Rise of the Street King

Chapter 41: Trial of Brothers

The rain had not stopped since the night Jayden learned the truth. It bled through the roofs of the slums, dripped down cracked concrete, and soaked the alleys in mud. The whole district felt as if it shared his unrest heavy, grey, unrelenting.

Inside the safehouse, the air was damp and close. A single lantern flickered on the table. Jayden sat at the head, his shadow stretched long across the floor. Malikah leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes like knives. Tariq sprawled in a chair opposite, twirling his blade in his hand, smirking like the world belonged to him.

Amara lingered by the window again, half in shadow. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her silence was its own watchful presence.

Jayden’s voice broke the stillness.

“Someone’s been feeding Razor.”

Malikah’s gaze sharpened instantly. “I told you.”

Tariq laughed, though it was hollow. “So now it’s a witch hunt? Anyone who bleeds for you could be guilty?”

Jayden’s stare was steady. “Not anyone. One of us.”

The room went colder. The weight of the words pressed on all three of them. Malikah shifted, drawing her deck of cards from her pocket, but she didn’t shuffle them this time. She just held them, fingers tense. Tariq spun his knife faster, restless.

Jayden leaned forward. “Last night, Razor’s men hit the east blocks. They were waiting at a spot only one person knew about.”

Tariq’s spinning knife slowed. His smirk faltered.

“You saying that was me?”

“I’m not saying.” Jayden’s tone cut like steel. “I’m asking.”

Tariq scoffed. “You think I’d sell you out? After dragging your half-dead body out of the market fight? After standing in front of bullets for you?”

“Maybe loyalty was easier then,” Malikah muttered. “Before there was money. Before power.”

Tariq snapped his head toward her. “And you? You were guarding the stash the night Razor’s men struck. Maybe you’re the snake.”

Malikah’s eyes flared. She took a step forward, but Jayden’s raised hand stopped her.

“No more games.” His voice was low, dangerous. “We settle this tonight.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. The rain outside hammered harder, as if the sky itself wanted to drown out what was coming.

Jayden pulled his knife from his belt and drove it into the table between them.

“Blood answers blood. One of you speaks or one of you dies.”

Malikah’s chest rose and fell, her anger boiling but contained. She met Jayden’s eyes and said, firm: “I’ve bled for you from day one. You know that. I’ve stolen, fought, starved at your side. I don’t need to explain myself.”

Tariq leaned back, laughing bitterly. “Look at this. The mighty Jayden Cole reduced to accusing his own. Razor must be smiling right now. You really want to tear us apart? Then fine. Test me. Cut me. If my blood don’t show you the truth, maybe nothing will.”

Jayden studied them both. Tariq’s bravado was too perfect, too rehearsed. Malikah’s fury was raw, unpolished. His gut told him what he already knew, but still the weight pressed on him like a stone: he was about to break the brotherhood they had built with his own hands.

Amara’s voice finally cut through, soft but sharp:

“Sometimes a king must kill the thing he loves most. That’s the price.”

Her words hung in the air like smoke.

Jayden’s hand closed around the knife. His pulse hammered. His throat felt tight. He thought of the nights he and Tariq had huddled together on rooftops, planning, dreaming. He thought of the blood oath they’d sworn in the alley, the promises whispered when they had nothing.

And now, the same brother sat across from him, eyes daring, lips twisted in a smile that no longer reached his soul.

Jayden stood. His chair scraped loud against the floor.

“Tomorrow,” he said, his voice final. “At dawn. One way or another, this ends.”

Tariq smirked again, though there was unease behind it now. Malikah nodded once, cold and sure.

The lantern flickered, shadows stretching and twisting. The room felt too small for all the blades of suspicion inside it.

Jayden turned to the window. The rain streaked down, endless. He wondered if it would wash the blood clean when the trial was done—or if the streets would only drink deeper.

Behind him, Tariq’s voice cut low: “Don’t forget who pulled you from the gutter, brother. Don’t forget whose hands kept you alive.”

Jayden didn’t turn. His jaw locked. His answer came like a death sentence:

“I haven’t forgotten. That’s why it’ll hurt when the knife finally falls.”

The safehouse fell silent, the rain outside the only witness. Dawn would bring the trial. Dawn would bring blood.

And in Jayden’s heart, the last threads of brotherhood began to unravel.