Page 71 of Cannon
I caught him with an uppercut that had him spitting blood, but he returned the favor with a shot right under my eye. We were evenly matched, both of us too stubborn to back down, too angry to think straight.
“ENOUGH!” Creed shouted, forcing himself between us. He shoved Riot back, holding him at arm’s length. “Think, nigga! If Cannon wanted us dead, we’d be dead. He just saved our lives back there.”
Riot’s chest heaved as he glared at me over Creed’s shoulder. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but the fury in his eyes hadn’t dimmed. He had a couple of bruises. I had gotten him good.
“Get the fuck off me,” he growled at Creed, shoving his brother’s hands away.
I wiped blood from my own lip, tasting copper. “That’s the last time I give you a heads up,” I spat. “Next time Smoke comes for you, you’re on your own.”
I turned and walked away with my knuckles throbbing. These ungrateful motherfuckers. I’d just saved their lives, and this was the thanks I got? Accusations and a bloody lip?
“Cannon, wait!” Creed called after me.
I kept walking. Let them figure it out on their own. I had bigger problems to deal with. Smoke had just made his move, and now it was my turn.
But first, I needed to check on Queen. Make sure she was still safe. Because if Smoke was bold enough to shoot up a diner, there was no telling what else he might do. And if he ever found out what Queen meant to me…
I pulled out my phone as I walked, checking for any messages from her. Nothing. That was good. It meant she was still flying under Smoke’s radar. And I intended to keep it that way, even if it meant putting a bullet in Smoke’s head myself.
Chapter 28
Queen
I still had Cannon’s taste on my lips when I heard ZaZa’s key in the door.
Shit. I flipped the bacon in the pan, trying to look like I’d been cooking breakfast instead of replaying last night’s fuck session against the bar. My body was still humming, muscles sore in places that reminded me exactly how good it had been. How he’d bent me over that bar and made me beg. How I’d let him.
“Smells good,” ZaZa mumbled, shuffling into the kitchen looking as if she had a long night. I studied her hard for evidence of drinking, drugging or plain old mania.
“Afternoon,” I said, eyeing the clock that read 1:37 PM. “Nice of you to join the land of the living.”
“I had a good night with my new man,” she said as she headed straight for the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup before slumping into a chair at the kitchen table.
“I need to meet him to make sure he’s a good influence on you. You want some eggs?” I asked, already cracking two into another pan.
“Sure and I don’t know about that. You might scare him away.”
I studied her while I cooked, looking for signs; dilated pupils, excessive sniffling, that manic energy that came before a crash. But she just looked tired. Normal tired, not bipolar tired. Still, my nerves were on edge. Every time she stayed out all night I got worried. I wanted to lock her away in the house for her safety but I knew that I had to make living here palatable. If I pushed too hard she would want to leave.
“You need to let me know when you’re planning to stay out all night,” I said, sliding the eggs onto a plate next to the bacon. “I was worried.”
“I’m twenty!” ZaZa replied with an eye roll that took me straight back to her teenage years.
“I don’t care if you’re forty. This is my house, and I need to know you’re safe.” I set the plate in front of her with more force than necessary. “A text isn’t too much to ask.”
She poked at her eggs with her fork. “Fine. I’ll text next time.”
I leaned against the counter, watching her eat. The truth was, I didn’t think she should be going out at all, especially overnight. Her meds were still being adjusted, and stability meant routine, not partying all night with some mystery man. But I’d learned the hard way that locking her down only made her rebel harder. Like mother, like daughter, I guess.
“So, who is this guy?” I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.
“His name is Marcus. He’s a grad student at Columbia. Architecture.” She actually smiled, a real one that reached her eyes. “He’s different, Mom. Smart. Respectful.”
I wanted to believe her. God, I wanted to. But I’d heard this before, seen her fall hard and fast for men who seemed perfect until they weren’t. Until they couldn’t handle her highs and lows, or worse, encouraged the manic behavior or took advantage of it.
“Architecture,” I repeated, keeping my tone neutral. “That’s impressive.” I tried to be supportive but she had no businessdating right now. I just didn’t know what to do when it came to ZaZa.
I remember with my mother, if you told her no, she would do the opposite out of her own misguided principles. She had to be rebellious. Had to do the opposite of what was right. I saw that in ZaZa and I wanted to tame it. But could I?
