Rise of the Street King

Chapter 15 – Hunger for More

The city never slept, but the slums had their own rhythm. By day, sweat and noise. By night, whispers and blood. Jayden stood at the mouth of a narrow alley, his ribs still aching from Razor’s blade, his arm bandaged from Aria’s shaky hands. The stink of garbage and fried oil clung to the air. Behind him, the crew waited: Kade with his rifle slung, Aria pale but steady, Hassan limping yet alive.

Every step since Razor’s theft had gnawed at him. He could still hear Razor’s laugh, see the briefcase slipping away like a dream. That loss had carved something new into him, sharper than pain. It was no longer about survival. Survival was for rats. He wanted more.

“Tonight we eat different,” Jayden said, his voice low, roughened by days of smoke and sleepless nights. “No more scraps. No more waiting for Razor or the cops or fate to decide if we starve. We take what’s ours.”

Aria frowned. “And what’s ours?”

“The streets,” Jayden said. “Piece by piece.”

The target was a group of hustlers who ran dice games and small-time dope out of the broken apartments by Malomo Market. Not big players. Not Razor. But they made steady money, and steady money meant food, bullets, and leverage.

Kade shifted uneasily. “You want to tax them? That’s asking for heat. They ain’t weak, Jay.”

Jayden’s gaze hardened. “They’re not strong either. We hit them now, we plant our flag. Everyone else will hear.”

No one spoke. The silence was an answer. They were with him.

The apartment stank of weed and sweat. Five hustlers lounged inside, cards spread across the floor, a lantern casting shadows across peeling wallpaper. Cash sat in a messy pile between them. One had a pistol tucked under his leg, another a knife gleaming by the cards. They laughed loud, careless, the kind of laugh men use when they think the world belongs to them.

The door creaked. Jayden walked in with Aria behind him, shotgun in hand, Kade at the window with his rifle raised. Hassan leaned on the doorframe, watching with tired eyes.

The laughter died.

“Who the hell the biggest of them started, but Jayden raised a hand.

“Relax. We’re not here to rob. We’re here to collect.”

Confusion rippled across their faces. Then disbelief. Finally, anger.

“Collect what?” the man with the pistol barked.

“Tax,” Jayden said. “You work here, you pay here. Ten percent of your hustle. Every week. You pay, you stay safe. You don’t…” His eyes lingered on the pistol. “Then you learn how fragile bones can be.”

The hustlers exchanged glances. One spat on the floor. “You crazy, kid? You don’t run nothing. Razor runs these streets.”

Jayden stepped forward, close enough for them to smell the blood still crusted on his shirt. His voice cut cold. “Razor doesn’t run me. And from tonight, he doesn’t run you either.”

The pistol twitched. Jayden felt the tension coil in the room, a second away from exploding. He didn’t wait. He lunged, slamming his boot into the man’s wrist. The gun clattered. Aria raised her shotgun. Kade’s rifle clicked.

The room froze.

Jayden scooped the pistol from the floor and pressed it against the man’s temple. His voice was iron. “Pay. Or bleed.”

Silence stretched until the hustler with the knife slowly pushed the cash pile forward. “Take it,” he muttered.

Jayden pocketed half, left the rest. He wanted money, but more than that, he wanted the message. “This is the first tax,” he said. “Next week, same time. Spread the word. Jayden collects now.”

He lowered the gun, but the hustlers saw his eyes. They knew it wasn’t mercy. It was warning.

By dawn, word was spreading. A new name whispered in the alleys. Some laughed. Some doubted. But others listened. The boy who had bled with Razor was now demanding respect.

Kade counted the money in the safehouse, his brow furrowed. “It’s not much. Enough for food, bullets, maybe bribes. But it ain’t riches.”

Jayden leaned against the wall, watching the flicker of a dying candle. “It’s not about riches. It’s about fear. If they pay once, they’ll pay again. And others will follow.”

Aria tied her bandage tighter. “Or they’ll run to Razor.”

Jayden’s jaw tightened. “Let them. When Razor comes, we’ll be ready.”

Hassan gave him a tired look. “You’re crossing a line, Jay. Once you start taxing, there’s no going back. You’re not just fighting to survive anymore. You’re declaring war.”

Jayden didn’t flinch. “Good. War is where kings are made.”

Night fell heavy again, and with it came the first crack of consequence.

The crew was walking back from Malomo Market, their pockets light but spirits high. Jayden felt the weight of the pistol at his side, heavier than the money in his pocket. He had tasted something new tonight. Not just survival. Power.

That hunger burned hotter than any wound.

But hunger was dangerous.

As they cut through the market’s narrow lanes, lanterns flickering over shuttered stalls, Jayden heard it the click of safeties being released.

Figures stepped out from the shadows, rifles raised, faces covered with red scarves. A dozen at least. Too many.

The leader stepped forward, his voice carrying in the dead air. “You thought you could tax my people?”

Jayden recognized the voice. Musa. One of the hustlers from the apartment. He had run straight to his bigger brothers, and now they had come hunting.

Kade swore under his breath. Aria’s shotgun clicked. Hassan leaned against a wall, pale and sweating.

Jayden lifted his chin, hiding the churn in his gut. He would not show fear. Not now. Not ever.

“You want your cut back?” Jayden called. His voice was steady, almost mocking. “Come and take it.”

The rifles rose as one.

The night exploded with gunfire.

Jayden’s first “tax” ignites an open war. The ambush at the market has begun, blood and bullets tearing through the stalls. Readers must click next to see if he survives this public firefight.