Page 114 of Cannon
“I gotta head out,” I said, checking the time on my phone. “Cannon’s coming by later to help me sort through some of Mama’s things.”
Nori wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “Sort through things, huh? Is that what the kids call it these days?”
“Girl, bye.” I laughed, sliding out of the booth. “For real though, thank you for hearing me out.”
Nori stood and pulled me into a tight hug. “Always, Queen. We family. And I’m serious about taking over the club. We’ll talk details when you’re ready.”
“It’s yours.” I squeezed her back. “I’m ready for a fresh start.”
We parted ways outside the restaurant, Nori heading downtown while I walked toward my apartment, enjoying thecrisp fall air. My phone buzzed in my purse, and I pulled it out, expecting a text from Cannon.
Instead, Javi’s name flashed on the screen.
(text)Our daughter just showed up at my place crying with all her shit in bags. WTF Queen? You really kicked her out? That’s some trifling-ass parenting.
I stared at the message, my good mood evaporating instantly. Another text followed before I could even process the first one.
She says you accused her of stealing from you. That’s how you handle things now? Throwing your own child on the street?
My thumb hovered over the reply button, a dozen angry responses forming in my mind. But I took a deep breath and slid the phone back into my purse without answering.
Let him deal with her for a change. All these years, I’d been the one handling everything—the therapy appointments, the medication refills, the college tuition, the constant drama. Javi swooped in for the fun parts, the weekend visits, the shopping sprees, playing the cool dad while I was left being the bad guy.
It was his turn to parent. His turn to set boundaries and deal with the consequences when she broke them.
As I walked, the weight of everything: Mama’s murder, Jupiter’s death, ZaZa’s betrayal pressed down on my shoulders. But underneath it all was a tiny spark of something that felt dangerously like freedom. For the first time in forever, I was choosing me. Choosing what I needed instead of what everyone expected.
Chapter 43
Cannon
“Listen, even though you got it to spend, nigga, my man can still give you a better deal on whatever whip you want. Remember, being rich isn’t just about how much you make but about how much you save,” Riot attempted to lecture me. I wanted to crack his jaw but he was just tryna help.
We were at the VIP Motor Club so that I could pick out my new whip. Even back when I was hustlin’ my ride was humble. I knew better than to spend racks on a luxury car because that would’ve brought unwanted attention.
“Nigga, before I went to prison I stashed away five million dollars in Bitcoin, that shit is worth $20 million now. I already know how to save. I’m not reckless with cash,” I said as I eyed the shiny cars in front of me.
“What? Why the fuck was you workin’ at that strip club then?” he asked, looking at me like I had three heads.
“The nigga I was stacking with died. We have our shit locked in a wallet but it requires both of us to unlock it to get access. He OD’d right when I got out of prison.”
“That’s insane. So you can’t get access to the money?”
“Nah, not unless I get someone to hack the wallet. I asked Creed if he knew anyone but he never got back to me about it. And then that shit with Smoke took precedence.”
“Why did you do that shit?” Riot asked, looking at me like I was stupid.
“I wanted to keep it super safe and then guarantee that neither of us would dip in it before it had matured. He was a good friend of mine. The money is extra secure if you need a two-person authorization. It’s gonna be really hard for it to be cracked by a hacker.”
“Hell yeah. Man, I’ll look into it for you though. I can’t believe you had that discipline at such a young age to not spend that money though. You a good dude. That’s why I think you should join the company. You got your head on straight. Come in and run shit. You can have way more than $20 million,” he encouraged.
“I don’t know man…”
“Stop being stubborn as fuck. You got a woman. Don’t you want legacy?”
Legacy. The word hit different when you’ve spent your prime behind bars. I looked away from Riot, my eyes sweeping over the gleaming luxury vehicles that filled the showroom. Each one represented something I’d never allowed myself to want before—not just transportation, but a statement about who I was becoming.
“Mr. King, good to see you again.” A dealership salesman in a tailored suit approached us, hand extended. “And you brought a friend today.”
