Page 68 of Brown Sugar

A few brave crew members attempt to put out the blaze with fire extinguishers.

My priority is getting Kiana to safety.

We make it to one of the emergency exits ahead of the others. I shove the door open and don’t slow up ’til we’re twenty feet off from the building, breathing in the late afternoon’s fresh air.

“Princess, you alright?”

Kiana’s dazed, her mouth hanging open as she pants to catch her breath. I caress her head and then give her shoulder a squeeze. She’s shaken but thankfully in one piece.

“Stay here with the rest of your team.”

I double back to scour the crowd and make sure the others have evacuated. The lot of the studio where the Queenie Tate Show is filmed is covered with panicked audience members,cast, and crew. Somebody’s already dialed 911, evidenced by the sirens sounding off in the distance.

I scan the dozens of faces ’til I spot Amari. She notices me at the same second I do her and begins rushing over.

“My sister?—”

“She’s over there. Both of you stay put.”

The next hour is no less crazy.

Authorities arrive to get the scene under control. The fire that’s broken out from the explosion is put out. Anyone who saw anything suspicious is interviewed by police. Paramedics are on deck to treat any injuries sustained during the situation.

Thankfully, no one is seriously injured. Only minor scrapes and bumps.

Kiana’s doted over. First by the authorities who carefully interview her while insisting she allow a medic to take a look at her. Then by her team. They’re shaken themselves, having narrowly escaped the explosion.

Once given the okay, cast and crew return to the part of the studio that isn’t charred.

Kiana and her team are among them, returning to the dressing room to gather their things.

Tommy springs up, looking like he’s new to the scene and wasn’t present for the explosion.

“Kiana, I’m so happy you made it out okay!” he says. He rips off his sunglasses and opens his arms as if to wrap her up in an embrace.

I step in between them, a six-foot-four wall of hard-packed muscle. Tommy stumbles half a step back.

“What’s he doing here? I thought I said?—”

“Where’s Hal?” I interrupt.

“Hal, why the hell would I—ouch!”

Tommy stumbles to the side as I knock him out of the way with a swipe of my arm.

The man of the hour has finally arrived.

Hal’s stepped into the doorway with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his familiar wide grin on his face. He’s trailed after Tommy to check on the aftermath without knowing I’ve finally realized the game he’s been playing.

He surveys the others in the room, then aims his broad grin at me. “Tyson the Bison, what’s the scowl for?”

“I’ll show you.”

I launch my fist at his face. The punch connects, knuckles smashing into his nose and eliciting a howl from him. The strength behind my hit sends him tumbling against the wall.

But I’m not finished with him yet.

I wrench him toward me by the collar of his shirt and then ram my fist into his face a second time.

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