Chapter 5: Blood Runs Deep

The morning after Tone's betrayal felt like a weight had been placed on D's chest. The air in the safe house was still, suffocating. Malik sat in the corner, sharpening his blade, the rhythmic scrape of metal against stone a constant reminder of what had happened the night before. D leaned against the counter, staring down at the floor, his mind replaying the moments in the warehouse when he'd had to make the call.

Malik had done what needed to be done, but D wasn't sure if he could say the same about himself. Tone had been family. They'd built this empire together, fought tooth and nail for every inch of ground they'd gained. But now, all that loyalty had been shredded in a single night.

D's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a knock at the door. He moved quickly, not taking any chances. Whoever was knocking, they weren't here for tea.

"Who is it?" D called through the door, his hand resting on the grip of his gun.

"Me," came the low, familiar voice of Amir.

D relaxed slightly and opened the door. Amir stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room before landing on D. "Word's getting out, D. Jordan's not happy."

"Did you expect him to be?" D replied, his voice flat.

Amir's gaze flicked to the empty space where Tone used to sit. "What happened?"

"Tone betrayed us," D said quietly, his jaw tightening. "He was working with Jordan the whole time. That stash house wasn't just a target—it was a trap."

Amir nodded grimly. "I heard. Look, I know you two were tight, but you did the right thing. The streets don't care about loyalty anymore. It's all about survival. And now Jordan's gunning for us. He's got his sights set on you, D."

D's fists clenched, the anger that had been simmering inside him threatening to boil over. "Jordan's been playing us for too long. It's time we took control. We finish this, or he finishes us."

Malik finally spoke from his corner, his voice calm but carrying a certain chill. "We hit him where it hurts. You know how this works, D. He won't stop until we bleed. So, we make sure it's him, not us, running out of blood."

D turned to Malik, his eyes narrowing. "You got a plan?"

Malik's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Of course I do. I've got eyes all over the city. Jordan's been moving his people around. He's consolidating power, making his next move. We're gonna take his biggest ally off the board—right where he thinks he's safest."

"And where's that?" D asked, intrigued despite himself.

Malik's smirk grew. "The old docks. The ones no one's supposed to be at anymore. If we hit his distribution network there, we cripple his supply chain. He'll have no choice but to come after us. And when he does, we'll be waiting."

D ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the decision pressing down on him. "You sure about this?"

Malik nodded, his eyes locking with D's. "The streets are a game, D. If you don't play it right, you die. But if you're willing to get your hands dirty, you can take the throne."

D thought about it for a moment. They'd been through so much, but it felt like the stakes had just been raised to a whole new level. Betrayal, blood, and now the looming threat of Jordan. There was no going back.

"Alright," D said, his voice cold and resolute. "We do it. Tonight."

---

The night felt like a void, the streets emptier than usual, as if the city itself was holding its breath. D, Malik, and Amir stood in the shadows near the docks, the sound of the water lapping against the worn wooden piers echoing in the distance. The stench of salt and decay hung in the air, the perfect place to disappear if things went wrong. But they couldn't afford mistakes tonight.

The docks were dimly lit, the old streetlights flickering sporadically, casting long, crooked shadows. The silence felt heavy, as if every creaking floorboard or scuff of a shoe was a warning.

"Where's the shipment coming in?" D asked, his eyes scanning the area.

Malik was already on the move, his movements calculated and silent. "It'll be here in about ten minutes. We hit them before they have a chance to unload. Then we grab whatever we can and burn the rest."

"Sounds simple enough," Amir muttered, adjusting his grip on the rifle slung over his shoulder. "But you know Jordan's people won't just roll over."

"They don't have a choice," Malik replied, glancing back at them. "Once we take their stash, they won't be able to recover fast enough to retaliate. They'll be running scared."

D's eyes were cold, calculating as he surveyed the layout of the docks. There was no room for error. This was the moment when everything could either fall apart or come together.

Ten minutes later, they were in position, hidden behind stacks of crates, waiting for the shipment to arrive. The faint sound of an engine hummed in the distance, growing louder as a van pulled up near the loading dock. Several men in dark clothing jumped out, their hands moving quickly to unload the shipment.

D held his breath. Malik gave the signal.

Without a word, they moved in. Malik took the first two men with surgical precision, his hands moving faster than D could track. He was a shadow—silent, lethal, and efficient. Amir took the next two, his rifle cracking through the silence as he dropped them one by one. D moved in last, sweeping the area, making sure no one else was coming.

The men were fast, but Malik was faster. They were on the ground before they even had a chance to react.

"Clear," Malik muttered, motioning for D and Amir to move in.

D quickly scanned the crates, his eyes catching the familiar markings—illegal weapons, cash, and drugs. The kinds of things that had built empires and broken men.

"We hit them where it hurts," D said. "Burn it all."

As they set fire to the warehouse, watching the flames lick the sky, D couldn't shake the feeling that Jordan was watching, that the storm they'd been bracing for had only just begun. But for now, the docks were theirs.

---

Later that night, as they made their way back to the safe house, D felt the weight of the night settle around him. He'd made his move. Now, there was no turning back.

Malik walked beside him, his expression unreadable. "You did good tonight, D."

"Yeah," D replied, his voice low. "But the real fight's still ahead."

Malik's gaze shifted to the horizon, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "It always is."

As they reached the safe house, the reality of what they'd just done settled in. Jordan wouldn't let this go. He'd come for them. But they were ready. At least, D hoped they were.

---

The chapter ends with D staring into the night, the city stretching before him, full of opportunity and danger. There was no going back now. Blood had been spilled. The real war was only just beginning.