Cannon (Carolina Reapers Book 5)
Cannon: Chapter 12

“This is one of the best-kept secrets in Charleston,” Echo said, holding open the door to the boutique for my father, mother, and myself. “I know the owner.” She winked as she followed us inside.

“Of course you do,” I teased. “I swear you have just as many connections as we do.”

Echo smiled and shrugged. “Comes with running one of the most sought-after bars in the city.”

“It comes from hard work and compassion,” my father said, grinning at Echo. “Don’t brush off your success. Own it. You’ve worked hard for it.” He patted her on the shoulder, and Echo swallowed hard.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

“Oh, sugar, look at these!” my mother squealed from a corner in the back of the store. “They’re marvelous!”

I hurried over to her, leaving my father and Echo chatting behind me. Both my parents had loved her, naturally, but my father had taken a true liking to her. I wish he’d extend that same kindness to Cannon, but, one thing at a time.

“Look at this beadwork along the neckline,” Mom said, holding out a beautiful silk gown with delicate pearl beads along the deep V of the dress. “It’s divine.”

I gasped, fingering the intricate design. “It is,” I said, and fiddled with the material in search of a label. “Who is it by?”

“Me,” a female voice said from behind us. I spun to see a tall woman with gorgeous red hair and blue eyes standing behind us. She pointed to the sign above the section. “Luna,” she said, pointing from the sign to herself. Then she indicated the shop around her. “This is my boutique. Most of the items I painstakingly harvest from vintage shops, but this section here is all mine.”

“You’re incredibly talented,” Mom said, and I agreed.

“Yep!” Echo popped up beside us, my dad in tow, and grinned at Luna. “Told you,” Echo beamed.

“It’s about time you visit me!” Luna said, wrapping Echo in a quick hug. “It’s been months.”

“That door swings both ways, Luna,” Echo said, giving her a faux glare. Both the women giggled before Echo jolted and fished out her phone. “Not the babysitter,” she clarified, more to herself than anyone else. “Notification.” She glanced at me. “We’re up.” Her eyebrows rose. “Aw, they have Sterling in goal.”

“We must be way up then,” I said, hating that we were missing the game. But I had to replace a dress. “If they took Sawyer out.”

Echo nodded. “Sterling is talented. Good kid, too. Sawyer has taken him under his wing. It’s good he’s getting in-game time.”

I smiled, absorbing the knowledge and letting it sink into me. It had been a whirlwind month since our last girl’s night at the bar—the same night I’d made a fool of myself spouting poetry about my husband.

My husband. The man I’d marry, again, and was shopping for the dress now.

We’d fallen into a wonderful rhythm, not even missing a beat once the season started. I went to as many games as I could—both home and away—all while working with Silas on the new charity as well as planning this wedding with my mother.

A beautiful, steady stream of delightful chaos. That’s what my life had become since marrying Cannon that fateful night in Vegas, and I honestly didn’t regret it for one second.

Seeing Mom like this? Out and about and so damn happy? A much-added bonus.

Though, a prick of cold pinched me when I thought about the truth—that my mother was Cannon’s sole motivation for re-marrying me and staying married for a time. To bring her joy—as a gift to me—before her final days. The kidney donor list was lengthy, and it didn’t matter how much money we had—Mama would never use her status, power, or wealth to try and hop the line.

“May I try this one on, please?” I asked Luna, needing the task to distract me from the thoughts I tried to keep locked away.

“Absolutely,” she said, taking the gown.

“And this one too,” Mom added, handing her another. “You want to see your options.”

I nodded. We’d already been to four other dress shops. I was beyond exhausted, but I hadn’t clicked with one yet.

“I’ll go get these set up in a room for you,” Luna said, and Mom followed her.

Echo’s phone rang, and she jolted again, eying us. “This is the babysitter! I’ll be right back!” She hurried out to take the call, and I smiled. Motherhood was so beautiful on her.

“I like her,” Father said as he followed me to the dressing room where Mom and Luna chatted.

“I’m glad,” I said, pausing. “She’s wonderful.”

“But?” Father urged, reading my hesitance easily.

“I wonder why you can’t extend the same attitude to Cannon?” Echo had just as many tattoos as him, and even more piercings. Her style and demeanor was close to his—despite their stories being totally different.

“Echo isn’t marrying my daughter,” he grumbled.

