Rise of the Street King

Chapter 40: The Knife Inside

The night after the Council felt heavier than any Jayden could remember. The air in the slums pressed close, thick with smoke from cooking fires and the damp stench of clogged gutters. Even the neon flickers from broken signs looked dull.

Jayden sat in the safehouse, the lantern burning low. Tariq leaned against the wall, restless, cleaning his knife over and over. Malikah sat at the corner table, flipping through a deck of cards but not really playing. Amara perched by the window, her gaze distant, listening to the hum of the streets outside.

None of them spoke much. The Council had left them with more questions than answers. Some leaders had eyed Jayden with new respect. Others had stared at him like they were measuring where to stick the blade.

Finally Tariq broke the silence. “You think they’ll come for us?”

Jayden’s jaw tightened. “Not yet. They’ll wait. They’re testing if I stumble.”

Malikah snorted. “And you gave them a chance by sparing that boy. They’ll call it weakness.”

Jayden didn’t answer. His mind was elsewhere on the feeling that had been gnawing at him since the Council. Something didn’t sit right. Not about them. About his own house.

Later, when the others slept, Jayden walked outside. The alleys were quiet except for rats scratching in the trash piles. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall, staring at the hazy stars.

That’s when Amara slipped out. She didn’t say anything at first, just stood beside him, the faint smell of smoke and rain clinging to her clothes.

“You don’t trust them,” she said finally.

He glanced at her. “Who?”

“Your own. Tariq. Malikah. Maybe both. You’ve been watching them differently since the poisoning.”

Jayden took a drag, exhaled slowly. “One of them talks too much. Razor’s moves are too precise. He hits us where we’re weakest, and the only way he knows that is if someone close feeds him.”

Amara’s eyes narrowed. “So it’s one of your first three. Tariq. Malikah. Or…” She tilted her head. “You.”

Jayden let out a humorless laugh. “If I were the traitor, Razor would’ve won already.”

Her silence was thoughtful, not accusing. “Then you need proof. Hunches won’t save you when steel’s at your throat.”

The proof came sooner than expected.

Two nights later, Jayden sent Tariq and Malikah on separate errands one to collect protection fees, the other to watch over a weapons stash. He stayed behind with Amara, pretending he had business to handle. In truth, he wanted to see what happened when the crew split.

At midnight, a runner arrived at the safehouse. The boy’s face was pale, his breath ragged. “Razor’s men. They hit the stash. Knew exactly where it was. Like they were waiting.”

Jayden’s stomach sank.

Malikah had been guarding the stash.

When she returned hours later, blood streaked her sleeve, her knife red, she dropped into a chair without meeting his eyes. “Ambush,” she muttered. “They were already there.”

Jayden studied her face, every twitch, every blink. She looked tired. Angry. But not guilty.

Tariq burst in minutes after her, furious. “It’s too clean! They knew the exact spot. The exact time. Someone’s feeding them. I swear it.”

Jayden stayed calm, though his pulse raced. “And you’re sure it wasn’t just bad luck?”

Tariq slammed his knife into the table, the wood splintering. “Luck doesn’t plan ambushes.”

Malikah shot him a glare. “So you’re saying it was me?”

“You were there, weren’t you?” Tariq snapped back.

“Enough.” Jayden’s voice cut through, sharp as a blade. Both fell silent, though the fire in their eyes didn’t die.

Inside, Jayden’s thoughts spiraled. Malikah could have warned Razor. But Tariq was quick to accuse. Too quick. Like he wanted to shift suspicion.

The breaking point came the next day.

Jayden sent Tariq to deliver payment to a contact in the east blocks. He told only Tariq the location—no one else. By nightfall, Razor’s boys were waiting at that very spot.

Jayden’s suspicions crystallized into certainty.

It wasn’t Malikah.

It was Tariq.

His oldest friend. The boy who had once dragged him bleeding out of a fight, who had stood by him since the start. The one he trusted to watch his back when knives came flashing.

Jayden’s heart clenched as the truth settled like ice.

That night, the safehouse was quiet again. Tariq returned, acting like nothing had happened. He laughed, told a story about scaring off some debtors. Malikah sat silently sharpening her blade, still bitter from his earlier accusation. Amara watched Jayden closely, as if she already knew what he’d discovered.

Jayden forced himself to laugh along, to act normal. But his mind screamed. Every glance at Tariq felt heavier now, like staring at a stranger in his friend’s skin.

When Tariq finally went to sleep, Jayden remained awake, staring at the ceiling, the sound of rain tapping against the roof.

The thought gnawed at him: How long? How long had Tariq been leaking his secrets? Was it before the poison? Before Razor’s ambushes? Had every word he’d spoken been a lie wrapped in brotherhood?

Jayden clenched his fists until his knuckles ached.

There was no escaping it.

The knife inside wasn’t Razor’s.

It was Tariq.

And now Jayden had to decide when to pull it out.