Rise of the Street King

Chapter 35: No Trust Left

The city never slept, but sometimes it felt like it stopped breathing. Jayden sat alone in the half-collapsed apartment they had taken shelter in, the broken windows letting in strips of moonlight that fell across the floor like prison bars. The machete still leaned against the wall, its edge crusted dark with blood he hadn’t yet cleaned. Every time his eyes flicked toward it, the memory came back sharp: the weight of the man collapsing, the hot spray across his hands.

It should have shaken him. A week ago, it would have. But instead, all he felt now was clarity. The blood was proof. Razor had shown his hand, and Jayden had answered. From here on, the war wasn’t one-sided anymore.

Yet clarity didn’t mean trust.

Tariq slept in the corner, back against the wall, gun across his lap even in dreams. Malikah lay stretched out on a thin blanket, her breathing steady. They looked loyal. They looked like family. But the streets had a way of teaching you that what people looked like and what they were could be two different things.

Jayden shifted, wincing as his ribs flared with pain. He pressed a hand against his side. Malikah’s herbs had kept him standing, but the wound was far from healed. Without them without her he might not even be alive right now. That should have been comfort. Instead, it gnawed at him.

Why help him so much? Why stick around when every alley whispered his name with Razor’s shadow behind it?

Jayden closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. His mind churned with too many questions.

Morning brought no peace. The city’s sounds bled in: carts rolling over cracked roads, children calling out, the buzz of life that went on no matter who lived or died in the night. Tariq was up first, rubbing grit from his eyes, scanning the street through the cracked glass.

“Quiet,” he muttered. “Too quiet.”

Jayden forced himself upright. Every movement stabbed pain through his ribs, but he swallowed it. Weakness had no place in his crew. “That means Razor’s planning his next move. He doesn’t sit still.”

Tariq looked back, his jaw tight. “Then maybe we should move before he decides where to hit. We can’t keep running from fire to fire.”

Malikah stirred, her hair messy, eyes sharp even through sleep. “Running or standing, he’ll find you,” she said. “What matters is who bleeds first when he does.”

Jayden studied her. The way she spoke like she’d already weighed Razor’s tactics, like she knew too much. He narrowed his eyes.

“How do you know so much about how he thinks?” he asked.

Malikah raised a brow, not flinching. “Because I listen. Because I pay attention. That’s what keeps us alive.”

Jayden didn’t reply. The answer sounded too smooth.

By noon, the three of them moved into the alleys, sticking to shadows. Razor’s thugs had scorched their last hideout to ash. They needed another base, somewhere no one would expect. Malikah suggested an old textile factory near the river, abandoned since the city choked its industry to death. Tariq agreed without hesitation, but Jayden’s suspicion only deepened.

Why was Malikah so quick to suggest? Why did Tariq trust her so easily?

As they walked, Jayden’s eyes scanned every corner, every rooftop. Razor’s presence was everywhere now. Men with iron fangs tattooed on their necks leaned at corners, watching. Sometimes they smiled when they saw Jayden pass. The kind of smile that promised blood later.

The factory loomed at the end of a narrow road, its windows shattered, its walls covered in graffiti. Inside, dust hung in the air, and the floor was littered with scraps of fabric turned to rot. It smelled of rust and forgotten years.

“Not bad,” Tariq said, checking the corners. “We can fortify this.”

Jayden walked the length of the main hall, boots crunching on broken glass. He imagined it filled with his people, armed and waiting, his flag flying where the factory’s name once stood. It could work.

But still, unease gnawed.

That night, after Tariq went on watch, Jayden sat with Malikah by the faint glow of a lantern. She ground herbs into a paste, the scent bitter, filling the air between them.

“You should eat,” she said without looking up.

Jayden shook his head. “Not hungry.”

“You need strength. Razor won’t wait for you to heal.”

Her voice was steady, practical. But Jayden’s mind kept circling. He leaned forward, his eyes sharp on her. “Why are you here, Malikah?”

She blinked, finally looking at him. “What do you mean?”

“You had chances to leave. To walk away. Every night you stay, you put a target on your back. For what? Me? The crew? Or something else?”

