Page 7 of Brown Sugar

I’ve put my life on the line countless times. I’ve peered across enemy lines and been part of combat patrols in places like Afghanistan. Bullets whizzed past my head as I once escorted a foreign dignitary to safety in the middle of a terrorist attack.

There have been at least a dozen situations on the job when I probably should’ve died. Yet I somehow survived.

…yet now Hal thinksthisis what I’ve worked toward, guarding Princess Kiana as she goes for pap strolls on Hollywood Boulevard?

I fire off a text letting him know my answer.

Thanks but no thanks.

It’s not only a no. It’s a hell no.

He responds almost immediately, like he was waiting on pins and needles for my answer.

Bison, you’ve got to reconsider it! Think of the $$$.

No money in the world would be enough.

Look again. All those zeros…

You’ll be HEAD of security. 9 months for what you’d make in 5 years anywhere else.

I blow out a heavy breath and then scroll back to the contract where the salary’s listed.

Hal’s got a point. If what’s listed is really how much is being offered for this job, then financially speaking, I’d be a fool to turn it down. I could take this last security gig for nine months and then get my crappy life together.

One last distraction before I face reality.

Before I deal with the ramifications of what Jax’s death means.

I curse under my breath, scratching my thick beard as I weigh my options. It couldn’t hurt to consider the proposal. Meet up with this Kiana chick’s team and hear more about the job. Then go from there.

Blowing out another exasperated sigh, I shoot a follow up text to Hal.

I’ll do the meet up. No promises otherwise.

Excellent!

Tonight at the Ice Lounge in LA. I’ll be there with her manager.

You won’t regret it, Bison. Guaranteed.

“Yeah,” I grumble to myself, “we’ll see about that.”

4

KIANA

The Ice Lounge is one of the hottest spots in LA. Celebrities fill the club on Grammy night, the afterparty crawling with all the big names in the industry. I show up with Amari and a group of party-girl friends that live in the area.

They’re girls that I’m not close with in any meaningful way, but they are reliable, fun, and a good time whenever I’m in LA.

We arrive at the Ice Lounge in skintight outfits and heels, ready to dance, drink, and celebrate—or at least that’s what I tell myself as I step out of the limo and approach the trendy nightclub. I’ve spent almost every moment since the Grammys ended thinking about Shawn.

Amari had to steal my phone away to keep me from texting him. I’m not even sure what I wanted to say other than typing up a long message about how much he hurt and betrayed me. Some essay where I said things I needed to get off my chest, like how I stuck by his side for years. I was loyal when he got cut from the Detroit Hounds and then traded to the Los Angeles Stars. I defended him when the tabloids photographed him with cheerleaders from the team.

Opportunities have been dropped at my feet that I turned down just so I could be closer to him and keep our schedules more aligned.

Does he realize how much I’ve sacrificed for him? How often I’ve been hit on by men in the industry? How so many people talk shit about the fact that the best-selling music artist of the last decade is dating some D-string ball player?