Rise of the Street King

Chapter 59 — Amara’s Debt

The night had gone quiet after the discovery of Tariq’s old contacts, but the silence in Jayden’s chest was heavier than any roar of battle. He sat in the corner of the safehouse, cigarette burning down to the filter, the list of names clenched in his fist. He had thought Tariq’s betrayal ended with blood on the concrete. But ghosts had long arms.

The door creaked open. Everyone turned.

Amara stepped in, hood pulled low, her presence folding the room into stillness. The Burned Boy reached for his blade until he saw her face. Malikah’s jaw tightened, suspicion sharp in her eyes.

Jayden only stared.

She met his gaze with that same unreadable calm, though her lips were pale, her fingers trembling as she pushed the hood back. “I have something,” she said. Her voice carried exhaustion, but underneath it was urgency the kind that couldn’t be faked.

Jayden flicked ash to the floor. “Then say it.”

She looked around the room, then at Malikah. “Not with all of them here.”

That earned a growl from Malikah. “She comes and goes as she pleases, and now she wants secrets?”

Amara didn’t flinch. “This secret will get you killed if it spreads. And maybe me too.”

Jayden rose, motioning her toward the back. The others protested, but his look silenced them. He shut the door behind them, the smoke-thick air of the room replaced with the faint dampness of the safehouse’s storage hall.

Amara stood with her back against the wall, breathing fast, as though she’d run a mile. She pulled a folded scrap of paper from inside her coat and held it out.

“There’s a detective,” she said. “Ibe. He’s not just dirty he’s bought. I don’t know by who, but he’s not acting on his own. He’s part of a chain. Every bust that’s happened in the last month, every raid that caught one of your people his signature is on it somewhere. He’s feeding someone higher, and he’s doing it for money.”

Jayden took the paper, scanning the scrawled notes. Times, locations, names. Patterns of patrols. He felt the weight in his gut.

“And how,” he asked slowly, “do you know this?”

Her eyes flicked away, just for a heartbeat. “I owe someone,” she admitted. “That someone feeds me scraps, and this time, the scrap was about Ibe. Don’t ask more than that. Just… use it.”

Jayden studied her face. There were walls behind her eyes he couldn’t climb, shadows he couldn’t light. But the information felt too sharp to be useless.

“You bring me dirt,” he said, voice low, “but dirt has to be turned into something. What’s your angle?”

Amara’s lips curved into the ghost of a smile. “Maybe I don’t want to see you die. Maybe I’m trying to pay off my debt before it swallows me.”

Jayden pocketed the paper. “Or maybe you’re the debt itself.”

Her smile didn’t fade, but her silence confirmed more than words.

By morning, Jayden moved. He sent Malikah to rally scouts, the Burned Boy to tail Ibe discreetly, and the new lieutenants Duke, Nessa, Short K, Timo to spread noise on Razor’s corners so attention stayed elsewhere.

Then, with Amara’s shadow beside him, he made his way through the twisted alleys to the detective’s haunt: a gambling parlor hidden behind rusted corrugated iron, its walls humming with the laughter of drunks and the shuffle of cards.

Inside, Detective Ibe sat like he owned the place. His shirt was crisp, his gun holstered carelessly at his side, a pile of chips in front of him. The room smelled of sweat and cheap gin.

Jayden walked straight to his table. The gamblers froze, recognizing him. The Burned Boy’s name had carried through the alleys, but Jayden Cole’s presence carried weight like a loaded gun.

Ibe glanced up, irritated, then wary. “What is this? You lost, boy? This isn’t your corner.”

Jayden leaned down, placed the folded paper in front of him, and spoke so only he could hear. “Every move you made. Every pocket you lined. Every bust you signed. It’s all written. You’re not just dirty you’re a bought dog. And I’ve got the leash.”

Ibe’s smirk faltered. He tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “You don’t know who you’re playing with.”

Jayden leaned closer, his voice a knife. “No. You don’t. Because if I drag your name to the wrong ear, you’ll be stripped before you can draw that gun. You’ll be floating in the lagoon with your badge in your mouth.”

Silence settled over the table. Ibe’s hand twitched toward his chips, then pulled back.

“What do you want?” he muttered.

Jayden sat across from him, calm as stone. “Maps. Patrol routes. Sting setups. Every place the cops plan to crawl. You give it to me, you keep breathing. You don’t…” He tapped the paper once, deliberately. “You’re erased.”

Ibe’s jaw worked. Sweat gleamed on his brow despite the fan whirring overhead. Finally, he exhaled and nodded. “Fine. I’ll get you something. But you don’t understand there are people above me. You squeeze me too hard, they’ll notice. And when they notice, it won’t be me you’ll be fighting.”

Jayden smiled without humor. “Then let them notice.”

Two nights later, Ibe delivered. A folded map in an envelope, sealed with tape, slid under the door of the safehouse while the crew slept.

The Burned Boy woke first, dragged it to Jayden. They spread it across the table under dim lantern light.

Routes. Patrol schedules. Planned sting operations.

The crew leaned over it like vultures over meat. Malikah traced one of the lines with her finger, brow furrowed. “If this is real, we can move our runs without losing another body.”

The Burned Boy grinned. “Looks like the dirty cop paid up.”

But Jayden didn’t smile. Something in his gut twisted. The paper was too neat, too clean. Ibe had folded under pressure too fast.

Amara hovered near the wall, her expression unreadable. Her eyes flicked to Jayden’s once, briefly, like she was waiting for him to say the words aloud.

Jayden stared at the map, smoke curling around his head, and the unease only deepened.

This wasn’t a gift.

It was a trap waiting to snap shut.