Rise of the Street King

Chapter 60 — Burn & Bury

Jayden didn’t sleep the night the map came in. While the crew took turns speculating half eager to test it, half afraid it was only him and Amara who sat quiet, both listening to the silence like it carried answers. The lantern burned low, shadows stretching against the walls of the safehouse, until finally Jayden exhaled through his teeth.

“This stinks,” he said flatly. “Too neat. Too fast. He didn’t even try to stall.”

Malikah frowned, arms crossed. “You wanted maps. You got maps. If you think it’s bait, then toss it.”

Jayden tapped the paper. “No. Bait cuts both ways. If they think they’ve set a trap, then we set a deeper one. Razor’s people are bleeding us at the edges, and the Council’s hand is somewhere on his shoulder. This map…” His voice hardened. “We burn him with it.”

The Burned Boy leaned forward, eyes bright. “So we move?”

Jayden shook his head. “Not yet. We pretend to move. I want whispers on every corner that we’re pulling back from sector six. Make it look like we’re scared of heat. Razor will come sniffing, greedy. That’s when we bury him.”

A grin split the boy’s scarred face. Malikah’s lips curved, slow and dangerous. Even Amara’s eyes glinted, though she stayed pressed to the wall.

The decision was made.

By dawn, the alleys buzzed with rumor. Street kids muttered about Jayden abandoning his routes, vendors whispered that his men were clearing out. The young lieutenants Duke, Short K, Nessa, Timo played their parts well, pulling bodies from corners, letting Razor’s scouts see them leave. Fear was the act, and the city drank it up.

Razor’s ears would twitch. They always did.

On the third night, Jayden put the plan into motion.

He assembled a lean strike team: Malikah, the Burned Boy, Nessa, and two of the new lieutenants. Amara, too, though her role was to stay at the rear, eyes sharp for double-crosses.

The rest of the crew spread noise elsewhere, making Razor think the retreat was total.

Jayden’s team moved under cover of midnight smoke, slipping through the back alleys toward the supposed “safe” patrol route marked on Ibe’s map. Their breaths fogged in the cool night, boots crunching gravel. The city felt alive, watching them.

They reached the intersection near the old train yard—a dead zone on the map, supposedly unwatched. Jayden crouched behind a rusted container, scanning. His instincts screamed.

Then it happened.

Figures slid from the shadows, too many, too fast. Razor’s men. At least a dozen, armed with pipes and pistols, moving in tight formation.

The trap had been sprung.

Jayden smirked grimly. “Right on time.”

He snapped his fingers.

From the rooftops above, Nessa’s crew opened fire with homemade launchers glass bottles packed with fuel and nails. Fire erupted, shadows dancing orange across the rusted yard. Panic tore through Razor’s men as two dropped screaming, their bodies lit.

The Burned Boy charged, machete gleaming, cutting through the confusion. Malikah moved with cold precision, putting bullets where they needed to go.

Jayden dove into the fray, knife flashing, striking fast at hamstrings and wrists. He fought not like a brawler, but like a surgeon small cuts, decisive blows. Razor’s men buckled under the ambush.

Within minutes, the tide turned.

Four lay dead, six scattered, three captured tied and dragged behind containers. Jayden stood over them, chest heaving, smoke curling around his head.

He crouched, blade tapping one captive’s chin. “You thought you were hunting? You were fed. Now talk.”

The prisoner spat blood, but Malikah’s pistol cracked beside his ear, deafening him. Fear loosened his tongue.

“Razor… Razor said you’d be here. Said the map would draw you.” He coughed. “We were told to hit fast, take your head if we could, and run if not.”

Jayden’s eyes narrowed. “Told by who?”

The man hesitated. Malikah pressed steel to his temple.

He swallowed. “An envelope came with the order. Razor said it was from above. From… from people he can’t refuse.”

Jayden’s gaze sharpened. “Where’s the envelope?”

The man shuddered. “He said keep it hidden… one of us… in the boot.”

Jayden grabbed the nearest prisoner, ripped the boot from his foot, and shook it.

An envelope tumbled free, creased and damp with sweat.

Jayden’s hand stilled. He knelt, tore it open.

Inside was a single card, pressed with a wax seal thick, official, unmistakable.

The mark of the Street Council.

Beneath it, scrawled in sharp black ink, four words:

“Keep him busy.”

The world seemed to narrow around Jayden. His pulse thundered. It wasn’t just Razor. It wasn’t just dirty cops. The Council the same power that fed and starved whole districts was moving against him.

Malikah saw it too. Her face tightened. “They’re playing us. The Council wants you occupied, distracted. While they move the real pieces.”

Amara’s voice, quiet from the shadows: “This is bigger than Razor.”

Jayden closed his fist around the envelope, crushing it. The wax cracked under his grip, sharp against his skin.

He looked at his crew bloody, battered, but alive and the truth settled heavy.

Every fight, every scheme, every corner he clawed from Razor was just the surface.

The real war was waiting in the smoke above.

And the Council had just declared it.