Rise of the Street King

Chapter 37: Rage Unleashed

The blood was still on Jayden’s hands.

Even after the feast ended in ruin, after the bodies were dragged out, after the whispers of fear trailed into the night the blood lingered. Thick, sticky, staining his knuckles, seeping into the creases of his skin. No matter how many times he wiped them against his jeans, the red clung stubbornly, as if mocking him.

He sat in silence inside their new hideout, a gutted apartment building deep in the backstreets. Tariq paced like a caged animal, his boots echoing against the cracked floor. Malikah stitched a wound across her own arm with trembling hands, her face pale but focused. Amara leaned in the corner, hood shadowing her expression, but her voice was steady when she finally spoke.

“He humiliated you, Jayden.”

The words landed heavy.

Jayden didn’t answer. His gaze was locked on the machete resting beside him the same blade he had used days ago in the smoke and fire. It gleamed faintly in the dim light, still carrying a faint reddish tint.

“He made you look weak,” Amara pressed, her tone sharper. “He walked into a room full of leaders, spilled blood, and walked out untouched. They don’t fear him they worship him now. And you…” She let the words hang. “…they doubt you.”

Tariq stopped pacing. His fists clenched. “Watch your mouth, girl.”

“No,” Jayden said at last, his voice low. His eyes rose, cold and empty. “She’s right.”

The silence cracked like glass.

Jayden stood, his body tense, his every movement stiff with suppressed fury. He could feel the heat bubbling under his skin, a wildfire with no place to burn. For nights, he had fought to hold it back. But Razor had crossed a line.

And now Jayden’s hunger for blood was louder than reason.

“We strike back,” he said. His voice cut through the room, sharp as a blade. “No more waiting. No more hiding. They think I’m weak?” He slammed his fist against the table, rattling bottles and scraps of food. “Then I’ll show them what weakness looks like. I’ll make Razor regret he ever touched my name.”

Tariq’s jaw tightened. “You’re not strong enough yet

“I don’t care,” Jayden snapped. His voice rose, something feral creeping into it. “I don’t care if my ribs burn, if my hands shake. I’ll drown them in their own blood if that’s what it takes!”

The room went still. Malikah’s needle froze mid-stitch. Amara’s hooded eyes glimmered faintly in the dark.

It wasn’t just anger anymore. It was something else. Something dangerous.

The strike came two nights later.

Word reached Jayden that Razor’s men had taken control of an old nightclub near the river one of Jayden’s former outposts. It was where he had first started building his “empire,” back when the slums whispered his name with pride. Now, Razor’s dogs lounged there, laughing, drinking, stomping their boots into the ground he had built.

Jayden didn’t plan carefully. He didn’t scout. He didn’t weigh the odds. He only gathered Tariq, Malikah, and a few loyalists. His chest still burned when he moved too fast, but the fire inside him drowned out the pain.

By midnight, they were outside the nightclub. Music thumped through the cracked walls, laughter spilling into the night. A neon sign flickered weakly, casting the word “Paradise” in broken light.

Jayden’s hand tightened around the machete. His pistol was holstered at his side, but it was the blade he craved. The closeness of it. The intimacy.

“We hit them fast,” Tariq murmured, voice low, eyes scanning the shadows. “In and out before backup comes.”

Jayden didn’t answer. He only pushed forward, his boots crunching glass as he moved.

The door burst open under Tariq’s kick. The music cut, shouts filling the air. Razor’s men turned in surprise, half-drunk, stumbling for weapons.

And Jayden moved.

He was no longer a boy fighting to survive. He was a storm.

His machete flashed, cutting down the first man before he could even draw. Blood sprayed across the walls, painting the neon glow in crimson. Screams rose. Gunfire cracked. Malikah fired from the doorway, precise and merciless, dropping two men in seconds. Tariq’s roar filled the club as he charged forward, his fists and blade carving a path through chaos.

But Jayden Jayden was something else.

He tore into Razor’s men with fury that shocked even his own crew. His blade didn’t just kill it mutilated. He struck again and again, long after a body had already hit the floor. His boots slammed into skulls, his fists broke jaws, his blade cut through flesh with merciless rhythm.

The nightclub became a slaughterhouse.

Men begged. Some tried to crawl away, leaving trails of blood across the sticky floor. Jayden followed, dragging one by the collar and slamming his face into broken glass until he stopped moving. Another raised his hands in surrender, tears streaking his face Jayden’s machete split him open without hesitation.

Tariq stared, his chest heaving, his hands soaked in blood. For the first time, he hesitated not from fear of Razor’s men, but from fear of Jayden himself.

“Jay…” he muttered, his voice lost in the screams. “You’re… you’re going too far.”

But Jayden didn’t hear him. Or maybe he did, and didn’t care.

His eyes burned with madness, his chest heaving, his skin slick with sweat and blood. He felt alive not in spite of the violence, but because of it. Each kill drowned his doubts. Each scream fed the fire in his chest.

By the time it ended, the nightclub floor was a graveyard. Bodies sprawled across tables, slumped against walls, blood pooling under neon lights. The music still played faintly from the broken speakers, a cruel soundtrack to the carnage.

Jayden stood in the center, chest heaving, machete dripping crimson. His crew watched him in silence Tariq wide-eyed, Malikah pale and trembling, Amara unreadable under her hood.

No one spoke.

Jayden’s voice finally broke the silence. Low. Flat. Dangerous.

“Tell Razor,” he said, his eyes dead and burning at the same time. “Tell him this is just the beginning.”

That night, the slums whispered louder than ever.

Jayden had unleashed something none of them expected. He wasn’t just a boy playing king anymore. He wasn’t even just a leader. He had become something darker.

And for the first time, his own people weren’t sure if they should fear Razor more… or fear Jayden.