Rise of the Street King

Chapter 55 — Counter-Strike

The words from the radio still gnawed at Jayden’s head: Priority one, Jayden Cole. He hadn’t slept since, not properly. He sat in the tailoring shop they now used as a meeting spot, the musty air heavy with damp, while rain streaked down the cracked windows like tears from the city itself.

Malikah sat against the wall, drawing her whetstone across a dagger with slow, deliberate strokes. Each scrape was like a question she didn’t have to ask out loud. The Burned Boy couldn’t keep still, pacing back and forth like a restless animal. The younger recruits, barely more than kids, whispered among themselves in the corners, nervous but trying to look brave.

Jayden finally spoke, his voice low but steady. “We hit him where it hurts.”

Malikah raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-stroke. “You mean his convoy?”

Jayden leaned forward, eyes glinting in the dim light. “The supplier run. Razor’s men guard it like it’s gold. We cut it off, he starves. His men lose faith. His whole show crumbles.”

The Burned Boy grinned wide, teeth flashing. “Now you’re talking, King.”

They spread out a rough map across the table, bottle caps and chalk lines standing in for bikes, trucks, and bodies. Jayden pointed out the route Razor’s supplier always took the old train line road, quiet, abandoned, where gunfire would echo but never reach the ears of the cops unless someone called them in.

“Four bikes up front, two trucks, another tailing,” Jayden said. “Razor doesn’t ride with them. He saves himself for the feast.”

Malikah tapped one of the bottle caps. “Convoy like that’s tight. If we go big, we bleed out. We’ll need to slice sharp, clean, before they know they’re cut.”

Jayden’s gaze flicked to the Burned Boy. “You block the bridge with oil drums. Simple, fast. They stop, we strike. No speeches, no mercy. We strip what we can carry, torch what we can’t. By morning, Razor feels the wound.”

One of the boys a thin kid with eyes too big for his face cleared his throat. “What if the police show?”

Jayden didn’t blink. “They won’t. Not in Razor’s veins. Tonight belongs to us.”

The silence that followed was thick, heavy, but charged. He felt it again the shift. Even after the siege, after the blood and fire, they still looked at him and believed.

When night fell, the bridge was theirs. Rusted steel, rain-slicked asphalt, and the barrels rolled into place with dull thuds. The Burned Boy crouched low, face streaked with ash, hands gripping his pipe with trembling excitement. Malikah moved like smoke, sliding into her corner, daggers catching the faint gleam of a streetlamp. Jayden stood in the shadows, machete already warm in his hand, breath slow and measured.

Engines hummed in the distance, growing louder.

Headlights flared. Four bikes, two trucks, one more bike at the tail. Just as planned.

Jayden lifted his hand. The Burned Boy shoved the barrels into the road. Metal clanged, echoing through the night. Tires screeched as the convoy braked hard, sparks skidding off the ground. Shouts rang out.

“Now,” Jayden whispered.

The Burned Boy lit a rag, tossed it. Flames whooshed up in a rush of fire, painting the night in red and orange. The lead bikes swerved, smashing into barrels, riders flying into the dirt.

Jayden surged forward, machete raised, striking the first guard before the man even leveled his gun. Steel split flesh, and blood sprayed across the wet road. Malikah was beside him, a blur of motion, her blades plunging deep into another guard’s side before he could shout.

Gunfire cracked. Bullets hissed past, pinging against metal. The Burned Boy swung his pipe into a rider’s jaw, bone shattering with a sick crack. The younger recruits followed, wild and hungry, their knives flashing in clumsy but brutal arcs.

Jayden rolled under a swinging rifle butt, came up inside a man’s guard, and rammed his machete into his gut. The man screamed, falling, clutching his spilling stomach. Jayden yanked the blade free and turned, eyes cold.

“Open the trucks!” Malikah barked.

One of the boys scrambled to the back, tearing at the latch until it gave. The doors swung wide. Inside, stacked tight, were boxes wrapped in brown paper and tape. Guns. Ammunition. Powder. Enough firepower to feed Razor’s army until the slums drowned in bullets.

Jayden’s lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. “Burn half. Take the rest.”

Fire licked through the crates as they dragged what they could carry. The smell of gunpowder and smoke filled the air, mixing with blood and sweat.

A wounded man crawled toward the shadows, dragging his leg. Jayden caught him with a boot, pressing him down hard.

“Razor sent you?” he asked.

The man coughed blood, shook his head weakly. “We… we don’t answer to Razor.”

Jayden’s foot pressed harder. “Then who?”

The man gagged, spitting red onto the ground. His eyes darted between Malikah’s cold stare and the fire climbing higher behind them. “He’s just the front. The money new money comes from higher.”

Malikah crouched, her dagger glinting at the man’s throat. “Name it.”

The captive trembled, eyes wide with fear. “Council,” he muttered. “Not all of them. Just… just one. Feeding Razor. Feeding the cops. Feeding anyone who’ll take your head.”

The Burned Boy’s face twisted, his grin gone. “The Council’s backing Razor?”

The man shook violently, coughing. “Not the whole Council. One chair. One who wants Jayden Cole erased.”

Jayden bent low, his shadow stretching across the man’s broken body. His voice was sharp, cold enough to cut. “Whose name?”

The man’s lips trembled. He whispered it, barely audible under the roar of flames.

Jayden froze.

Malikah stiffened, her blade still at the man’s throat. The Burned Boy stopped breathing for a second. Even the young recruits, bloodied and panting, looked toward Jayden, waiting.

The fire consumed the last of the crates, sparks flying into the night sky like dying stars. And in that moment, Jayden knew the war had just shifted. Razor was no longer just a rival. He was a weapon in someone else’s hand.

The Council itself had reached down into the dirt and decided Jayden Cole’s crown was theirs to break...

The captive reveals a Street Council name Jayden recognizes Razor has powerful backers, and the war just grew bigger.