“Try married.”

“Trying to forget it.”

I sighed.

“Echo has a plan,” he continued. “Cannon doesn’t.”

“How would you know?” I countered. “You’ve barely spoken to him!”

“What happens when he slows down? Huh? What happens when he gets hurt? How will he take care of you then?”

I arched a brow at him. “Father, I haven’t needed a man to take care of me in quite some time.”

“I understand that, Sephie,” he said, his voice softening. “I love you. I’ve loved you and cared for you and worried about you since the day you took your first breath.” He swallowed hard. “I want you to have the best life possible. And, I’m sorry, sugar, but I don’t know if Cannon can give you that.”

Something like a blow hit me in the chest. “Why?”

“His history is bloody. Violent. Darkness you shouldn’t have to deal with.”

I shook my head, my shoulders sinking. “You should know that those aren’t the only pieces of him. You should trust me and my choices.”

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but I didn’t wait for his response. I hurried into the dressing room where Mom waited anxiously perched on the cushioned bench next to the mirror.

“You want to talk about it?” she asked softly as I unbuttoned my sundress.

“Not really,” I admitted. There was no point. Father would learn to accept Cannon, or he wouldn’t. Especially since he’d leave once…well, once all was said and done.

Then why are you fighting so hard to defend him.

Good question. Yet another I filed away.

“Your sister came by the house yesterday,” Mom said.

I hissed. “And?”

“She apologized to us. And to Gerald.”

“Funny, I never got an apology.”

“I think she’s afraid to speak to you. She’s so ashamed.”

“As she should be,” I said, stripping down to nothing but my undergarments. I stepped lightly into the first gown, and Mom hopped up to help me zip the back.

I looked in the mirror, eying it. Pretty, but…

“Not the one,” she said and unzipped it again.

I stepped out of it, smiling at her. I loved that we were both on the same page. Loved that she could tell what I loved and what I didn’t.

“Anne will come around,” Mom said as I grabbed the other dress. “She needs to be loved harder. I’m not sure why, but she does. We have to do our best to not give up on her. Time goes so fast, and there isn’t much left and—”

I cut her off with a hug. “Mom,” I said, needing her to stop. “I will forgive her, I promise.” I could tell she was worried her daughters would still not be speaking, and she’d leave this earth with unfinished business—because she took our fights on as her own, being our Mama.

Mom straightened and nodded. “Enough about that. Let’s get this one on. I have a good feeling about it.”

I sucked in a deep breath and let go of the grief I could feel building despite my mother still being here. Let go of the hurt from the pain my sister had caused. Let go of my father’s disapproval of Cannon, and slipped into the gown.

Mom buttoned the back, and as she fastened the last one and stepped out of the mirror’s view, I gasped. The sleeveless cream silk hugged my curves and pooled around my feet, the deep V showing a little of my skin, the delicate beadwork glistening under the light almost making me look like I had some inner glow.

This is the one.

The gown I’d wear down the aisle, Cannon at the end of it.

The picture was so clear in my mind like a movie I’d already seen. Him standing there in a tux, those sinfully dark eyes tracking my every step toward him, toward our future together. My heart swelled, each beat thudding with one singular truth.

I wanted to walk down that aisle toward Cannon.

I wanted to marry him, and no one else.

Till death do us part—not some agreed upon expiration date.

Forever.

Tears coated my eyes—not of fear or sadness, but of joy.

“That’s the one,” my mom said behind me, coming up to hug my shoulders.

I nodded, choking back the tears. Tears my mother thought were for the dress but were really for the realization snapping through my soul like a lightning strike.

Cannon Price was my forever.

Asher Silas: Just got verbal confirmation from Weston Rutherford for a sizable donation for the new charitable focus.

I excitedly read the text twice to make sure I’d read it correctly. Having a donation and support from the owner of the Raleigh Raptors—the NFL team Nathan Noble’s twin brother, Nixon played for—would be invaluable.

Me: That’s wonderful! Thank you! Are you at your monthly poker game now?

Asher Silas: Yes. Weston is having some drama with his QB but he’ll get confirmation on celebrity appearances as well soon.

I bit my bottom lip, not wanting to cross the line between friendship and business too much, but ultimately decided I couldn’t not ask.

Me: Is Nixon all right?

