The Deadline. KiKi Swinson

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СКАЧАТЬ toward the stage exit.

      “Wait right there . . . hold that pose!” a photographer called out. “Smile, you’re the winner,” he instructed, hoisting his camera to eye level to ensure he captured the exact moment. I was blushing and sure that my face would look like a cherry in every snapshot he took.

      Kyle and I posed and turned to each other on cue. We capitalized on the opportunity to take this free twin-sister-and-brother photo shoot. The photographer’s flash exploded.

      The bright lights sparkled in my eyes. It was truly the perfect day in my life.

      “Walk slowly forward now,” the photographer instructed. When Kyle and I finally made it to the end of the picture area, I was bombarded with more photographers eager to snap photos with professional and personal cameras. Noticing the paparazzi, even Kyle waved like a star. I also flashed my best debutante smile.

      “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the great reporter . . .” A tall man in a suit stepped into our path, clapping his hand on my shoulder. My smile faded and I bit down into my jaw.

      “I didn’t think you’d go through with showing up here, all out in the public. We’re all proud of you back in Norfolk. You still got a lot of balls,” he said, smiling wickedly, the bright stage lights glinting off his one gold tooth.

      He turned his attention to Kyle. “You can thank your sister for everything.”

      I shivered.

      “Ms. Mercer!” another photographer shouted, jutting his camera forward for a close-up. I twisted away from the man in the suit, happy for the distraction. Kyle and I hurried down the walkway, faking happiness so we didn’t make a scene. It didn’t last for long.

      “Khloé! Khloé Mercer!” a male voice boomed.

      My head jerked at the voice. Still smiling and faking like I wasn’t about to faint from fear, I turned to my right.

      “You should’ve stayed the fuck out of the way! You fucked with the wrong people!” the voice boomed again. The source barreled through the crowd, heading straight toward Kyle and me.

      “Gun! He’s got a gun!” a lady photographer screamed first.

      “Oh, shit!” Kyle’s eyes went round as he faced the long metal nose of the weapon. Frantically he unhooked his arm from mine and stepped in front of me. Before he could make another move, the sound of rapid-fire explosions cut through the air.

      The entire place went crazy. The hired security seemed to materialize out of the walls and began running at full speed, guns drawn. Things were going crazy. Photographers, cameramen, backstage staff . . . everyone was running in a million directions. Two of the security guards were picked off, falling to the floor like knocked-over bowling pins. Screams pierced the air from every direction.

      Kyle’s body jerked from being hit with bullets. He was snatched from my side in an instant. I turned and watched as my brother’s arms flew up, bent at the elbow and flailing like a puppet on a string. His body crumpled like a rag doll and fell into an awkward heap on the floor, right at my feet. It was all too familiar.

      There was no way I could lose my brother in this way. Not after everything. I stood frozen; my feet were seemingly rooted into the floor under me. This was just a bad dream. It wasn’t real. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to breathe.

      “Kyle!” I shrieked, finally finding my voice.

      “Help!” someone yelled. “Call the police! Help!” More screams erupted around us.

      The sounds of people screaming and loud booms exploded around me. I coughed as the grainy, metallic grit of gunpowder settled at the back of my throat. I inched forward on the floor next to Kyle. The floor around him had pooled into a deep red pond of blood. Everything was happening so fast. I blinked my eyes to make sure this was real.

      “Kyle!” I screamed so loud that my throat burned. I grabbed his shoulders and shook them, hoping for a response.

      “No!” I sobbed, throwing my body on top of his. I just knew I wasn’t out of danger. I knew who it was they wanted, and it was me.

      More deafening booms blasted through the air.

      I couldn’t think as I lay on the floor. The thundering footfalls of fleeing guests left me feeling abandoned and adrift. I lay next to Kyle, listening to his labored breathing.

      “Why? How did we let this happen? How did we get here?” I sobbed. “How did this all happen?”

      “Hey! You’ve got to get out of here,” a security guard huffed, pulling me up onto my feet. I was shocked to see that I hadn’t been hit. “Get out of here. Run as fast as you can and hide,” he instructed. He hurled demands as fast as his lips could spew them out.

      “I . . . can’t . . . leave . . . ”

      “I’ll take care of him as best I can, but it doesn’t make sense for you both to die,” the guard told me. “Now run!”

      1

      AMBITIONS

      Four months earlier

      I stood in the WXOT-TV evening news executive producer’s office and wrung my hands. My boss, Christian Aniston, had called me into her office like there was an actual fire burning under her desk. She’d told me to sit down, but I told her I preferred to stand. I was of the mind-set that I’d rather die on my feet than live on my knees. My father had taught me that. Give me my verbal punches standing up. Everyone in the station knew about my boss’s reputation. In my mind it was more ruthless than Miranda Priestly from The Devil Wears Prada. In fact, that character had nothing on the mean-mouthed, cruel, heartless, power-drunk, ratings-whore Christian Aniston. But I hadn’t gotten this far by chance . . .

      * * *

      I had always worked hard all of my life. I didn’t have anything given to me on a silver platter. I was a girl from the hood who was no stranger to the street life. I had grown up in a poor and eventual single-parent household in one of the most dangerous neighborhoods in the city. My father had been murdered right in front of me and my twin brother, Kyle. We were six when my dad was shot dead at my feet. I can still see how his body jerked and spun while his eyes bulged out of their sockets from the powerful shots.

      I was always a daddy’s girl before then. I had been standing so close to him when the man shot him, the tinny smell of his blood shot up my nose until I had been able to taste it on my tongue. To this day I remember the smell and taste every time I think about it . . .

      “Daddy!” I remember emitting an earthshaking scream. Tears had burst from my eyes like a geyser. Even in the face of danger, I had thrown myself down at my father’s side.

      “Shut the fuck up!” the man who’d shot my father screamed, grabbing me by my hair and tossing me aside like a rag doll. I felt something crack in my back as I hit a wall inside our small town house.

      “Khloé!” Kyle had called out to me. I was still on the floor when I saw Kyle charging at our father’s killer. At that age Kyle was a bit smaller than I was, but his size was not indicative of his fury in that moment. Kyle growled and his small fists flew out in front of him. Swinging wildly, Kyle had tried his best to СКАЧАТЬ