Page 94 of Cannon
Back in my office, I pulled up the security feed on my computer while Cannon stood behind me, his presence solid and grounding. We watched as the night unfolded in grainyblack and white, the VIPs arriving, Jupiter working the floor, everything normal until…
“There,” Cannon pointed at the screen. “Who’s that?”
A man I didn’t recognize approached Jupiter at the bar. Average height, newsboy cap pulled low. They exchanged words, then he slipped something into her hand. She looked around nervously before pocketing it.
“Fast forward to when she goes to the dressing room,” Cannon instructed.
I clicked ahead, my stomach knotting as I watched Jupiter slip into the dressing room alone. Fifteen minutes later, one of the other girls found her unconscious.
“Can you zoom in on that guy’s face?” Cannon asked, leaning closer to the screen.
I enhanced the image, but the cap obscured most of his features. “I don’t recognize him. Do you?”
Cannon studied the frame, his expression darkening. “No. Not one of Smoke’s crew.”
“You sure?” I asked, surprised.
“Positive. I knew every one of those motherfuckers. And they’re all dead now.” His voice was cold with certainty. “This is someone new.”
“Wait you handled Smoke?”
“That’s where I was tonight. We’re free of him.
“Thank you, so much.”
“Of course.”
“Well the cops will be looking for that guy,” I said, leaning back in my chair.
Cannon’s laugh was humorless. “Yeah, and I’ll find him first.”
“What are you going to do?”
His eyes met mine, blue ice that sent a shiver down my spine. “What do you think? He killed Jupiter. Got your club shut down. He’s a dead man walking.”
I should have protested. Should have told him to let the police handle it. Instead, I nodded, the grief in my chest hardening into something darker. “Good.”
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on us. Jupiter was gone. The club was closed indefinitely. And somewhere out there was the man responsible.
“I can’t believe this happened,” I whispered, more to myself than to him. “Jupiter of all people.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Cannon said, his hand squeezing my shoulder. “This isn’t on you.”
But it felt like it was. My club. My dancer. My responsibility. And I allowed drugs here because I was too much of a chicken to handle Smoke.
“Maybe…” I hesitated, surprising myself with what I was about to say. “Maybe it’s for the best that we’re closed for a while.”
Cannon’s eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”
“I’m tired, Cannon.” The admission felt like letting go of something I’d been clutching too tightly. “So fucking tired. Running this place, dealing with Smoke’s threats, taking care of ZaZa, worrying about money… I’m exhausted.”
“So take a break,” he said, like it was that simple.
“The club is my life. My identity.” I gestured around the office. “Queen of Sylk Road. That’s who I am.”
“Nah.” He turned my chair to face him, crouching down so we were eye to eye. “That’s what you do. Not who you are.”
Something about the way he looked at me, like he could see past all my masks to the woman underneath. It made my throat tight.
