Houston, Texas
18 Years Earlier:
The city lights cast an orange glow over the streets, illuminating the narrow alleys and storefronts Michael passed. Eighteen, skinny as a rail, he kept his head down, shoulders hunched against the slight chill in the Texas air, though it was warmer than most fall nights. His bookbag hung off one shoulder, weighted more with survival odds and ends than schoolbooks, a clear sign of how far he'd come from any classroom. He walked aimlessly, eyes flicking over each hidden corner and darkened nook, hoping to find a spot for the night—somewhere he could sink into invisibility until morning.
Most nights, he didn't know why he kept going, why he kept moving. Survival had become less about living and more about enduring, each day a battle against a gnawing void that told him he'd never escape this life. But as he walked, muffled sounds broke through his dark thoughts.
"Bitch, let the fuckin' bag go!" a harsh voice hissed from a nearby alley, grating against the hum of distant traffic.
Michael stopped. He squinted into the dim alley, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. A girl around his age, slender and visibly distressed, was struggling against an older, grizzled man he recognized from the streets. Without a second thought, Michael sprinted down the alley, his footsteps muffled by worn sneakers. The man stumbled as Michael barreled into him, momentarily thrown off by the sudden intrusion.
The man's face twisted with anger as he steadied himself, glaring at Michael. "What's up, boy?" the man spat, squaring his shoulders.
Michael slipped his bookbag into the girl's hands, stepping between her and the man. "Get your own shit, OG. Leave her alone," he said, voice steady, despite his clenched fists. His eyes remained locked with the man's, a silent challenge lingering in the air. Finally, the man backed down, muttering as he slunk into the shadows.
Michael turned to the girl, noticing her busted lip, a trickle of blood catching the dim streetlight. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softer now.
"Yeah, thank you." She handed his bookbag back, fingers trembling slightly as she clutched it to her chest.
"You can't be in the alleys—too much happens out of sight," he said, shaking his head. "What're you doing out here anyway?"
She hesitated, eyes dropping to the ground. "I aged out of my group home today."
His expression softened. "They didn't give you anything? No resources or a place to go?"
"Nothing immediate," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.
Michael nodded, understanding. "Look, I'm not a creep, but if you want to hang with me, I don't mind. It's rough out here." She hugged her bookbag tightly, considering, then gave a small nod. He extended a hand. "I'm Michael."
"I—I'm Journee." She shook his hand, her grip faint but grateful.
YOU ARE READING
Karma II.
FanfictionChris is running Houston now-a legit real estate boss who left his street life behind. But he never forgot Journee, the woman who broke his heart and betrayed him. Five years ago, he found out she was an undercover cop sent to take him down. When he...
