“. . . but I never have and I do not now. I live in his glow.”

Lester’s POV

We’re tied down under heavy gunfire. Ram is doing his best to pick them off, but he can’t move much without giving away his position. Ric will never allow Ram to take fire. We allow Ram to do his thing because he’s a fucking genius with a rifle, and Ric’s adamant about ensuring Ram’s protected.

We need a plan.

We’ve been successful in the objective, which was to completely eliminate an insurgent cell, hiding place and all, but we’re in urban fire now, exactly what we didn’t want. I think about where everyone is and I realize that if we don’t move soon, Ram will take fire. This is where he set up in order to cover us while we took out the cell, and now they’re closing in on him. They’ll stumble on his ass and our best sniper will die. Teigs was enough. Bobby and Ric love Ram. I can’t allow Ram to take fire. Continue reading →

“Being his real brother I could feel I live in his shadows . . . “

Les’s POV—Age 6

“It’s easy, Ric. I’ll sneak in and put the forks in the fridge. Then I’ll grab the flan from the countertop and come back here. You go grab Kool-Aid for both of us and get the forks from the fridge and come back.”

Ric is looking at me in confusion. “And this will work because?”

“Because Papa comes home every day at 5 :00. Mamí and Abuela will be more interested in talking to him than paying attention to us . The flan will be ours. All they’ll remember is that we both got something from the fridge.”

“Dinner’s at 6 :00,” Ric points out. “We could just wait until then.” Continue reading →

I want to wake up every day and do whatever comes in my mind and not feel pressure or obligations to do anything else in my life.—Michael Jordan

Bobby’s POV—Age 17

“And, of course, once Robert finishes Morehouse, he’ll continue to Wharton to obtain an MBA. We expect him to take over Wall Street before he’s thirty.”

I’m slumped in the chair. Fuck that. Are you kidding me? So I can work the same ridiculous hours you and Dad do? I’d actually like to attend my son’s birthday parties. His basketball games. Have some fucking time for him.

I’m stuck in the house with Jacqueline and Geneviève while Mom has her monthly Links committee meeting. My sisters are reading quietly, poking each other on occasion. Each time it’s about to spiral out of control, I clear my throat and glare. They stop poking each other and resume reading. The meeting is over and these biddies still haven’t left. I wish they’d go. I need to talk to the folks and they’re holding up progress. Continue reading →

“It gives me strength to have somebody to fight for;
I can never fight for myself, but, for others, I can kill.”

Trenton, 4 years ago

I’m outside of the restaurant watching him. I’ve been waiting on his arrival for an hour and I’m still uncertain. I’m thinking of trusting my life to this man and I cannot read him. This is a first. I look east. I spotted the first lookout 30 minutes ago. There’s no reason for a well-dressed black man to be in this area, so he’s deliberate. 15 minutes later I spotted a Hispanic, but I know him.

Lester Santos. I recognize him from childhood. He went inside and spoke to the man but left again. He’s sitting in the car.

I haven’t spotted the black man I’m told is his partner, and I’m not moving until I do. I like to know where possible enemies are before I move. It keeps me alive. He should be easy to spot. He’s supposed to be huge.

I check my watch. I’m now five minutes late and I’m told he never waits. I must be interesting. He’s waiting.

“He’s getting pissed about waiting.”

Continue reading →