Page 50 of Brown Sugar

I slam shut my laptop and snatch my keys off the counter.

I strap up, holstering an arsenal of weapons, then stride for my Hummer. I’m racing toward her penthouse within minutes.

As the perpetrator is still inside the penthouse, I’m coming down the hall ready to do what I must. Crack skulls. Lodge bullets in brains. Rip him limb from limb.

Whatever it takes to protect Kiana and her space.

Shawn’s walking out of her bedroom when I appear in the living room area. I’ve got my usual enforcer mask on—my face steely and hard, my presence intimidating and dominant as I step into the hallway entrance, inevitably blocking his exit.

His shock is genuine. He comes to a faltering stop, then tries to hide what he’s grabbed behind his back.

“Hey man, didn’t realize somebody was?—”

“This is Ms. Baduza’s private space,” I interrupt. “You have no grounds to be here.”

“I have a key.”

“A key she’s aware you have? Or a key you’re not supposed to be using to access her penthouse?”

Shawn diverts his gaze, a telltale sign of dishonesty. “She gave it to me in the past. I was just dropping by to grab something.”

I start toward him, extending my hand. “Give me what you’ve stolen.”

“Man, I don’t have to—UGH!”

Shawn groans as I jam the base of my palm into his throat and sweep my leg under him. He crashes down on the floor before he knows what hit him, and I’ve snatched the item right from his grip.

It’s a tablet.

Kiana’stablet.

Shawn coughs, wrapping his hand around his throat. “What the fuck, man? You crazy ass. I’ll call the cops!”

“Go ahead,” I challenge. “Call the cops on me, Shawn. You’re an NBA player in the penthouse of your ex-girlfriend who wants nothing to do with you. I’m a member of that ex-girlfriend’s security team. Who do you think will be featured in the tabloids?”

Shawn scrambles to his feet, then rushes past me like I’m liable to charge at him at any moment. He’s still touching his throat, like he’s concerned I’ve caused real damage. He’s right on both accounts—I do stalk after himandI might cause him real damage.

“Hey!” I call. “If I find out you’re trying to hurt her, I will rip you apart. Iwillkill you.”

His eyes widen in shock. “That tablet was a gift. I have every right to take it back?—”

“Get the fuck out of my sight,” I say. “NOW! Before I crush you.”

I’ve never seen a man flee as fast as Shawn Lassiter flees Kiana’s penthouse. The piece of shit practically trips over himself making his getaway.

I wait ’til he’s gone before glancing down at the tablet. Once again, I’m trying to piece together what the fuck is going on.

Just who is it that’sreallyafter Kiana?

I grab my phone and look up the number for the one person who might be willing to help. The one person who cares about Kiana’s well-being like I do.

“Hello? It’s Tyson Jeffries. Would you be open to meeting? I’m in your neighborhood.”

17

KIANA

“Kiana, you have to get out of bed,” Monica says. “We have to start your styling.”