Malikah’s eyes darkened. For a long moment, she said nothing, grinding herbs harder against the stone. When she finally spoke, her voice was low. “I’m here because I believe in what you’re building. You think I want to live my whole life ducking Razor’s men, begging cops not to break my stall? I’ve seen what you can do. You want power. I want freedom. That’s why I’m here.”

It sounded true. Almost.

Jayden leaned back, silent. He wanted to believe her. But belief was a luxury. He couldn’t afford it.

The next two days blurred with preparation. Tariq scouted the area, marking escape routes. Malikah organized supplies, bartered with vendors, used soft words to keep whispers quiet. On the surface, everything worked. The crew was surviving, even growing.

But Jayden’s paranoia sharpened.

When Tariq left one morning to check on contacts, Jayden followed Malikah quietly as she slipped into the market. She moved with confidence, her head high, not like someone hiding. At a fruit stall, she leaned in close to the vendor. Jayden couldn’t hear what they said, but he saw the way the man nodded, slipping something small into her hand.

Information? Money? Or something worse?

Jayden’s hand itched toward his pistol. He forced it down. Confronting her in the middle of the market would expose them both. He retreated to the shadows, mind racing.

When Malikah returned later, she acted as if nothing happened. Offered him stew, asked about his ribs, even joked lightly with Tariq. Jayden watched her every move.

That night, he finally snapped.

The lantern burned low, shadows dancing across the factory walls. Tariq had gone to the roof for lookout. Malikah was packing herbs into jars when Jayden stepped into her space, his pistol in hand.

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t flinch. “Jayden…”

“Who do you talk to in the market?” His voice was cold, steady.

Malikah’s jaw tightened. “Vendors. Allies. People who can help us survive.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Jayden’s finger tightened slightly on the trigger. “I saw the handoff. You think I didn’t?”

For the first time, anger flashed in her eyes. “Do you really think I’d waste my time betraying you to Razor? After all this?” She gestured at the scar across his ribs, the blood they’d spilled together. “I’m alive because I stand with you. You’re alive because I stand with you.”

“Then prove it,” Jayden snapped. “Tell me who you met.”

Her lips pressed into a hard line. Then, slowly, she reached into her coat and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. She tossed it onto the floor between them.

Jayden bent, never lowering the pistol, and picked it up. Inside was a list of names. Vendors, petty thieves, a few street leaders. Notes beside them about debts owed, grudges held.

“Information,” Malikah said. “Not for Razor. For you. If you want to rule these streets, you need to know them first. Their weaknesses, their strengths. I’m building that for you.”

Jayden stared at the paper. His gut twisted. If she was telling the truth, she wasn’t betraying him she was preparing the battlefield. But if she wasn’t…

Before he could answer, footsteps echoed from the roof. Tariq appeared, face pale.

“They’re moving,” Tariq said. “Razor’s boys. Not the usual patrol. They’re hunting.”

The words dropped like stones into the silence. Jayden folded the paper, tucking it into his pocket. His pistol lowered, but his eyes never left Malikah’s.

“Then we see,” Jayden said quietly. “If you’re with me or against me, Malikah. Tonight, the streets will decide.”

Her chin lifted, defiant. “I’ve already chosen.”

They moved quickly, extinguishing the lantern, slipping into the night. From the factory roof, Jayden saw them: Razor’s men, sweeping alleys with flashlights, moving in tight formation. They weren’t searching random corners. They were heading straight for the factory.

Jayden’s suspicion burned. Had someone given them the location? Malikah’s eyes met his, steady, unflinching.

Tariq’s voice was tight. “We fight, or we run.”

Jayden’s grip tightened on his pistol. His heart pounded. Every instinct screamed not just of enemies outside, but enemies inside.

Trust no one. Not even family. Not even the people who saved your life.

He looked at Tariq, then Malikah, then the approaching lights. For the first time, he felt truly alone....

As the first of Razor’s men reached the gate, Tariq whispered, “Say the word, Jay. We’ll fight.”

Malikah added, “Or we slip out the back. Live to strike when it matters.”

Two voices. Two choices. Both dangerous.

Jayden raised his pistol, eyes cold.

But before he could speak, a Molotov soared through the night, crashing into the roof above them. Fire exploded across the factory, cutting off escape.

Jayden’s finger tightened on the trigger not at the enemy outside, but at the people beside him.

Because in that moment, he knew: if the flames didn’t kill him, betrayal would.