Rise of the Street King

Chapter 68 — Razor’s Counterplay

The slums woke to smoke.

Vendors stood weeping beside charred stalls, their life savings turned to ash. The gambling den Jayden had opened a careful front for washing money was nothing but smoldering beams. His corners bled fire and fear, whispers saying Razor had risen from the shadows with a vengeance.

Jayden stood at the edge of the ruins, jaw clenched, the smell of burnt wood mixing with something more acrid burnt flesh. A gambler who’d been locked inside hadn’t made it out. The body was still curled in the doorway, skin peeled like paper.

The Burned Boy looked up at him, fists balled. “Boss… he’s playing us. Piece by piece.”

Jayden said nothing. His eyes tracked the smoke climbing into the sky like a signal. Razor wasn’t just attacking his pockets; he was sending a message.

By evening, the message was louder. A truck carrying his tribute collections was ambushed. Three of his men were gunned down, their bodies left sprawled in the dirt with mocking graffiti sprayed over them: “Razor cuts deeper.”

Jayden’s lieutenants crowded the warehouse, fury boiling.

“We can’t let this stand,” one shouted.

“He’s burning us out, boss,” another growled. “Our people are scared. They’re saying you ain’t got answers.”

The Burned Boy’s voice shook, but it carried: “They’re saying maybe Razor is stronger.”

The words landed like a slap.

Jayden leaned on the table, staring at the map. He felt Malikah’s eyes on him, steady but heavy. “What’s your move, Jay?” she asked.

Jayden lifted his head slowly, eyes sharp as broken glass. “We stop him where everyone can see. No whispers. No shadows. Razor wants the streets to believe I’m weak? Then I’ll make them believe in blood...

The plan was brutal in its simplicity. Razor’s captain, a man called Loma, liked to strut through the marketplace like he owned it. He collected tribute in broad daylight, a living reminder of Razor’s reach. Loma was feared, untouchable.

Jayden decided to touch him...

Two days later, the market buzzed with life. Women shouted over vegetables, hawkers pushed cheap watches, and children darted between stalls. And in the middle of it all, Loma sat on a crate, chewing a stick of sugarcane, two guards flanking him.

Jayden moved through the crowd in a hooded jacket, Burned Boy shadowing him. His heart was steady, not racing. He’d made peace with this decision the moment the den burned.

As he closed in, Malikah’s voice crackled softly through the tiny radio in his ear. “Guards are watching the south exit. You have sixty seconds.”

Jayden didn’t answer. He simply moved.

One of Loma’s guards noticed him, straightening, hand drifting toward his weapon. But Jayden was faster. The pistol came out, gleaming in the sun, and the shot cracked loud over the market noise. The guard dropped.

Panic tore the marketplace open. Shouts, screams, bodies scattering like birds.

Loma rose, sugarcane falling from his mouth. “You

Jayden fired again. The bullet punched through Loma’s chest. He stumbled, eyes wide with disbelief, and collapsed over the crate. Blood poured into the dust, soaking the sugarcane at his feet.

The second guard scrambled for his gun, but Burned Boy’s knife flashed and ended him quick.

Silence fell heavy for a moment broken only by the sound of Loma choking on his last breath. And then, the marketplace erupted.

Some screamed in horror. Others… cheered. A few shouted Jayden’s name, fists raised. To some, he was a savior, a lion striking down a jackal. To others, he was a demon who had dragged blood into the heart of their daily lives.

Jayden holstered his gun and stared down at the dying captain. His voice was flat, carrying only for Burned Boy. “Message delivered.”

Then he walked away, the crowd parting around him in fear and awe...

That night, the slums buzzed louder than any market. Jayden’s name spread through alleys, whispered with both reverence and dread. Kids painted his symbol on walls. Mothers spat on the ground, cursing him for bringing death to their stalls.

In the warehouse, his lieutenants celebrated. “We’re untouchable now,” one crowed. “No one will dare cross you.”

But Malikah didn’t smile. She sat in the corner, watching Jayden’s expression stone, unreadable.

“You feel it, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

Jayden looked at her. “Feel what?”

“That line you crossed today.”

He turned away. “Lines only matter to men who can afford them..

By dawn, a package arrived. A small wooden box, left at the warehouse door. Inside: a single photograph.

The picture showed Loma’s corpse in the marketplace, blood still fresh. And across the bottom, scrawled in black ink:

“Under Council protection.”

Jayden’s hand tightened around the photo until it crumpled.

The Burned Boy swallowed hard. “Boss… what does that mean?”

Jayden’s face was shadow, voice cold. “It means the Council’s not just watching. They’re waiting. And now—they’ll come...

Across town, in a candlelit parlor, Mama Nuru placed the same photograph on the Council’s table. Her voice was calm, but her eyes sharp as knives.

“He’s getting bolder,” she murmured. “The boy forgets every king pays tribute, one way or another.”