Chapter 5 - King of the Concrete
Final months of sentence
The gym's pumping with bass, 50 Cent's voice cutting through the concrete walls like a razor blade.
Got a temper, nigga, go 'head, lose your head
Turn your back on me, get clapped and lose your legs
I walk around, gun on my waist, chip on my shoulder
'Til I bust a clip in your face, pussy, this beef ain't over
Many men
Many, many, many, many men
Wish death 'pon me
Lord, I don't cry no more
Don't look to the sky no more
Have mercy on me
Have mercy on my soul
Somewhere my heart turned cold
Have mercy on many men
Many, many, many, many men
Wish death 'pon me
Sunny days wouldn't be special if it wasn't for rain
Joy wouldn't feel so good if it wasn't for pain
Death gotta be easy, 'cause life is hard
It'll leave you physically, mentally, and emotionally scarred
This is for my niggas on the block twistin' trees in cigars
For the niggas on lock doin' life behind bars
I don't say, "Only God can judge me," 'cause I see things clear
Crooked-ass crackers will give my Black ass a hundred years
I'm like Paulie in
GoodFellas
, you can call me the Don
Like Malcolm by any means with my gun in my palm
Slim switched sides on me, let niggas ride on me
I thought we was cool, why you want me to die, homie? (Homie)
Many men
Many, many, many, many men
Wish death 'pon me
Lord, I don't cry no more
Don't look to the sky no more
Have mercy on me
Have mercy on my soul
Somewhere my heart turned cold
Have mercy on many men
Many, many, many, many men
Wish death 'pon me
I'm pushing iron to the rhythm, feeling that raw energy flow through my muscles. 50 cent got shot nine times and came back harder than ever—that's some real street legend shit right there.
Ethan's been out for two weeks now, probably back in his suburban paradise pretending this place never existed. Kid called one last time before his release, thanked me for keeping him breathing. His pops sent word through the lawyer that he appreciated what we did. Good people, the Millers. Hope the kid learned something useful in here.
"You been playing this shit on repeat for weeks, Cross," Jamie says, spotting me on the bench. "Don't tell me the famous White Menace got a celebrity crush."
I rack the weight, laughing. "Man's the hottest thing on the streets right now. You hear that flow? That raw shit? 50 survived nine bullets and came back swinging harder than before. That's some inspiration right there."
Jamie nods, understanding. "Yeah, there's something about his story. Dude's been through hell and came out the other side."
The music's still thumping when I notice movement in my peripheral vision. Trey Washington and his crew rolling up, that fat fuck wearing his trademark gold-tooth grin. Been looking for an excuse to put his hands on me ever since the Ethan situation.
"Yo, Cross," Trey calls out, voice dripping with fake friendliness. "I see you bumping that 50 Cent. Didn't know white boys was into listening to snitches."
The gym goes quiet except for 50 still spitting bars from the speakers. Every head turns our way, sensing the shift in temperature.I sit up slow, towel around my neck, keeping my voice level.
"Trey, what you want? Come to ask for protection from Cruz's boys again?"
That hits where it hurts. Trey's been catching heat from Marco Cruz's crew—small in numbers but backed heavy by Latin Kings through Marco's uncle. Been making Trey look weak in front of his own soldiers.
Trey's smile falters for a split second. "You wanna be funny, white boy?"
"Don't need to try, nigga. Comes natural.,"
The racial slur hangs in the air like smoke. Every brother in the room knows what just happened—white boy just called a black man "nigga" in front of his crew. Can't let that slide, not even from someone with my reputation.Trey's grin comes back, but his eyes go cold.
"Alright, funny white boy. You listen to snitches and act like a snitch. We gonna see what you really about."
He turns to leave, but the damage is done. Rico's already moving toward them, fists clenched, ready to throw down right here.
"Cool it, Rico," I tell him, catching his arm. "Let that fat fuck walk. We'll handle this proper tonight."
Rico and Devon both nod, understanding the code. Some disrespect you can laugh off. This ain't that.
"Jamie," I call out as Trey's crew disappears around the corner. "Talk to the guards. Set up a meeting with the other crews. Time to settle this shit once and for all."
Jamie nods and heads off to handle business. Everyone in the gym knows what's coming—been building to this for months.Word spreads through juvie faster than a grease fire.
By evening, the entire facility's buzzing with anticipation. Guards been paid off, supervisors looking the other way, and the yard's been cleared for what everyone's calling the "settling of accounts."
This ain't just about disrespect anymore. It's about who runs this concrete jungle—me or Trey. Winner takes all, loser gets to explain to his crew why they're now taking orders from somebody else.The makeshift arena is just a circle of bodies in the darkness behind the rec building. No lights except what spills from the windows, no referee except mutual destruction. Both crews face off across twenty feet of cracked asphalt, enough bad blood to fill an ocean.No words get exchanged—we all know what this is about.
The first punch comes from one of Trey's boys catching Devon in the jaw. After that, it's pure chaos.Bodies flying, blood spattering concrete, the sound of bones breaking echoing off the walls.
I catch sight of Trey through the mayhem, his massive frame bulldozing through my smaller soldiers. Time to remind this fat fuck why they call me the White Menace.
I weave through the brawl, dodging a wild swing from some Crip wannabe, and plant my shoulder in Trey's midsection. We go down hard, rolling across the asphalt, throwing hands like our lives depend on it. Because in here, they probably do.
Trey's bigger, stronger, but I'm faster and meaner. I slip his haymaker and drive three quick shots into his ribs, feeling something crack under my knuckles. He grunts, grabs my shirt, tries to slam my head into the concrete.I twist away, come up behind him, wrap my arm around his thick neck in a chokehold. "You done yet, fat boy?"
He bucks like a wild horse, trying to throw me off, but I ride him down to the ground. His crew's watching their leader get dominated by someone half his size, and the fight starts going out of them.By the time the dust settles, the yard looks like a war zone. Broken noses, split lips, at least three boys with arms bent the wrong way. The medical staff's gonna have a field day with this mess.
But there's no question who won. Trey's unconscious, face swollen like a balloon, and his crew's looking at me like I just walked on water. In juvie politics, might makes right, and I just proved I got more might than anyone else in this place.
Two days later
The warden's office smells like cheap coffee and disappointment. Me, Trey, and about six other ringleaders sitting in plastic chairs, waiting to hear our fate. The medical report reads like a casualty list from a small war—fractured ribs, broken noses, concussions, enough stitches to make a quilt.
"This is the worst violence we've seen in this facility in three years," Warden Mitchell says, shuffling through papers with disgust. "Somebody could have died."
Nobody says anything. What's the point? We all knew the risks going in."The state wants to transfer the lot of you to adult facilities. Make examples out of you." He pauses, letting that sink in. "But that would require paperwork, investigations, media attention. Things this facility prefers to avoid."
Here comes the deal."Two months additional detention for the primary instigators. Thirty days for everyone else. You keep your mouths shut about how this was allowed to happen, and you serve your time quietly. Cause any more problems, and I'll personally make sure you're tried as adults for assault and battery."
Two more months. Could be worse—could be two more years in adult prison.As we file out of his office, Trey catches my eye. The fight's beaten some sense into him, and he nods once—respect where it's due. His crew falls in line behind mine in the hallway, natural as breathing.From now on, there's only one king in this concrete jungle.And everybody knows his name.
To be continued...