Evil boss

ed to know my secret identity." "I work security, remember?" "Bye, Bossman." I ended the conversation, closed my laptop, and glanced at the clock. The kids would be home from school soon, and my stom

room, and an open-plan living area where my desk sat in prime position against the opposite

nearby, and I also grabbed a supply of grease, gas, and exhaust. My loft was above my foster brother's auto shop. At the bottom of the stairs, I turned and saw three cars in various states of disrepair-one parked with the hood open, one hooked up to some machine, and another on a hoist with a mechanic underneath. I recognized Steve's thin frame and baggy, dingy jeans. He was busy, and the guy who worked for him was on vacation, so I guess that was why he was working on a S

. Mama smiled and I walked over to kiss her thin, dark cheek. She smelled like home. For the first eight years of my life, I didn't know what that word meant. Then the angels smiled on me and sent an angry little girl to a foster home run by Mama. She had owned this house in Sunset Park, Brooklyn for years. The small warehouse next door was her husband's. Unable to have children of their own, they became foster parents. Big Mike had died a year before

Mama-she looked tired and her face was drawn. I grimaced. Mama always said she was a mix of the best-African-American, a dash of Hispanic, and a bit of hardy Irish stock. I guess that's why I liked her at first sight-I was a mix, too. Mostly Hispanic, though I had no idea who my parents were. I probably had an African-American ancestor somewhere in the tree, too, and a few other things-who knows what-crept in. Mama had beautif

k gaze. "So what's the treatment? Chemo?" My stomach churned at the thought, but whatever we had to do to cure her, we would do. "Yeah-" Mama cleared her throat. "The doctor said chemo won't help." "What?" Panic was slick and ugly in my throat. "So what, then?" "Nothing, my child. Nothing." I stared blankly at the letter and saw what it said. "Six months?" Mama shifted in her chair, her eyes covered with a sheen of tears. "No one can say for sure. The Lord always has a plan." "Screw that." I stood up and saw Kaylee flinch in surprise. "Sorry, Kaylee." I reached for another sheet of paper and Mama tried to grab

out of trouble, and loved to cook and bake. "Mama, I'm making cookies," Naomi said. "I already did, kiddo." "I see Remi likes them. We need more." I stuck out my tongue. Naomi was five foot seven-as tall as I'd ever dreamed of being. "I have to run." I hugged Mama, a lit