Page 82 of Cannon
I rolled out of bed, my feet hitting the cold, cracked linoleum. This place was a far cry from Queen’s spot. My apartment was barely bigger than a prison cell, a studio with peeling paint, a bathroom where the shower and toilet practically touched, and a kitchenette that wasn’t fit to heat up ramen. But it was mine.
That’s why I bounced in the middle of the night. Told myself I didn’t want to be there when ZaZa got home, but that was only half the truth. The real shit? I opened up too much. Told Queen things I ain’t told nobody.
Shit kept replaying in my head. The way I told her about my pops. About my real mother. About the hustle. About what it feltlike growing up with nothing but ice in my veins and fire in my belly. I don’t do that vulnerability shit. Ever.
I grabbed the coffee pot, rinsed yesterday’s grounds and started a fresh brew. The machine wheezed like it was on life support. Everything in this place was held together with duct tape and wishful thinking.
Truth is, I ran. Plain and simple. Queen got me opening doors I welded shut years ago, and that scared the fuck outta me more than any gun to my head ever could. I ain’t built for pillow talk and breakfast in bed. Not with her. Not when I’m living like this.
The age thing didn’t bother me none. Queen being older just meant she knew what she wanted. Knew how to move. How to touch a man. How to see through bullshit. That wasn’t the problem.
The problem was I couldn’t give her what a woman like that deserved. A woman like Queen deserved the best. Designer clothes, luxury cars, trips whenever she felt like it. Shit, she owned one of the hottest clubs in the city. Meanwhile, I was counting quarters for laundry and driving a car that didn’t belong to me.
I had the money. I just didn’t have access to it. If I did we wouldn’t be in this position. But then sometimes I realize if I wasn’t dead broke, I wouldn’t have taken the job in her club. And since I avoid strip clubs, it’s likely we would’ve never met. Ain’t that some shit.
I was so close to the woman I wanted but I couldn’t have her because I wasn’t gonna subject her to a broke nigga. I’m a nigga with will and drive, and I’ll be up one day again. But I wouldn’t have her wait for me.
My phone buzzed on the counter, the screen lighting up with Creed’s name. I stared at it, and sent that shit to voicemail.Didn’t need his shit right now. Not when my head was already a mess from Queen.
Ten seconds later, it lit up again. Same name.
“Fuck,” I muttered, watching it vibrate against the cheap laminate. Creed must’ve needed something important. If he was calling twice, it was probably in relation to Smoke. I said I was done with those King niggas, but reluctantly I answered.
Third ring, I snatched it up. “What?”
“Good morning to you too, Cannon.” His voice was smooth, unbothered by my attitude. “We need to talk.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “About what?”
“You already know. I’ll send you the address to my Harlem penthouse. Get here within the hour.”
I threw on jeans and a black hoodie, grabbed my keys, and headed out. The drive to his spot gave me time to push Queen to the back of my mind. By the time I pulled up to Creed’s building, all glass and steel rising above the neighborhood like a middle finger to poverty, I was focused.
Creed’s place was exactly what you’d expect from a man who was the CEO of a billion-dollar fortune. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, furniture that probably cost more than most people’s cars, and not a thing out of place. Minimal. Clean. Like the man himself.
He was waiting by the window, tumbler of amber liquid in hand despite it not even being noon yet.
“Smoke’s becoming a problem,” he said without turning around. No hello, no small talk.
I stayed by the door. “Tell me something I don’t know.”
“He’s making moves. Big ones.” Now he faced me. “Trying to rebuild what you two had before. He thinks if he can get me and my brother out the way, he’ll get on top.”
“And?”
“I need your help to get at him.”
I let out a dry laugh. “What about Riot?”
“Riot is cool. He’s working on something right now. Y’all gotta squash this bad blood y’all got. We’re brothers.”
“We came out the same pussy but we ain’t brothers.”
“Nigga, if you really felt that way you wouldn’t have warned us about Smoke putting out a hit. If you really didn’t fuck with us, you would’ve just killed us. I know you mad about what my parents did but me and Riot ain’t have shit to do with that. We’re trying to make it right,” he responded.
I crossed my arms, leaning against the wall. Couldn’t give this nigga an inch. “You got me all the way up here to talk about family therapy? Let’s stay focused on Smoke.”
Creed set his glass down, studying me like I was some kind of science experiment. “How you been making it since you got out? For real.”