Asher Silas: Physically he’s in peak shape. It’s a media issue. Nothing too terrible.

Relief hit me upon hearing he was physically fine. Funny how being accepted into this Reaper family also afforded me an extended family as well. Sure, I didn’t know Nixon Noble as well as his brother Nathan, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care about him.

Me: Glad to hear it. You think you can rope Ethan Berkley in on this too?

I unabashedly sent the text—having the owner of the Charleston Hurricane’s support would be just as invaluable. Plus, Hudson Porter’s little brother played for the MLB team, so the connection had a family tie as well.

Asher Silas: I’m already working on him. I don’t see an issue. Simply hard to get much business done between the gossip and cards.

Me: LOL. Have fun. Leave them some money to donate!

Asher Silas: I’ll do my best.

I blew out a breath and settled into the plush chair situated in Cannon’s library. I had decided to wrap up a little work from here after dress shopping, and he was due home any minute. I had one phone call left to make, and I’d been putting it off for a good while.

Time to put my big-girl panties on.

I swallowed the nerves twisting my stomach, and dialed the number.

“Hello?” Lillian answered after a couple of rings. I could hear her son giggling in the background.

“Hello, Lillian, it’s Persephone.” My voice cracked slightly.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes, of course,” I hurried to answer. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You sound kind of nervous. Just wanted to make sure.”

“Well, I’m sorry to bother you, but I was hoping to ask you something.” I took a deep breath. “There is absolutely no pressure at all, and I will totally understand if you don’t feel comfortable…I know we don’t know each other that well. But, you see, I’d be so honored if you’d stand with me at the altar when I re-marry your brother.” The words came out in one long stream of consciousness. Normally I had the grace and poise strong and smooth enough to wrangle billionaires and their contributions, but speaking to Cannon’s sister? The most important person in his life? Not so much.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “Is that all? I’d love to.”

A breath rushed from my lungs. “Thank you. And, if it’s not too much trouble, we’d love Owen to be the ring bearer.”

“I’m sure we can handle that,” she said, but there was a hesitance in her tone that gave me pause.

“If you’re not comfortable with him in the wedding, it’s absolutely fine,” I said.

“That’s not it at all,” she said. “It’s just…”

I waited a few heartbeats, but she didn’t continue. “What is it, Lillian?”

“Well, you know I have to give you the sister speech now, right?”

My stomach tightened, but I nodded like she could see me. “Hit me with it,” I finally said.

“Don’t hurt my brother,” she said, her tone switching from friendly to fierce in the span of a breath. “All those tattoos aren’t armor. He may seem like the strongest, toughest asshole in the world, but he isn’t.” She sighed. “I’m not sure how much you know about our history, I’m assuming a great deal since you’re…well, whatever you are…but Cannon is a self-sacrificer to a fault. He took on the brunt of everything to protect me. And it’s my turn to protect him.”

I held my breath, my heart aching. I knew this about Cannon, but I didn’t know him like she did, and I wanted to so badly. I wanted him to let me in. To help shoulder some of his past burdens. Sure, he’d let me in physically—our time spent between, above, and beyond the sheets kept a permanent and pleasurable ache between my thighs. But emotionally? Just pieces. I wanted all of him.

“Be patient with him,” she continued. “He’s never truly dealt with some of the issues from our past, and to some, that makes him this closed-off jerk, but truly? He’s the most kind, compassionate person I know.”

“I see him,” I said, my voice clogged with emotion. “I’m trying, but he still keeps me at a distance in some things. I promise you, Lillian, I have no intention of hurting him. Ever. I want to be there for him in the way he’s been there for others.”

“Good,” she said, back to friendly. “It’s about time he let someone help him for a change. I just hope he doesn’t scare you off.”

“Not going to happen.”

“I like you, Sephie,” she said. “And I can’t wait to stand up there with you.”

“That means the world to me,” I said, and I heard the front door open and close. “I’ll send you all the details. I just heard your brother walk in, have to run!”

“Take care of him,” she said before hanging up.

And I silently vowed to her that I would do my best.

I left my phone on the desk, needing to disconnect for the night, and hurried down the hallway. I found Cannon in the kitchen, shirtless near the sink and holding a paper towel over his right pec. The center soaked in red.

“Cannon!” I hurried over to him, and my sudden presence made him flinch.

