Rise of the Street King

Chapter 62 — First Big Kill

The night bled into morning, and the city carried its usual weight of smoke, sirens, and silence where no sound should be. Jayden sat alone in the small backroom of his gambling front, staring at the dying embers in the ashtray. His hands trembled not from fear, not anymore, but from the truth whispering in his bones:

Power demanded blood.

The vendor’s corpse from last night still hung in his head like a warning bell. Whoever had murdered him had scrawled Jayden’s name in crimson. The city wanted a response. Razor wanted him weak. The Council wanted proof he wasn’t just noise. His people wanted protection.

And now, Jayden knew what he had to do.

He closed his eyes, exhaled slow.

The lieutenant.

The bastard in uniform who had been bleeding the block dry for years. He walked through the slums like a king, pocketing bribes, beating vendors who couldn’t pay, feeding Razor information every time Jayden tried to move product. Everybody knew him, everybody feared him.

If Jayden let him breathe, then Jayden’s empire was just smoke. If Jayden killed him, if Jayden executed him then the streets would have no doubt who carried the crown.

The decision sat like iron in his gut...

By noon, Jayden’s crew had gathered in the old warehouse by the canal. The sun filtered through broken glass panes, slicing beams across the concrete floor where men leaned against walls, smoking, waiting. Malikah stood at his right hand, arms folded, gaze sharp. The Burned Boy, now a wiry teen with scars etched deep, hovered at the edges, hungry for violence.

“Word is spreading,” Malikah said. “People are whispering. That vendor’s blood wasn’t just Razor’s message it was a test. If we stay quiet, they’ll eat us alive.”

Jayden nodded. “I know.”

The Burned Boy stepped forward, voice raw. “Then let’s answer. Tonight.”

Jayden studied him, then the circle of faces watching. They were waiting not for his opinion, but his command.

He straightened his shoulders. “We’re done playing. The lieutenant dies. And everyone sees it.”

A ripple moved through the crew. Some grinned, others stiffened. Malikah’s eyes narrowed.

“You sure?” she asked, voice low. “Killing a cop out in the open? That’s not just war, Jayden. That’s history. Once we cross it, there’s no way back.”

He met her gaze. “Good. I don’t want to go back.”

The lieutenant, whose real name was Oduwale but who everyone just called the Vulture, had a routine. He drank at a roadside bar every evening before his night patrol. He’d swagger in with his half-buttoned uniform, pistol flashing at his belt, and collect envelopes from trembling vendors like he was blessing them.

Jayden planned to make that bar his grave...

Night fell heavy. The slums glowed with weak bulbs, neon flickers, and fire barrels burning trash. Jayden walked with four men Malikah, the Burned Boy, and two lieutenants through the narrow alleys until the bar’s yellow light spilled onto the dirt road.

Inside, music cracked from a busted speaker. The Vulture was already there, wide-shouldered, his laugh sharp and cruel as he slapped a vendor across the cheek. Coins scattered on the floor. The room froze when Jayden stepped in.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t pull his gun first. He just walked, slow, like he owned the ground. Malikah shadowed him, eyes cutting the room. The Burned Boy’s hand trembled over the grip of his pistol.

The Vulture sneered when he saw him. “Well, well. Look who decided to crawl out his hole. Jayden Cole, the slum’s little prince.” He spat on the floor. “You got business here?”

Jayden’s jaw clenched. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched.

Then Jayden drew his gun and shot the Vulture in the knee.

The bar erupted screams, overturned chairs, bodies scrambling for cover. The Vulture howled, blood spilling down his leg as he crashed to the floor.

Jayden stepped forward, cold steel aimed between his eyes.

“This block isn’t yours anymore,” Jayden said, voice low but carrying. “You bleed my people again, you breathe my name again, you take one more coin” He leaned in, eyes burning. “Actually, you won’t.”

And then he pulled the trigger.

The shot cracked like thunder. The Vulture’s head snapped back, body crumpling to the ground in a pool of blood. Silence devoured the bar. Every pair of eyes was locked on Jayden the man who had just executed a cop in public.

Jayden stood there, gun still raised, chest heaving. For a second, the world blurred. The weight of what he’d done pressed in, heavy and choking. But he didn’t flinch. He turned to the room, meeting each terrified gaze.

“This is the price,” he said. “Remember it...

They dragged the body into the street. The slum gathered like moths to flame men, women, children pressing in, whispering, gasping.

Jayden let them look. Let them see the badge on the corpse, the uniform stained with blood.

He raised his voice. “No more vultures. No more feeding off us. This is what happens when you sell our streets.”

The Burned Boy, eyes alight with worship, shouted, “Long live Jayden Cole!”

The chant caught like wildfire. Jayden! Jayden! Jayden!

The noise filled the night, raw and dangerous. For the first time, Jayden felt it in his bones not just fear, not just anger. Power.

But as the chants grew louder, his eyes drifted to the body. Blood soaking the dirt. The dead man’s pistol lying useless by his side. And he thought of the family the lieutenant had mentioned once in passing two small kids. A wife. They would see this blood too.

His chest tightened. He shoved the thought down. Power had no room for pity....

By dawn, the photograph circulated.

A black-and-white print slipped under the doors of the Street Council chamber. The lieutenant’s corpse sprawled in the dirt, Jayden’s signature scrawled across the bottom in thick black ink: “Our streets. Our law.”

The Council members stared in silence.

Big Sef licked his lips nervously. Stone grunted low. Kola the Thin twitched so hard he nearly dropped the photo.

Only Mama Nuru kept her face unreadable. She placed the picture on the table, her old fingers pressing it flat.

“He’s made his choice,” she murmured. “Now we see if the city swallows him… or crowns him...

The Council passes the photo from hand to hand. Somewhere in the city, Razor smirks when the news reaches him. And in Jayden’s mind, the sound of gunfire still echoes—mixed with the cries of children he hasn’t met.