revenge felt like the only thing that made sense.

“Let’s start with the guest list,” I said, pulling myself together. “Someone must have seen this guy come in.”

As we worked through the night, part of me was already accepting what I couldn’t say out loud, that maybe losing the club, even temporarily, was a twisted kind of blessing. A chance to breathe. To figure out who Queen Marie Davenport really was when she wasn’t holding up the world.

But first, we had a killer to find.

The sun was rising by the time we finished combing through the security footage and guest lists. My eyes burned from exhaustion, and my heart felt hollowed out. I’d lost a dancer, a friend, and possibly my business all in one night.

“We should get out of here,” Cannon said, his voice gruff with fatigue. “There’s nothing more we can do tonight.”

Cannon drove us back to my place in silence. I leaned my head against the cool window, watching the city blur past. The emptiness inside me felt vast and echoing.

When we got to my apartment, I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto my couch, not even bothering to turn on the lights. Cannon moved around in the darkness, setting my keys on the counter, getting me a glass of water I hadn’t asked for but desperately needed.

“You should try to sleep,” he said, sitting beside me.

I shook my head. “Can’t. Not yet.” I took a long sip of water, then set the glass down carefully. “You know what’s fucked up? A part of me feels… relieved. You know what I’d rather be doing right now? If I could do anything?”

“What’s that?”

“I’d own a quiet bed and breakfast upstate. One of those fancy farmhouse places with antique furniture and homemade bread at breakfast. Just me in a big white bed with clean sheets, reading books and watching the rain.” I laughed at myself. “Sounds boring as hell, right?”

“Sounds peaceful,” he corrected. “I’ll get you that.”

I snorted, the laugh coming out harsher than I intended. “Right. My knight in shining armor.”

His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly. “You think I’m playing?”

“Cannon, come on. You can barely afford your apartment. I appreciate the thought, but…”

“I have money,” he cut me off, his voice suddenly hard. “I’m not some broke nigga you need to take care of.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his tone. “What are you talking about?”

“My birth mother left me money.” The words came out clipped, like they cost him something to say. “An inheritance.”

“Your birth mother?” I sat up straighter. “You never mentioned that.”

“I’ve known about it for months,” he said, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder. “Since I was inside. Got a letter from her right before I got out. My half-brothers came and visited me.”

“And you didn’t take it? Why not?”

His laugh was bitter. “Because it’s blood money.”

I tried to process what he was telling me. “So all this time, while you’ve been living in that dump, working security at my club, you had money waiting for you?”

“Twenty million,” he said flatly.

My jaw dropped. “Twenty… million? Dollars?”

He nodded once, his face unreadable.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I stood up, anger surging through my exhaustion. “You’ve been struggling for what? Pride? Some misguided principle? That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard!”