Chapter 4: Blood in the Water

-A/N(Pls lmk how you feel about this it's my first book)-

The early morning hours were always the quietest in the city—an eerie calm before the storm of activity that would come with the rising sun. But in the safe house, the silence felt oppressive, like the calm before an explosion. D sat at the table, going over the list of people they needed to contact, their names scribbled on a pad of paper. He was trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong.

Malik leaned against the counter, flipping through his phone with practiced disinterest, but D could tell he wasn't fully tuned out. His eyes kept scanning the room, ever-vigilant. There was no doubt that Malik's instincts had been honed by years of surviving the streets, but D couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was about to unfold.

Tone was pacing again, his boots thudding heavily against the floor as he muttered to himself. "We hit 'em hard last night, but it's not enough. Jordan's got people on our tail."

"You think I don't know that?" D snapped, pushing the paper aside. "But we need to be smart. Rush in blindly, and it'll cost us."

Tone shot him a sharp look. "And what about all the people who just saw us walk away from that stash house? You think they're just gonna let it slide?"

"They won't have a choice," Malik interjected smoothly, sliding the phone into his pocket and straightening up. "We take out Jordan's crew one by one. Quiet. Surgical. Then we disappear before they even know we were there."

D looked up at him. "You sure about that?"

Malik didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Trust me. They won't know what hit 'em."

Tone scoffed, shaking his head. "All I'm saying is, we're sitting ducks if we don't make a move now. Jordan's gonna retaliate, and it won't be pretty."

"Tone's right," D said, standing up and grabbing his jacket. "We can't just sit here and wait for him to come to us. But we also can't go charging in without a plan. We'll hit one of their warehouses tonight. And we do it quiet. If anyone's gonna get caught slipping, it won't be us."

Malik nodded in agreement, but there was a darkness in his eyes that D couldn't ignore. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, like a storm gathering on the horizon.

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That night, the streets felt like a trap. Every corner was watched, every shadow felt deeper, and the wind carried the smell of rain—an omen of something bad about to happen. D, Malik, and Tone pulled up to the warehouse in the heart of a dilapidated industrial park. The building was low, squat, and unmarked, the kind of place that looked like it could be empty. But D knew better. Everything about it screamed 'risky.'

They parked a few blocks down, out of sight, and made their way on foot. Malik led the way, silent as a shadow, his eyes scanning every movement. Tone gripped his gun tightly, ready for anything. D felt the familiar weight of his own weapon against his side, but his mind wasn't focused on the fight ahead. It was on the fact that the streets were changing—and not in their favor.

"You know what to do," D whispered, glancing between his two crew members. "We go in quiet. Get in, get out. No mess, no noise."

Malik's lips curled up into a small, almost predatory smile. "Got it."

They reached the back door of the warehouse, and Malik was already working on the lock, quick and efficient. He didn't look up as D and Tone took position beside him, their backs against the cold concrete wall. There was no sound except for the faint scrape of metal against metal.

The lock clicked open. Malik pushed the door open just wide enough to slip inside, the shadows swallowing him whole. D followed next, with Tone bringing up the rear. Inside, the warehouse was dimly lit, the only light coming from a few exposed bulbs that flickered overhead. The air smelled of oil and metal, with a sharp undertone of mildew.

"Stay close," D muttered, as he motioned for Malik to lead the way.

Malik's movements were fluid, graceful even, as he crept deeper into the warehouse. The layout was simple—two main rooms: one for storing supplies, the other for packaging and shipping. They could hit both in one go.

D heard a noise from the second room. A low mutter of voices. It was a small crew, just a few men. Probably a lookout detail for Jordan's operation. They were too distracted to hear the three of them slipping into position, creeping toward the main stash.

Tone raised his gun slightly. "What now?"

"We move fast. Take 'em out, no questions asked," D replied.

Before Tone could respond, Malik was already on the move, his body a blur of motion as he tackled the closest guard to the ground. The man barely had time to react before Malik was on top of him, twisting his neck in a quick, efficient motion that silenced him instantly.

The second guard turned, but D was quicker. In one fluid motion, D pulled his gun and fired, hitting the guard square in the chest. The sound of the shot echoed through the warehouse, but it was quickly muffled by the thick walls.

"Let's go," D said, moving toward the crates of weapons in the corner.

They worked quickly, unloading the stash into bags, the sound of metal clanging against metal a reminder of the dangerous game they were playing. But just as they finished, D's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. It was a text from one of his most trusted men, Amir: *"Tone's been talking to Jordan's crew. We know what you're doing."*

D's heart sank. He hadn't wanted to believe it, but the doubt had been gnawing at him for days. Tone had been acting strange ever since the stash house job. The subtle changes in his behavior, the off-handed comments—it all made sense now.

"Sh**," D muttered under his breath.

"What?" Malik asked, looking up sharply.

Tone was staring at D now, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. "You got a problem?"

D didn't answer immediately. He glanced at Malik, then back at Tone. "You've been talking to Jordan."

Tone's lips curled into a mocking smile. "What? You think I'm some kind of idiot? You think I'd let you run the show forever without making moves of my own?"

The room went deathly silent. Malik took a step back, his eyes narrowing. D's hand rested on the grip of his gun, but he didn't pull it out. Not yet.

Tone took a step forward. "You had your chance, D. But now? You're weak. And I'm done following orders."

D's voice was low, but lethal. "You're not leaving here alive, Tone."

Before Tone could react, Malik was on him, moving faster than D could track. He grabbed Tone by the throat and slammed him against the wall. "You don't get to make threats. Not here."

Tone struggled, but Malik's grip was like iron. D stepped forward, his gun drawn. But as he looked at the man who had been with him from the start, a part of him felt something he hadn't expected—regret.

Tone had been family. But family could betray you.

D nodded slowly. "Make it quick."

Malik didn't hesitate.

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The chapter ends with the quiet aftermath of the betrayal. The weapons secured, Tone's body lying motionless on the cold concrete floor. D and Malik share a long look, the weight of the decision settling in. The streets were getting darker. And D knew there was no turning back now.

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