Page 67 of Brown Sugar

But it’s the image the label wants. Tommy wants. My brand calls for.

I’m herded toward the entrance to the stage along with my group of backup dancers. Because of the car crash, we’ve changed the song I’ll be performing. Instead of performing my dance heavy club song All Night Long, I’ll be performing Craving You, a slightly slower tempo song about craving someone’s love.

“Kiana!” calls Tommy, striding up. He’s not alone. Hal’s by his side, grinning ear to ear. “Remember what I said earlier. You better not screw up this performance.”

I roll my eyes. “How many times are you going to subtly-not-so-subtly threaten me, Tommy?” I ask. “It’s getting old.”

“We’ll be watching.”

Tommy pivots to take his seat in the front row of the audience. Hal lingers a second longer, his grin widening, if that’s possible.

“Knock ’em dead, Kiana.”

I hardly have a chance to react before it’s go time.

Queenie Tate announces to the audience I’m up next to perform. The music begins and the curtains rise.

A smoke machine cranks out a haze of lavender smoke that soon clears to reveal me and my dancers. As the music starts, I step toward the center of the stage crooning the first verse.

You’ve got the loving I want

You’ve got the loving I need

So give it to me, baby

Don’t leave me waiting…

I sway my hips as my backup dancers dance around me. The cameras film our every move as we transition into the dance break during the chorus. Bright stage lights make it impossible to do anything but pretend I’m staring seductively at the cameras and audience.

Really, I can’t see more than five feet in front of me.

The audience is shrouded in darkness, a crowd of faceless strangers as we step to the music. But I don’t need to see anyone else’s reaction to know I’m killing it. I’ve hit every mark and note, despite the fact that my swollen knee aches and the makeup I’m wearing covers up some of my bruises from the crash.

As the song reaches its climax and I hit my highest note yet, even the blinding lights aren’t enough to hide the commotion that’s broken out. Several murmurs from the crowd grow louder and people rise out of their seats. Their silhouettes twist and turn to look at something that’s barreling down the center of the aisle.

At first, I don’t let it throw me off my game. I’m still rocking my hips and singing the lyrics.

…until I realize the person sprinting down the aisle is headed for the stage.

He’s swathed in shadows, his form huge and bulging.

I barely have time to react, freezing in place and gasping in shock.

Tyson vaults over the guardrails separating the audience from the stage. He lands on the stage with a resounding thud that feels like an earthquake beneath my feet.

I forget all about my performance. Forget all about the fact that we’re on live television with thousands of people watching, including those in the audience.

“EVERYONE GET DOWN!” he roars.

A scream spills out of me as Tyson wraps me up in his arms and we’re soaring through the air.

We’re landing when, seconds later, an explosion erupts from one of the sound machines nearby, and flames engulf the stage.

23

TYSON

We’ve barely landed in a tumble and roll when the small explosive detonates and scorches a path across the stage. I’m up no more than a second later, dragging Kiana with me. The rest of the set has spiraled into chaos. Audience members scream and race toward the exits. Cast from the show do the same, including Queenie Tate, who is in hysterics.

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