Rise of the Street King

Chapter 29: Celebration & Poison

The warehouse Jayden’s crew used as a hideout was alive with music, laughter, and smoke. For once, the walls weren’t echoing with the sharp tension of survival but with the rare taste of victory. Bottles clinked, dice rattled against wooden crates, and someone had dragged in a busted stereo that spit out distorted beats loud enough to rattle the rusted windows.

The truce with the Dust Rats had given the crew something they hadn’t felt in weeks: hope.

Jayden sat at the head of the table, the cracked wooden surface littered with half-empty bottles, cigarette butts, and piles of greasy food Tariq had hustled from a late-night vendor. His crew sprawled across the room: Tariq laughing loud with two of the younger boys, Big Moe rapping over the beat while others banged their fists on crates like drums, even Razor leaned in the corner, a beer in hand, eyes sharp but unusually quiet.

It should’ve felt good.

And for a moment, it did.

Jayden allowed himself a small smile as he leaned back, smoke curling from the cigarette in his fingers. For once, no one was bleeding, no one was screaming, and the walls weren’t closing in. The streets had respected him tonight, and his crew was celebrating that respect.

Still, in the back of his mind, the warning whispered: Respect makes you visible. Visibility paints a target.

Tariq raised a glass, his booming voice cutting through the noise. “To Jayden! The man who turned whispers into fear, and fear into respect! Long live the king of the blocks!”

The crew erupted, shouting Jayden’s name, pounding tables, bottles sloshing. Someone started chanting, “Jay-den! Jay-den! Jay-den!”

Jayden lifted his glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. “We’re not kings yet,” he said, his voice steady but carrying enough weight to hush the room. “We’re survivors who decided to stop crawling. Tonight we celebrate. Tomorrow, we fight again. Because respect doesn’t last it has to be fed, and it has to be defended. So eat, drink, laugh but don’t forget. The streets don’t forgive weakness.”

Cheers roared again, louder this time, and the music surged back up.

Tariq clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “You talk like an old man sometimes. Just drink, brother. Tonight, no wars.”

Jayden smirked faintly, raising his glass and swallowing the bitter burn. But the nagging unease in his chest didn’t fade. His instincts had kept him alive this long, and they whispered now that shadows still stalked him.

Across the room, Razor’s smirk caught the light.

Jayden filed it away. Razor was always a shadow to watch.

Hours bled together. Bottles emptied, laughter slurred into drunken songs, and the warehouse stank of sweat, smoke, and spilled liquor. Jayden drifted between his crew, keeping the energy alive, keeping his presence felt. Leadership wasn’t just about commands it was about being the gravity everyone orbited.

But as the night deepened, a stranger slipped into the rhythm.

He wasn’t obvious. Just another body in the shadows, moving with the flow, a drink in his hand, laughter in his throat. To anyone else, he was just another hanger-on, some cousin of a cousin who’d tagged along.

But Jayden noticed.

The man’s eyes didn’t wander like the drunk and careless. They stayed sharp, scanning, measuring. His smile never reached his eyes. His hand, though wrapped around a glass, stayed loose, like a fighter waiting to strike.

Jayden’s gut clenched.

He didn’t move immediately. He didn’t want to spook the predator in his den. Instead, he let the stranger blend deeper into the noise. He kept talking with Tariq, pretending not to notice, but his mind raced.

Fangs. Has to be. Already moving pieces. Already testing the edges of my walls.

The stranger’s moment came when Razor raised a toast. He lifted a bottle, poured heavy into a fresh glass, and slid it toward Jayden with a grin.

“To the future king,” Razor said smoothly. “May your reign be long and your enemies short-lived.”

The crew cheered again, glasses raised, and Jayden, caught in the tide, reached for the drink.

The stranger’s eyes flicked just once toward the glass.

Jayden froze.

It was subtle, barely a glance, but Jayden had lived long enough in treachery to know what it meant. The stranger wasn’t watching the toast. He was watching the drink.

Poison.

Jayden’s mind sharpened in an instant. He let his fingers brush the rim of the glass, lifting it slightly, the room chanting his name again. He smiled wide, masking the fire inside him, and turned to Tariq.

