Kairo stood in front of the old Hellcat. Black paint chipped on the side. Scuffed rims. Bullet hole still low on the rear door—half-covered with tape. It had been with him through a lot. Shootouts. High-speed chases. Late-night pickups. Heated arguments. Silent drives.
But now it just looked like dead weight.
He took a step back, arms folded, chain shining, jaw tight. Bam stood next to him, hood on, chewing gum like always.
"You really lettin' both of 'em go?" Bam asked, side-eyeing the other car—his Trackhawk, still shining but holding ghosts.
Kairo nodded slow, eyes never leaving the Hellcat. "Yeah.... i'm done with all that."
Bam scoffed. "Shit crazy. You sound like you settlin' down."
Kairo cracked a smirk, then killed it just as quick. "I am."
The keys jingled in his hand. He tossed them to the dealership guy without another word. No handshake. No goodbye. Just turned his back and walked off.
By the time he got to the condo, the air felt different. Not just the weather, the energy. No more trap house aura. No peeling paint. No loud ass neighbors arguing about nothing at 3AM.
The building was tall, clean, white stone and black glass. The kind of place you had to be buzzed into. Inside, everything smelled like lavender and lemon. Elevators silent. Cameras watching.
When the doors opened on the 15th floor, Kairo stepped out, bag slung over his shoulder. He moved like always—slow, confident, eyes sweeping corners. But his steps lighter.
The condo was half-empty—just a couch, a box of new dishes, and a bed still in plastic wrap. No street trophies, no drugs tucked in the walls, no old guns behind the dryer.
He dropped his bag by the kitchen and looked around, jaw clenched. This was his now, his safety, his reset.
He grabbed his phone, sat on the kitchen stool, leaned back. Dialed one number.
Soraya answered on the second ring.
"You home?" he asked, voice low but deep.
"Yeah, what's up?"
"Be outside. I'm finna slide."
Fifteen minutes later, Kairo pulled up in his new Benz. Black on black again. Windows dark. Rims lowkey but fresh. He parked across the street from Soraya's building, stepped out in grey sweats, polo tee, and a fitted cap.
Soraya stepped out with Sonali on her hip, both of them matching in soft pastel tones. She blinked at the car, then him.
"You got a new car?"
He helped her in, head steady on the small of her back. "Something light."
"You sold the others?"
He looked at her, eyes locked in. "Yeah. I sold all that old shit. Got a new spot too. Real clean. Ain't attached to none of the mess."
Soraya studied him for a second, like she was trying to read between the lines.
"Why now?"
He reached across and buckled Sonali's car seat gently, then leaned back with a shrug.
"'Cause i'm not who I used to be, ma. Not tryna keep livin' like I got a target on my back. I got y'all now.... and I ain't riskin' that."
She stayed quiet, eyes soft, hand resting on his arm.
He glanced back once, then hit the road—one hand on the wheel, the other resting easy on her thigh.
ESTÁS LEYENDO
Built From Broken
RomanceA young mother rebuilds her life after heartbreak, only to fall for a quiet street dude who teaches her love all over again but they struggle to deal with the reality of his lifestyle. Started: 4/13/25 Second time writing this as it was deleted the...
