Rise of the Street King

Chapter 7 – Into Razor’s Den

The streets felt emptier than usual, though Jayden knew it was a lie. Every shadow carried eyes. Every rooftop had ears. Word traveled fast in the slums, and Razor’s reach stretched farther than anyone wanted to admit.

Jayden kept his hood low, the briefcase clutched tight at his side. His chest burned with every step toward Razor’s territory. Ghost’s words still rang in his skull: Don’t fold. Don’t beg. Take him down.

But how?

Razor wasn’t Musa. Razor wasn’t some alley thug. He was the king of this jungle. A man who had built his throne on corpses, each scar on his face a warning. People whispered that even the police didn’t cross him they worked for him.

Jayden knew walking in was suicide. But so was walking away. Hassan’s blood was the price of hesitation.

At the edge of Razor’s block, two guards stepped out, blocking the narrow path. Both were armed, their tattoos crawling up their necks like vines.

One of them spat. “You Jayden?”

Jayden’s grip on the case tightened. “Yeah.”

The guard smirked, showing a gold tooth. “Boss said you’d come crawling. Empty your pockets. No weapons.”

Jayden raised his arms, letting them pat him down. The crowbar was long gone, tossed in a ditch earlier. He had only his fists—and the case.

“Follow,” the other guard growled, shoving him forward.

The path wound through alleys painted with Razor’s bleeding crown. Every wall screamed his ownership. The deeper they went, the louder the bass of underground music thudded from somewhere ahead.

Finally, they pushed through a metal door into Razor’s den.

The room was a throne of decadence and fear. Neon lights flickered over cracked walls. A haze of smoke choked the air, mixing with the stench of sweat and blood. Dozens of men lounged with guns on their laps, women draped over them like ornaments. Dice clattered, bills exchanged hands, and in the center sat the man himself.

Razor.

His presence drowned the room. He wasn’t tall, but he carried himself with the weight of a storm. His face was a roadmap of scars, his right eye clouded and pale from a blade that had nearly killed him. The other eye, sharp and alive, pinned Jayden like a knife to the throat.

He leaned back in his chair, boots up on the table, cigar smoke curling from his lips.

“Well, well,” Razor drawled, his voice rough but steady. “The street rat who thought he could rob me. And lived to tell about it.”

The room erupted in laughter. Jayden forced his face blank, though his stomach knotted tight.

Razor flicked ash from his cigar. “You got balls, kid. I’ll give you that. But balls don’t keep you alive. Loyalty does. Fear does. And right now…” He snapped his fingers.

Two men dragged Hassan out from the back, dumping him to the floor like garbage. His face was swollen, blood crusting at his lip. His breathing was ragged, but his eyes found Jayden’s, pleading without words.

Jayden’s heart nearly broke in two. He clenched the case tighter to stop himself from rushing forward.

Razor’s scarred smile widened. “Touching, isn’t it? Family. Always the weakness.” He leaned forward, his good eye gleaming. “So here’s your choice, boy. Hand me my case, or watch me carve that old man’s throat slow.”

The room went quiet. Guns shifted, all barrels tilting subtly in Jayden’s direction.

Jayden swallowed the fire in his chest. Every instinct screamed to throw the case at Razor, beg for Hassan’s life. But Ghost’s voice cut through the fog: Power, or weakness.

Jayden raised his chin. “What’s in the case?”

The room stilled. Razor’s smirk faltered.

“You think you can ask me questions in my house?”

Jayden’s voice stayed steady, though his hands trembled. “You already know what I risked to get it. So tell me what’s inside that makes it worth more than his life?” He pointed at Hassan.

The men in the room murmured. Razor’s scar twitched, his good eye narrowing.

Finally, he laughed. A booming, guttural sound that filled the room. “You’ve got a mouth on you. I like that.” He stood, walking slowly toward Jayden, boots thudding against the concrete.

He stopped inches away, the scarred half of his face inches from Jayden’s hood. His breath stank of cigar and rot.

“You want to know what’s inside?” Razor hissed. “It’s leverage. It’s power. It’s the kind of thing that makes even the police crawl on their knees. And you? You’re holding it like you understand. But you don’t. Not yet.”

Razor grabbed Jayden’s chin, forcing him to look into his one good eye. “So here’s the lesson. In my world, family dies first. Then you learn how to live.”

He raised a finger and snapped it.

One of his men yanked Hassan upright, pressing a knife hard against his throat. Blood beaded instantly. Hassan gasped, eyes wide.

Jayden’s body screamed to move, but every gun in the room was aimed at him. He was a single breath from death.

Razor leaned back, grinning. “Now, boy. Show me who you really are. Save him… or keep the case.”

The silence was suffocating. Jayden’s pulse hammered like war drums. He saw Hassan’s lips move. A whisper, barely audible.

“Don’t… give… it.”

Jayden’s eyes burned. His mentor, broken and bleeding, still urging him not to bend.

Razor tilted his head, smiling wider. “Time’s up.”

The knife pressed deeper

Gunfire exploded from outside the den. The walls rattled. Men shouted in panic. Someone stormed the compound, sending bullets through windows. The knife-wielding guard flinched, and Hassan toppled sideways, still alive for now.

Jayden’s chance had just arrived.

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