When Grayson walked through the doors of the Street Deacons, he wasn’t received with opened arms.
They tested him in a warehouse with their best and most vicious.
Yet, he beat them mercilessly..
Kade stood in the shadows and watched his old friend move; fluid, merciless, untouchable.
By dawn, the crew was split, half looked at him with reverence.
The other half, with fear.
Alliances reconsidered and enemies circled.
A war was coming
“Say less,” Kade replied.
Then led him out, cutting through the alleyways until they reached a rundown, graffiti-covered building.
The front looked abandoned, but the moment Kade knocked twice, the reinforced steel door buzzed open.
Inside, the air wreaked of gun oil, burnt metal, and stale blunt smoke.
Workbenches were cluttered with half-assembled firearms, tools scattered among weapon parts, magazines, and customized attachments.
Blueprints were taped to the walls, diagrams of modified pieces and experimental builds.
It was a mechanic’s garage for killers.
At the center of it all stood Switch, a lanky, sharp-eyed man with dark brown skin and locs pulled back into a loose ponytail.
A bust down Cuban link hung around his neck and his fingers were smudged with gun grease as he worked on a modified AR.
He barely looked up when they entered. “The fuck y’all need?”
Grayson did not answer at first.
His gaze swept the room, taking in the arsenal before him.
Then his eyes landed on a gun that excited him like a fat kid in a candy shop.
A GGC 40 millimeter Glock-style pistol.
It was unmistakable.
The frame, the ergonomic grip, the distinct slide serrations.
It was one of his designs.
But instead of the sleek, tactical precision he had built it for, it had been ghetto-rigged beyond recognition.
The rail was misaligned, the extended magazine was loose, and someone had slapped an unnecessary laser sight onto it that threw off the balance.
Grayson stepped forward, picking it up.
His thumb ran over the engraved insignia, his family’s legacy.
And now it was here, sitting in this glorified chop shop, butchered.
He scoffed. “This some real sloppy work.”
Switch’s hands froze mid-movement.
His head turned slowly, dark eyes locking onto Grayson with something dangerously close to offense.
“The fuck you just say?”
Grayson turned the pistol over in his hands, inspecting the trigger pull, then dropped the magazine with a casual flick of his wrist.
“Whoever did this was not thinking. The weight is all wrong, the sight is trash, and the mod work looks like it was done by the blind with a glue gun.”
Then the scrape of a stool against concrete as Switch stood up.
“Nigga, you in my shop, talkin’ like you a gunsmith? I been buildin’ weapons before you was even a thought.”
Grayson exhaled, unbothered. “And yet, somehow, you still put out bullshit.”
Kade sighed, stepping between them before things escalated. “Aight, aight, both y’all chill the fuck out.”
He turned to Grayson, nodding toward the tables stacked with weapons.
“Just pick what you need, man.”
Grayson held Switch’s glare for a moment longer, then set the Gats pistol down with a smirk.
He walked the length of the table, running his fingers along the displayed firearms.
Then, one by one, he picked his tools: a custom AR, a shotgun, and the Glock.
Without a word, he sat at the nearest workbench, cracking open the AR first.
The moment his hands touched the weapon, he snapped into his usual form.
The room watched as he moved, swift and methodical, like a surgeon working on his most delicate patient.
He broke down each gun, laying out the pieces with meticulous care, and then began his adjustments.
His fingers moved with a craftsman’s precision, picking through Switch’s inventory of modifications and selecting only what was necessary.
He realigned barrels, fine-tuned trigger sensitivity, and reinforced grips for better handling.
Switch watched, arms crossed and jaw tight.
He hated to admit it, but the man knew what he was doing.
Finally, Grayson moved to The Saint’s Wrath.
The gold-plated sniper rifle gleamed under the dim light as he broke it down piece by piece.
He cleaned the inner mechanisms, polished the barrel, and recalibrated the recoil system.
With practiced precision he snapped the final piece back into place, looked down the sights once more, checked the balance, and sat it back on its mount.
Switch exhaled, shaking his head, impressed but irritated. “Aight, nigga, I see you,” he muttered.
Grayson just smirked.
He was not trying to prove himself, but he had.
He packed everything into a duffel bag, securing each weapon before standing up.
Kade watched him, eyes sharp. “You really back, huh?”
Grayson slung the bag over his shoulder. “It looks like it.”
Kade’s phone rang.
He picked it up, leaned against a makeshift counter, one hand gripping his phone, his expression darkening with every second that passed.
Moe’s voice came through the other end, low but urgent. “One of the corner boys seen somethin’. Cartel envoy, headed straight for us.”
Kade exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “How many cars?”
“Three black sports utility vehicles, dark tint,” Moe said. “The nigga that spotted them said he saw at least six bodies between them. And one of them might be Hector.”
That made Kade’s jaw flex.
Hector Mendosa, the right hand of the Cartel’s Chicago operation.
If he was coming here personally, it was not going to be a courtesy call.
“Aight,” Kade muttered. “Lock it down. Make sure the youngins stay inside. I will handle this.”
He ended the call, stuffing his phone into his pocket before turning toward Grayson. “You stay here. Don’t move.”
Grayson just stared at him, unblinking, his silence stretching long enough for Kade to sigh.
“N*gga. I am serious. Stay in here with Switch. I do not need you starting a block war near my shit.”
Grayson watched as Kade pulled his jacket tighter and stepped out into the humid night, but staying put was never an option.
The moment Kade was gone, Grayson moved.
“Well, well, well, looks like our revenge tour is beginning to get some traction,” Takhar taunts Grayson.
His body melted into the dimly lit corridors of the trap, his breath slow and measured as he activated Shadow’s Embrace.
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