“Jesus,” he said. “You scared the hell out of me.” He eyed my bare feet. “It’s impossible to hear you without your heels on.”

I rolled my eyes and reached for his hand. “What happened?”

He backed away from my touch. “Got into a knife fight.”

I gaped at him, and he laughed.

“Cannon Price.”

He sighed. “Wasn’t watching where I was going. Ran into Logan’s skate in the locker room, which he had over his shoulder. Not a big deal,” he said, but he winced when he removed the paper towel.

I shook my head at the poor use of the towel. “Follow me. Now.” I didn’t bother looking behind me as I made my way to our room and into the bathroom. “Sit.” I snapped my fingers at the edge of his giant, marble encased tub, and bit back a smile when he obeyed.

I bent over, rummaging through the cabinets until I’d found the first aid kit.

“This isn’t necessary,” he grumbled. “It’s a scratch. I don’t need to be fawned over.”

“Like that would be so bad,” I said. “To have someone heal you for a change.”

I fingered through the products until I’d found the alcohol and gauze and bandages. I carried everything over to him, sitting it all down next to him on the marble. I reached for the paper towel he held over the wound, and he flinched away, again.

My heart ached, the earlier conversation with his sister coming back to the forefront of my mind. How many times had he had to clean up wounds on his own? And then hide them? Bury the source of the pain?

“Cannon,” I pled, sinking to my knees before him. “Please, let me help you.”

His eyes shuttered—at the sight of me or at the desperation in my tone, I didn’t know—but he dropped his hand, exposing the small cut over his pec. The blood welled once he dropped it, the red marring the beautiful whorls of black decorated there, but it was small. I dabbed a cotton ball with the alcohol and eyed him as I held it toward the cut.

“I’m fine,” he said.

I wiped the wound clean. He barely hissed. Then I took extra care in pressing a small square of gauze over the cut, using clear surgical tape to secure it. He’d rarely let me this close to his bare chest—not unless we were in the throes of passion—like that one time in the shower when he’d let me wash him, and he’d explained some of the scars—but since then, he’d always taken the reins on what I could and couldn’t touch. Which was absolutely his right, I just wanted him to trust me enough to help him.

My fingers traced the edges of the tape, double-checking the tightness, and then lower.

I felt him tense beneath my touch as I ran my fingertips over the patterns of ink, over his strong abdomen, and then I paused at some puckered flesh now invisible due to the ink. Some old scar.

His hand tightened around my wrist, stopping me from moving.

I flicked my gaze up to his, my heart breaking at the fear in his eyes, the shame.

“Cannon—”

“Don’t,” he said, his normal response, and one I would respect. I didn’t try to move or break his grasp, but he didn’t push me away either. I took that as a small crack in the door Cannon kept parts of himself locked inside.

“This doesn’t scare me,” I whispered, my hand still in his brushing against the scar. “You know it doesn’t.”

He sighed, his muscles relaxing underneath my touch, his grip loosening enough that my hand fell.

“You’re beautiful,” I said, running my fingers freely over his body, catching on all the hard pieces of old scars. “Every.” I kissed one scar. “Single.” Then another. “Inch.”

“Persephone.” My name was a broken whisper.

I tucked my fingers into his athletic pants, tugging them free of his feet and tossing them behind me. Leaving him in nothing but his boxer-briefs.

“Let me in,” I said. “Please, let me help heal you.” He knew I meant so much more than the cut I’d just tended to.

I continued my exploration of his skin, stopping on a four-inch-long piece of hardened skin, my gaze on his, questioning, open. Just like we’d done that day in the shower. All he had to do was make the choice to walk through the door and come to me.

“Razorblade,” he said, his voice rough. “Dad had come home drunk. Lillian had left her toy car—my old one—near the dining room table.” He shrugged. “She was three.”

I swallowed hard, that would only make him four.

I kissed that scar and moved on to another.

“Broken arm,” he said. “Thrown down the stairs.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes, but I kissed that one and moved to the next, a peppering of raised slashes.

“Kitchen knife,” he explained. “To prevent Mom from ever trying to leave again.”

I kissed each one, tasting salt from the warm tears I couldn’t hold back that splashed upon his skin. He’d told me before about the stove burner and the cigarette burns…but, God, there were so many stories here. So many dark pieces of his past.

