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Authors: Miasha



“Miasha keeps things moving at a fast clip, but the basic empathy and understanding that pervade are the story’s real appeal. [She] never loses sight of the basic humanity of all the lost souls that surround Angel.”

Publishers Weekly

“In the midst of all the same voices in literature, Miasha brings authenticity to the pages of this novel. She’s the crème de la crème—enjoy!”

—Vickie Stringer,
bestselling author of
Let That Be the Reason

Mommy’s Angel
highlights some of the harsh realities that many of our society’s poor and forgotten children face in life…. Earthy, realistic, and full of unpredictable twists and turns, Miasha has written a novel that is sure to please.”


Mommy’s Angel
is a fast-paced, well-written, realistic view of what addiction does to our communities. It sheds a bright light on how the addict’s hurt, pain, and trouble are recycled onto the people closest to them.”

—Danielle Santiago, author of
’ and
#1 bestseller
Little Ghetto Girl

“A poignant tale of innocence lost in Brooklyn.”

—K’wan, author of
Gangsta, Street Dreams, Eve
, and
Hood Rat


“Miasha cleverly builds up the suspense and throws in several unexpected twists. Her latest release is filled with intrigue and will keep you turning the pages.
Diary of a Mistress
will make you think twice about who you trust.”

—Sheila M. Goss, e-Spire Entertainment News editor and author of
My Invisible Husband

“Miasha has done it again.
Diary of a Mistress
is a sizzling novel full of unexpected twists and guaranteed to leave readers in shock, and gasping for air, as they excitedly turn each page.”

—Karen E. Quinones Miller, author of
Satin Doll, I’m Telling,
Satin Nights

Diary of a Mistress
is an intense, captivating, and twisted love triangle. Miasha allows the usually silent mistress to raise her voice through the pages of her diary.”

—Daaimah S. Poole, author of
Ex-Girl to the Next Girl, What’s Real
, and
Got a Man

“Only Miasha can make it hard to choose between wanting to be the mistress or the wife.”

—Brenda L. Thomas, author of
Threesome, Fourplay
, and
The Velvet Rope


“Scandalous and engrossing, this debut from Miasha…shows her to be a writer to watch.”

Publishers Weekly

“A sizzling and steamy novel…the storyline will hold readers’ attention and entertain them in the process.”

Booking Matters

“Miasha enters the arena of urban literature full-throttle and ready to swing…surely to become one the most talked-about novels of 2006.”

—Mahogany Book Club, Albany, NY

“Miasha cooks up a delicious drama with all the ingredients of a bestseller—seduction, vindication, and lots of scandal.”

—Brenda L. Thomas, author of
Threesome, Fourplay
, and
The Velvet Rope

“Miasha tells it like it is. Her writing style is gritty and gripping and will keep you reading and wanting more.”

—Karen E. Quinones Miller, author of
Ida B

“Miasha writes with the fatal stroke of a butcher knife. This book is raw material. Squeamish readers beware. You want proof? Just read the first page.”

—Omar Tyree,
New York Times
bestseller, and NAACP Image Award–winning author of the Flyy Girl trilogy

Secret Society,
readers should be prepared to expect the unexpected. Each page is a roller-coaster ride of emotion, drama, and intrigue. Miasha packs her debut novel with so many scandalous scenarios that the reader can’t help but anxiously turn the page in anticipation. An excellent debut that still has me shaking my head in amazement, long after I read the last page!”

—Tracy Brown, bestselling author of
Dime Piece, Black
, and
Criminal Minded

“Miasha writes with fire in this tale of two girls with a shocking secret and a story told with raw, heartfelt drama that is sure to carve this first-time novelist a place in the urban lit world.”

—Crystal Lacey Winslow, bestselling author of
Life, Love & Loneliness


Never Enough

Sistah for Sale

Mommy’s Angel

Diary of a Mistress

Secret Society

A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2009 by Meosha Coleman

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

TOUCHSTONE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event. For more information or to book an event contact the Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website at

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Miasha, 1981–
     Chaser: a novel / by Miasha.—1st Touchstone trade paperback ed.
        p. cm.
     “A Touchstone book.”
     1. African Americans—Fiction. I. Title.
     PS3613.I18C47 2009
813'.6—dc22                                   2009 011380

ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-9751-3
ISBN-10: 1-4165-9751-4

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To the newest addition to my family, Ace Nasir.

Getting this done has been a long journey,
and I’m blessed to have had you to be a part of it
Love you, baby boy,


I cried for my life. It wasn’t even about the baby anymore because I was sure it was dead. There was no way it could have withstood the blows Kenny delivered directly to my stomach. Not to mention his dragging me around on the concrete floors. My poor baby was gone. I was feeling weaker with each punch. I was losing consciousness, and I realized Kenny was trying to kill me.

“Please, Kenny, don’t kill me,” I said with what little energy I had. “Please.”

Kenny turned me over on my back and straddled my neck and upper chest. He looked in my eyes as I gagged for air. He was blurry to me. In fact, everything was blurry. I turned to my right and the door to one of the guest bedrooms was opened. The furniture in it
looked like it was floating. All of the colors from the sage-colored paint on the walls to the olive-green silk drapes on the windows and the multicolored Oriental rugs on the hardwood floors blended together, forming one big rainbow cloud. When I looked up at the recessed lights that lined the ceiling in our hallway, I felt nauseous. I wanted to close my eyes to avoid the dizzy feeling I had, but I was afraid if I did I would die. So I fought with all my might to keep my eyelids from drooping. And just as I was beginning to give up on trying to stay alive, I felt Kenny’s weight lift off me and heard him walking away from me and down the stairs. I felt a sense of relief, as I believed he was finished with me.

I had a moment to think about everything I had done to end up in the position I was in, and I wondered if it was worth it. Was it really worth my life? I wished I could turn back the hands of time, but I couldn’t, and before I wasted any more time pitying myself, I needed to focus on what I could do to get help.

Relief was short-lived. As I lay there on the cold hardwood floor, clinging to consciousness, I could faintly hear Kenny’s footsteps once again on the steps.

I opened my eyes as much as my strength would allow and saw Kenny pouring what I figured was gasoline on every step as he walked backward down our spiral staircase. I wanted to protest, to try to plead for my life, but I had no energy at all to do or say anything. I felt completely paralyzed, helpless, as good as dead.

“This’ll teach you to wear a wire on me, bitch!” Kenny yelled.

Then I heard the sound of the gasoline can being dropped at the bottom of the steps and, seconds later, a loud poof. A panic came over me. My mind was telling me to get up and run, but my body wouldn’t move. I thought about my mom and how she’d tried to tell me time and time again to leave Kenny alone. Had I listened to her, I would not have been preparing to meet my death. I thought about Nasir and wondered what he would say and how he would feel once he found
out that I was gone. I wished I could have had one last moment with him. Even if it was just to say good-bye. My life nearing its end, I began to muffle the Twenty-third Psalm.

“The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

I closed my eyes. I thought about the date: May 30, 2008. So my tombstone would read Leah Cecily Nicole Baker, July 17, 1983, to May 30, 2008. Then I had second thoughts. I’m not ready to die and especially not like this. I want to fight. I want to fight badly. But I can’t. Please, God, spare my life. Please, God, intervene. Please don’t let today be my last.

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