Rise of the Street King

Chapter 13 – Razor’s Wrath

The machete came down in a blur of steel.

Jayden’s instincts screamed before his body could react. He stumbled back, the blade cleaving the air where his head had been. Sparks flew as the weapon smashed into the tiled wall behind him, biting deep into the plaster.

Razor’s grin widened, teeth flashing in the flicker of the dying fluorescent light.

“You’re slower than I thought,” Razor drawled, yanking the machete free. “But don’t worry I’ll carve you piece by piece.”

Jayden’s lungs burned, chest heaving. His mind screamed to run, but his feet planted themselves. Not in fear something heavier. He thought of Hassan on the table behind him, bleeding but alive. Thought of Kade’s rifle snapping in precise bursts. Thought of Aria, reloading her shotgun with mechanical calm.

If he ran, they died.

The machete whistled again. Jayden ducked, feeling the air shiver above his scalp. He grabbed a broken chair leg from the floor and swung. The wood cracked uselessly against Razor’s arm. Razor laughed a cruel, booming sound and shoved Jayden backward with the flat of the blade.

Jayden hit the washing machine hard, the impact rattling his teeth.

“Stay down, kid!” Kade barked, unleashing a burst of fire at the thugs pressing in through the door.

But Razor ignored the chaos around him. His eyes locked on Jayden like a predator scenting blood.

“New blood,” Razor said, voice low, almost amused. “You think the streets will bow for you? You don’t even know how to bleed right.”

Aria slid between them, shotgun raised. “Back off.”

Razor’s smirk never faltered. “Or what? You’ll paint the walls with me? Do it.”

For a second, the world narrowed to the cold gleam of his eyes and the pump of Aria’s shotgun. Then, impossibly fast, Razor swung his machete in an upward arc.

Aria fired—

but Razor twisted, the blast grazing his shoulder instead of tearing through his chest. He didn’t flinch. His machete clipped Aria’s arm, ripping fabric and drawing blood. She staggered but held her ground.

Kade cursed, shifting his aim toward Razor.

“No!” Aria snapped through gritted teeth. “The others hold the door!”

Indeed, Razor’s men were flooding the laundromat like a tide, machetes flashing, pistols barking. Kade swore again, returning fire to keep them from overrunning.

Jayden forced himself upright, chest screaming in protest. His eyes darted to Razor. The man was bigger, stronger, faster. But Jayden had one advantage: he wasn’t carrying a reputation heavy with pride. He had nothing to lose nothing but survival.

Razor lunged again. Jayden barely dodged, the blade slicing a line across his ribs. Pain seared, hot and raw. He gasped, but adrenaline drowned the sound.

He swung the chair leg again, aiming for Razor’s face. This time Razor caught it mid-swing, crushing it in his fist like dry twigs.

Hopeless. The word clawed at Jayden’s skull. But another rose with it Hassan’s whisper: Survive, Jayden. The streets only respect the survivors.

Jayden kicked instead, aiming low. His boot slammed into Razor’s knee. The bigger man grunted, surprised, and staggered a step.

Aria seized the opening. She slammed the butt of her shotgun into Razor’s jaw. The crack echoed. Razor’s grin faltered, blood dripping from his lip.

“You’ve got bite,” Razor said, almost admiring. Then his expression hardened. “I’ll enjoy breaking it.”

He swung wide, aiming for Aria this time. Jayden didn’t think. He threw himself between them, the machete’s edge grazing across his forearm. Fire ripped through his nerves. He screamed but didn’t stop moving, tackling Razor into a row of dryers.

The machines toppled, metal groaning and crashing. Dust and lint exploded into the air.

Razor roared, slamming his fist into Jayden’s face. Stars burst behind his eyes. He tasted blood, felt it drip down his chin. Still, he clung on, fists hammering weakly at Razor’s chest.

“Get off me, rat!” Razor bellowed, slamming Jayden against the floor. The impact stole his breath, ribs flaring in agony.

The machete rose again.

And then

BOOM.

The shotgun blast lit the laundromat. Razor staggered, a fresh wound burning across his side. He snarled, turning his fury on Aria.

Kade shouted, “They’re pushing through!” Gunfire shredded the air, glass shattering, bullets whining off steel.

Jayden dragged himself up, vision blurring. His arm throbbed, blood soaking his shirt. Every breath was a war.

But through the haze, he saw Razor not retreating, not broken, but laughing. A deep, manic sound that chilled him more than the pain.

“You think this ends here?” Razor spat blood, eyes wild. “You don’t even know what you’ve stolen!”

His words froze Jayden. Stolen? The briefcase. The one Hassan had trusted him with.

Jayden’s gaze darted to the corner. Hassan lay barely conscious, one hand weakly clutching the case.

Razor’s eyes followed and his grin turned feral.

“There it is,” Razor whispered. “The key.”

Jayden’s stomach dropped. The briefcase wasn’t just valuable it was everything.

Razor surged forward, machete forgotten, reaching for it.

Jayden hurled himself at him again, screaming. Their bodies collided, crashing through the broken machines. The case skidded across the floor, spinning to a halt near Aria’s boots.

“Run!” Jayden shouted, blood choking his voice. “Take it and run!”

Aria bent, grabbing the handle just as a thug burst through the side window, pistol raised.

The shot cracked.

Aria gasped, stumbling back. The case slipped from her grasp, clattering to the ground.

“Aria!” Jayden roared.

But Razor was already there. His massive hand clamped around the briefcase. His eyes burned with triumph.

“This city belongs to me,” Razor hissed, lifting it high. “And now so does your future.”

Jayden staggered to his feet, fury drowning the pain. “Over my dead body.”

Razor’s grin widened. “That can be arranged.”

He turned toward the shattered door, calling to his men. “Fall back! We’ve got what we came for!”

“No!” Jayden lunged, blood and rage propelling him. He grabbed Razor’s arm, teeth gritted.

The machete flashed again, slicing across Jayden’s side. He screamed, falling to his knees.

Razor loomed above him, briefcase in hand, eyes full of fire.

“You’re not ready for this game, boy,” Razor said, voice low and final. “But when you are…I’ll be waiting.”

And with that, he shoved Jayden down, turned, and vanished into the night with his men, the briefcase clutched tight.

The room fell into a haunting silence, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the dripping of blood.

Jayden’s vision swam. Aria was on the ground, clutching her arm, pale but alive. Kade stood by the doorway, chest heaving, rifle smoking. Hassan lay barely conscious, lips moving in soundless words.

Jayden’s body screamed to collapse, but his mind clawed at one truth.

Razor had the case. Razor had everything.

And the streets would never forgive failure.

Jayden’s fists clenched in the blood pooling around him. His voice was hoarse, broken, but the vow tore free anyway:

“I’ll take it back. I’ll take it all back… or die trying.”

Outside, Razor’s laugh echoed in the night like a death sentence.