Over and over again, I worshiped his body, kissing and caressing those broken pieces of himself hidden beneath the ink, giving those jagged edges more time and care. Silently listening to his story, my heart shattering with each reason behind every scar.

And after what felt like an eternity, a slow-torturous journey through Cannon’s dark past, I kissed my way up to his lips and cradled his face in my hands.

“I see you, Cannon,” I said, not bothering to wipe the tears from my eyes. “And you’re not only the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen but the best man I’ve ever known.”

Something dark and broken shuttered in his eyes before he clenched them shut and pressed his forehead against mine. His arms came around my back, clutching me to him, holding me as he trembled, as those raw, exposed moments from his past lay open and bare between us. And I clung to him, held him silently, pouring every ounce of light and love I had into him until I couldn’t take the small distance one second longer. Until I knew I needed to give him something else entirely.

My heart.

My soul.

I fingered his hair, gripping the strands a bit tighter and tugging until his face was level with mine. I held his dark gaze for a few heartbeats before gently kissing him. He opened for me, and I claimed his mouth, giving and taking and relishing in the taste of him. His hands clenched on my hips as he hefted me up to straddle his lap without breaking our kiss. But I didn’t stay there for long—no, we’d had passionate, wild sex in many places in this house. Now wasn’t the time for that.

I stepped off of him and reached for his hand. He looked up at me questioningly but took my hand. I led him out of the bathroom and to the bed where I gently nudged him until he lay on his back. Slowly, I peeled off my clothes, and his remaining underwear until we were bare before each other. My blood thrumming and thrashing, begging me to go hard and fast with this man. Just like he liked, how I liked. But I hushed the consuming need. Tonight was about Cannon, about him letting me in.

Tonight, he needed to learn what it felt like to be worshipped.

To be adored.

To be the sole focus of another person. Someone he could trust to take care of him.

So, I crawled on the bed, hovering over him, and continued my slow, sizzling kisses over his scars. So many damn scars. I kissed the ones on his thighs while I gripped his hard length in my hand, pumping and stroking the silken heat.

A low growl and he reached for me, his fingers hurried, needy, but I flashed my eyes up to his.

“Let me take care of you, Cannon,” I said, my warm breath hitting his cock in my hand. “Just, tell me if I do something wrong, okay?” He’d taught me so much, but there was a ton I didn’t know.

“You could never do anything wrong,” he hissed as I teased him, but his hands relaxed at his sides. His hips jutted upward as I set my mouth on him, taking him inside me in a slow, tortuous sweep of my mouth. Up and down, I sucked and pumped and hummed around his cock until his entire body was coiled with need, and he growled my name.

I smiled around his flesh, pulling him out of my mouth with a satisfying popping sound. Then I settled myself atop him, taking him in and in, his heat sliding inside me, filling me until I could barely breathe. I threaded our fingers and pulled him upward until we were chest to chest, eye to eye.

And then I moved on him.

Slow, so agonizingly slow.

Each roll of my hips a tortuous raking of internal heat that thrashed and shuttered and pleaded.

An ache so deep I didn’t think I could ever soothe it.

“Goddamn,” Cannon hissed, his lips brushing mine. “You’re gorgeous,” he said as he watched me move on him, as his hands explored my skin with electric caresses.

I cupped his cheeks, keeping pace as I trembled around him, and kissed him. Drank in his sounds as if they could fill that spot in my soul he’d claimed. I kissed him deep and long, in time to the rhythm I’d adapted, riding him in long waves of heat and need and hunger. Dragging out the moment as long as either of us could physically take, drawing us right to that sweet, sharp edge, only to pull us back again.

And just as I felt Cannon harden more inside me, just as my own rising orgasm built and coiled and tightened, just as he clenched his eyes shut and threw his head back, I gripped his hair and drew back his focus.

Caught that dark gaze as I upped my pace, as I sank harder atop him, taking him fast and deep.

“Stay with me,” I pled, needing his eyes on me. Needing him to come with me. Needing him, all of him.

“Always,” he whispered against my lips as I sank atop him again, rolling my hips until I couldn’t hold myself together one second longer.

Cannon gripped me tighter against him as I shattered into a million tiny pieces. He devoured my moans, drinking them in as he found his own release inside me.

And I didn’t stop kissing him.

Didn’t stop breathing him in.

Not until we were forced to pull apart to catch our breath.

And even then, I wanted more.