Rise of the Street King

Chapter 6 – Razor’s Warning

Jayden sat frozen in the dirt lot, the glow of the phone screen burning his eyes. Hassan’s face stared back at him swollen, bloody, barely conscious. The spray-painted bleeding crown behind him left no doubt. Razor had him.

Jayden’s chest tightened. His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped the phone. He wanted to scream, to smash the screen against the wall, but his body wouldn’t move.

He had risked his life. He had bled for this briefcase. And now… now it was bait on a hook.

The phone buzzed again. Another message.

You’ve got one hour. Bring the case. Alone. Or we cut his throat.

Jayden’s mind raced. Ghost’s warning echoed in his head: This world doesn’t forgive mistakes. If he gave Razor the case, he’d look weak. Ghost would abandon him. But if he kept it… Hassan would die because of him.

His fists clenched until his knuckles cracked. “Damn it,” he whispered, voice trembling.

A noise snapped him back footsteps crunching on gravel. Jayden spun around, crowbar in hand, ready to swing.

But it was Ghost.

The hooded man stepped out of the shadows like he’d always been there. His voice was low, almost amused. “Well. You made it out alive.”

Jayden’s blood boiled. He shoved the phone in Ghost’s face. “They’ve got Hassan. Razor wants the case.”

Ghost studied the photo, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he chuckled.

“You’re surprised?”

Jayden blinked. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Ghost said, circling him like a wolf, “you walked into Razor’s den, took his property, and thought he wouldn’t bite back? This is the game, boy. Every move has a price. And your price is that old man.”

Jayden’s stomach churned. He wanted to swing the crowbar at Ghost’s skull. “He’s not part of this. Hassan has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost stopped, eyes gleaming from beneath the hood. “Everyone’s part of it. You think loyalty keeps people safe? Loyalty is just another leash. Razor knows you care, so he’s pulling it. If you fold now, you’ll always be someone’s dog.”

Jayden’s throat tightened. “So what, I just let him die?”

Ghost shrugged. “You make a choice. The case, or the man. Power, or weakness.”

The words stabbed deeper than any blade. Jayden thought of Hassan teaching him to throw his first punch, fixing his busted shoes, patching him up after every fight. Hassan was the closest thing to a father he ever had.

But the case whatever was inside — was his ticket out of the gutter. Ghost’s path to power.

Jayden’s heart thundered. He looked Ghost dead in the eye. “You don’t understand. Hassan is family.”

Ghost’s smirk vanished. For the first time, his voice turned cold. “Family doesn’t survive out here. Only killers do.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Jayden gripped the briefcase so tight the handle dug into his palm. His mind screamed to run to Razor, to trade it, to save Hassan. But his gut twisted, knowing the cost. Razor would never respect him. He’d mark him as weak. Easy prey.

And Ghost… Ghost would kill him himself.

“Time’s ticking,” Ghost murmured, tapping his wrist as though a watch were there. “What’s it gonna be, boy? Keep your leash, or cut it?”

Jayden’s phone buzzed again. Another photo. This time, Hassan’s head was pulled back, a knife pressed against his throat.

The caption read: Thirty minutes left.

Jayden’s breath caught in his chest. His vision blurred with rage and fear.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to tear the world apart. Instead, he lowered the crowbar, his voice barely a whisper.

“…I’ll get him back.”

Ghost tilted his head. “By giving up the case?”

Jayden’s jaw locked. “No. By taking Razor down.”

Ghost paused, then grinned slowly, teeth glinting in the dark. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

He stepped closer, pressing a cold hand to Jayden’s shoulder. “Then prove it. Don’t beg. Don’t fold. You’ve got thirty minutes to figure out how to walk into Razor’s den and walk out with your old man alive. Do it, and maybe you’re worth the dirt under my boots.”

Jayden looked down at the briefcase, then back at the phone. Hassan’s life hung by a thread. And the only way to save him… was to step into hell itself.

The phone buzzed one last time. A live video feed started playing. Hassan, tied up, Razor himself stepping into frame his face scarred, his eyes like fire.

Razor leaned toward the camera, lips curling into a smile.

“Tick-tock, boy. I’m waiting.”

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