“You first,” Jayden said suddenly, pushing the glass into Tariq’s hands. “A leader’s drink is only worth something if his brother can taste it too.”

The room howled with laughter, thinking it was just another game. Tariq, drunk and grinning, lifted the glass without hesitation.

But Jayden’s eyes locked on the stranger.

For the first time, the stranger’s mask cracked. His jaw tightened. His hand twitched.

Jayden’s pulse thundered. Tariq raised the glass to his lips

And Jayden’s hand shot out, knocking it from his grip. The liquid splattered across the table, dripping down the wood.

The room froze.

Tariq blinked, stunned. “What the?”

Jayden’s voice cut like a blade. “Poison.”

Gasps. Bottles clattered. Eyes darted.

Jayden stood, slow and deliberate, his chair scraping back. His gaze scanned the room, finally settling on the stranger. “Funny thing about poison,” he said, voice steady but cold. “It only works if you don’t see it coming.”

The stranger’s hand twitched again toward his waistband.

“Gun!” Tariq roared.

The warehouse erupted into chaos. Tables flipped, bottles shattered, crew members scrambled for cover. The stranger’s pistol flashed out, but Jayden was already moving. He slammed the chair into the man’s arm, the gunshot cracking loud and wild, shattering a window.

The crew swarmed like wolves. Tariq tackled the stranger to the ground, fists flying. Moe stomped on the man’s wrist until the gun clattered free.

“Who sent you?” Jayden barked, dragging the man up by his collar, rage flooding his voice.

The stranger’s face twisted, blood pouring from his nose. “You already know.”

Jayden slammed him against the wall. “Say it!”

The man spat blood into his face. “The Fangs want your head. And they’ll get it. This is just the beginning.”

Jayden’s fist cracked across his jaw, silencing him. The crew circled, adrenaline boiling, some screaming to kill him, others demanding answers.

Jayden stood tall, wiping the blood from his cheek where the spit had landed. His eyes burned with fire, his voice calm but deadly.

“Listen,” he said, turning to his crew. “You think the Fangs will stop here? You think one rat with poison is the end of it? No. This is the beginning of war. And wars aren’t won by fear. They’re won by respect, by loyalty, by knowing the man beside you won’t break when the bullets fly.”

He pointed at the poisoned drink still dripping off the table. “They thought we’d celebrate and die. But we’re not that kind of crew. We don’t fold. We don’t choke. We rise.”

The warehouse shook with roars of agreement. Tariq’s fist shot in the air, the others following.

Jayden looked down at the stranger, beaten and broken at his feet. “Send your masters a message,” he hissed. “Tell them Jayden’s still breathing. Tell them every drop of poison only makes him hungrier. And tell them when I come, I won’t bring drinks. I’ll bring fire.”

He tossed the man into the dirt, leaving him gasping.

The crew was buzzing now, half in fear, half in fever. They had survived betrayal yet again, and Jayden had turned it into another reason to rally.

But deep inside, Jayden felt the weight settle heavier on his shoulders. The Fangs weren’t playing small anymore. They weren’t just testing him they were declaring war.

And war meant blood.

Hours later, as the warehouse emptied and only shadows remained, Jayden sat alone, staring at the glass that had almost ended him. His reflection warped in the liquid still clinging to the bottom.

Razor stepped out of the darkness, his smirk faint, unreadable. “You handled it well. But poison… that’s a coward’s move. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Which enemy prefers knives in the dark instead of bullets in the light.”

Jayden’s eyes lifted to him, sharp. “Does it.”

Razor tilted his head, smile never fading. “Trust is fragile, Jayden. Even respect won’t protect you if the wrong hand pours your drink.”

And with that, he melted back into the shadows, leaving Jayden alone with the glass and the heavy silence.

Jayden’s jaw clenched. Trust was fragile. Respect was fragile.

But hunger? Hunger was endless.

And his hunger for power had just been sharpened into something lethal...

The next morning, Jayden wakes to Tariq shaking him violently awake. Half the crew is gone. Their bunks empty, weapons missing. The poison had been only the first strike. Now, collapse begins.