Page 66 of Cannon
My baby should be proud at what she built. What the fuck was I talkin’ about? My baby? I didn’t have space for that shit.
“We did numbers tonight,” Craig said, bumping my fist as he headed for the exit. One of the newer security guards, but solid. Reliable.
“No doubt,” I replied, my eyes already drifting across the club to where Queen stood at the bar.
She was laughing with the bartenders, all business in that tight black dress that hugged every curve like it was painted on. But I knew better. Behind that smile, something was eating at her. Had been all night, even with the club packed wall-to-wall with ballers dropping stacks on bottles and dances.
I dapped up the last of my security team, watching them file out while keeping Queen in my peripheral. The way hershoulders tensed whenever she thought nobody was looking. The tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. The quick glances toward the door like she was expecting someone, or worried someone might show up.
“You good, boss?” Troy asked as he clocked out, the last of my guys to leave.
“Yeah,” I nodded, still distracted. “You handled that situation in VIP clean. Good looking out.”
“Just doing my job,” he said, heading for the door. “See you tomorrow.”
Once he was gone, it was just me, Queen, and the three bartenders breaking down their stations. I moved across the empty dance floor, weaving between abandoned tables still cluttered with empty bottles and glasses. The smell of perfume, sweat, and liquor hung in the air…the scent of money made.
“…and make sure those invoices get paid first thing Monday,” Queen was saying as I approached. “That distributor’s been on my ass about late payments.”
“Got it, boss,” the head bartender nodded, not even looking up as he counted out his drawer.
Queen sensed me before she saw me, her body stiffening slightly as I came to stand beside her. Up close, the tension in her jaw was unmistakable.
“Place is secure,” I said, keeping my voice low enough that only she could hear. “Everyone’s out except staff.”
She nodded, still not looking at me directly. “Good. Thanks.”
“You want me to stay until they finish closing?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” she replied, finally meeting my eyes. Something flickered behind her gaze, worry, maybe fear, before she masked it. “Just to be safe.”
I studied her face, taking in the slight crease between her brows, the way she kept absently touching the gold necklace ather throat. Whatever had her spooked earlier was still there, lurking beneath the surface.
“What’s really good?” I asked, moving closer to her, keeping my voice low. “Something’s been off with you all night.”
I watched as the bartenders finished their closing duties, one by one heading for the back exit with tired nods in our direction. The last one, Mike, called out, “All locked up front, Queen. You need anything else before I bounce?”
“We’re good,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Great job tonight.”
When the door finally closed behind him, we were alone in the empty club. The silence felt heavy, broken only by the hum of the coolers behind the bar. Queen moved away from me, slipping behind the bar to pour herself a shot of top-shelf tequila. She knocked it back without even flinching.
“You gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” I asked, leaning against the bar. “Or we gonna keep pretending everything’s cool?”
“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just worried about ZaZa. She’s been doing better, but you know how it is. One day good, next day…”
I stared at her, watching the way her eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine. The way her fingers tapped nervously against the empty shot glass.
“Stop lying to me,” I said, my voice harder now. “I know when something’s eating at you, and it ain’t just about your daughter.”
Queen’s head snapped up, fire flashing in her eyes for a second before it dimmed. She poured another shot, her fingers trembling slightly.
“You want the truth?” she finally said, slamming the bottle down harder than necessary. “Fine. It’s about a nigga named Smoke. That’s who’s running drugs through here.”
The name hit me like a punch to the gut. “What about him?”
“He wants me to open another Sylk Road in Brooklyn. Using his money.” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Says it’s not a request.”
My jaw clenched so tight I could feel my teeth grinding. “For what?” Even though I knew. I just wanted to confirm.
