Page 30 of Brown Sugar
My jaw clenches as I brandish my pocket knife and then slash into the package. The flaps of the box fall aside to allow me to see the contents. Bits of white dust rise up into the air. I take a wide step back and bark over my shoulder, “Everybody get out of the room. There’s some kind of substance in this box.”
It takes another few minutes before I’ve donned proper gloves and a mask to examine what’s been sent in the package. It’s largely empty except for stuffing and a letter to Kiana that promises she’ll get what’s coming to her.
The letter’s not handwritten like the label on the package. It’s been pieced together using cutout letters from various magazines and newspapers.
I snap a photo of the letter for evidence purposes and then slide it into a laminated sleeve so I can send it off to Clint for deep analysis.
Kiana’s still in practice when I return, none the wiser to the latest threat waged against her.
“Princess,” I call out. “We need to talk.”
She’s glistening with sweat in a way only she can make look attractive. She nods, breathless as she glances at her dancers and they confirm a fifteen-minute break. I pull her outside to ensure we have privacy and then I tell her what’s happened.
Her brows push together, worry in her brown eyes. “He sent me a package?”
“And this letter. He used cutouts from magazines.”
“You’ll get what’s coming to you? See you soon?” Her hands come up to her mouth and she peers up at me like she’s hoping I’ll tell her it’s a joke. “What does that mean?”
“Look, whoever he is, he’s getting nowhere near you. I’ll make sure of it, even if I have to follow you every damn secondof every damn day. I’m not letting him do anything to you. He’ll have to go through me first. Understand?”
The words rumble out of me in a throaty growl that sounds harsher and more intimidating than I meant for it to. But the bastard after her truly enrages me to my core. I see the worry on her face and all I want to do is break his.
Kiana gives a nod, shifting evenclosertoward me. The muscles in my arms twitch, so damn tempted to reach for her. I settle on a compromise, grabbing her by the shoulder and giving it a delicate squeeze.
“Princess, you alright? You trust me, right?”
Her expression eases slightly. “I do. I’m not sure how I’d handle all this without you.”
“You eat yet? Want to grab something from that food truck over there?” I jut my chin at the Turkish food truck not far off, selling kebabs and other savory meats and sides.
“Did you hear my stomach rumbling?” She laughs. “I danced my ass off the past hour and a half.”
“Then you deserve it. C’mon.”
The day of Kiana’s big trip to England arrives with me and the rest of the security team trying to ensure we’ve ramped up security measures. Clint has done his best to identify where the package and letter came from, but we’re still without leads. We have concluded the powdered substance in the box was a poisonous toxin intended to hurt Kiana.
It drives home the point more than ever that we’ve got to cover all bases on this trip.
We leave an hour after dawn for the eleven hour flight. Because I spent another late night investigating the threat against Kiana, I’m already exhausted.
Within minutes of takeoff, my eyelids are heavy. Normally, I wouldn’t let myself doze off while traveling with an asset, but considering Kiana’s record label paid for a private jet, I make an exception.
The wheels are touching the ground the next time I open my eyes.
The first event on the schedule is a photoshoot for British Vogue, where Kiana’s done up in so many high fashion costumes, I lose count.
We move on from the photoshoot to a luncheon with the British branch of her label, where she meets with execs and other high-ranking members to discuss the overseas launch of her upcoming album and tour.
Everybody’s in damage control mode.
Shawn’s appearance on the Fresh to Death podcast has gone viral, garnering millions of views over the past few days, prompting a huge online conversation even among famous bloggers like Messy Mandy.
Kiana’s diehard stans are all over the internet and social media defending her. But her asshole of an ex has got his fanbase too—along with other dickish men from across the web—who are laughing and reveling in the conversation.
Her label concludes it’s a classic case of all press is good press. They urge her to play into the drama by insinuating she’s found a new lover.
The album is, in fact,notabout Shawn.