Chapter 3: Concrete and Chains

The next day, the air in the safe house was thick with unease. Malik sat at the kitchen table, absently spinning a knife between his fingers, while Tone leaned against the wall, scowling as if the mere sight of Malik irritated him. D stood by the window, peering through the blinds at the quiet street below. He wasn't sure if the silence outside was a blessing or a warning.

"We can't just sit here," Tone growled, breaking the tension. "They think they can run up on us like that? We need to hit back. Now."

D turned from the window, his expression calm but firm. "And hit who, exactly? We don't even know how deep this goes yet."

"Don't need to know," Tone snapped. "We go after their spots. Show 'em we ain't soft."

"Yeah, and then we're in an all-out war," D said. "You think that's good for business?"

"Business don't mean sh** if we're all dead," Tone shot back, his voice rising.

Malik, who had been silent until now, spoke up. "He's right."

Tone blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"We can't go in blind," Malik said, his voice calm but carrying an edge. "They'll expect us to hit back hard and fast. That's how they'd do it. But if we play it smart, take our time, we can hit 'em where it hurts."

D nodded slowly, his gaze steady on Malik. "You got something in mind?"

Malik leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Jordan's crew has a stash house near Greenline. Not their main one, but it's where they keep their weapons. Take that, and they're scrambling. Plus, we can send a message without it being a full-on bloodbath."

Tone frowned. "And how exactly do you know where their stash house is?"

Malik shrugged. "I pay attention. Unlike some people."

"Alright, enough," D said, cutting off the brewing argument. He crossed the room, sitting across from Malik. "You sure about this spot?"

Malik nodded. "Yeah. They won't see it coming."

"Fine," D said. "We'll check it out tonight. Low profile. Just me, you, and Tone."

Tone opened his mouth to protest, but D gave him a look that shut him up.

---

Later that night, the three of them rolled up on the stash house in an old, beat-up sedan. The house was a nondescript two-story building with boarded-up windows, blending in perfectly with the rest of the run-down block. Malik had been right—it didn't look like much, but D knew better than to trust appearances.

"Alright," D said, his voice low as they crouched behind a parked car a block away. "We go in quiet. Take what we can, then get out. No hero sh**."

"Got it," Malik said, already moving toward the house.

Tone lingered for a second, giving D a pointed look. "You really trust him?"

D hesitated. "Not yet. But I trust myself."

Tone didn't look convinced but followed anyway.

Malik led the way, moving with surprising stealth for someone who looked like he belonged in a brawl. He slipped through a broken section of the backyard fence, his movements fluid and practiced. D followed close behind, with Tone bringing up the rear, his hand resting on the grip of his gun.

The back door was locked, but Malik pulled a set of picks from his pocket, working the lock with ease. Within seconds, the door clicked open.

"Where'd you learn that?" D whispered.

Malik smirked. "You'd be surprised what you pick up on the streets."

Inside, the house was dark and musty, the air thick with the scent of old wood and stale smoke. Malik motioned for them to stay close as he crept through the narrow hallway, his eyes scanning for any signs of movement.

In the living room, they found what they were looking for: a cache of guns and ammunition piled in crates near the corner.

"Damn," Tone muttered, his skepticism melting away. "Kid wasn't lying."

"Grab what you can," D said, his voice low.

They worked quickly, stuffing weapons into duffel bags. But just as they were finishing up, Malik froze, his head snapping toward the front of the house.

"Someone's coming," he hissed.

D tensed, motioning for Tone to take cover. Footsteps echoed on the porch, followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock.

"Sh**," D muttered.

Malik didn't wait. He grabbed one of the duffel bags and slipped into the shadows, motioning for D and Tone to do the same. A second later, the front door swung open, and two men walked in, talking in low voices.

"—told you Jordan's gonna want this moved by tomorrow," one of them said.

"Yeah, yeah," the other replied. "We'll get it done. Just need—"

The man stopped mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the half-empty crates.

"What the—"

Before he could finish, Malik stepped out of the shadows, moving fast. He slammed the butt of his gun into the first man's head, dropping him instantly, then turned on the second man, shoving him against the wall.

"Don't move," Malik growled, his voice cold and steady.

D and Tone emerged from their hiding spots, guns drawn.

"Who else knows about this place?" D demanded, stepping closer.

The man stammered, his eyes darting between them. "N-no one. I swear."

"You lying?" Tone snarled, raising his gun.

"Stop," Malik said sharply. "We don't need to kill him."

Tone hesitated, then lowered his weapon, though his grip was still tight.

"Get out of here," D said to the man, his voice icy. "And tell Jordan we're just getting started."

The man didn't need to be told twice. He bolted out the door, stumbling into the night.

"Let's go," D said, grabbing the remaining duffel bag.

As they slipped out the back, D couldn't help but glance at Malik. The kid was calm, collected, and efficient—too good at this for someone who claimed to be new to the game. But D kept his thoughts to himself. For now.

---

The chapter ends with the three of them driving away, the stolen weapons in the trunk. In the rearview mirror, Malik catches D's gaze, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Still think you can't trust me?" Malik asks.

D doesn't answer, but something tells him this is only the beginning.