Chapter Three: Trouble in the Trenches
The air felt heavy in Eastpoint that night. The kind of heavy that came before rain… or something worse.
CJ and the crew—Charles, Lulu, Tico, and James—were headed back from a corner session near the bridge. They'd been working on CJ's final verse, hyped from the freestyle he dropped walking Shantel home the day before.
But as they passed the faded mural near the abandoned matatu stage, Charles suddenly stopped.
"Don't look now," he said low. "But Blaze and his crew are posted up."
CJ turned his head slightly. There they were—Blaze, Kevy, Lanks, and Milo, all dressed in dark hoodies, leaning on bikes like they owned the block.
"Tch," Lulu muttered. "What are they even doing this side?"
Tico pulled his hood up. "They're baiting us."
"They know about the battle," James said. "Blaze wants to shake you up."
CJ clenched his fists. He wasn't about to back down.
They tried to walk past without drama. But Blaze wasn't having it.
"Well, well," Blaze called out. "If it ain't little Cee-Jay and the nursery rhyme gang."
His boys laughed.
CJ stopped. Turned around slowly. "You scared, Blaze? Is that why you're out here flexing in front of murals instead of mics?"
Blaze stepped forward. "You talk big. But you don't run these streets, rookie."
Charles moved up beside CJ. "Neither do you, bro. We're just trying to pass."
Blaze's smile dropped. "You think this is just about rhymes? You come at me in front of people, you embarrass me—I end that noise. Understand?"
Lanks pulled something shiny from his waistband. Not a gun, but a heavy padlock wrapped in a sock—a classic hood weapon. Street-style.
Tico reached into his bag, fingers brushing over a rusted metal bar they kept for nights like this.
"CJ," Lulu warned. "We're outnumbered."
CJ's heart thudded in his chest. He could walk away. Shantel would want him to. His mom definitely would. But his pride screamed louder.
"Then let's even the numbers," CJ said.
He picked up a loose rock from the roadside.
It happened fast. Blaze shoved Charles. Lanks swung the sock. Tico blocked it with the metal bar, sparks flying. James tackled Kevy to the ground. Lulu was yelling—words mixed with fists.
CJ found himself face to face with Blaze. No beats. No bars. Just fists.
Blaze lunged, but CJ dodged. Years of street football had taught him quick feet. He threw a punch, caught Blaze on the jaw. The older boy stumbled.
Then, tires screeched. A boda-boda flashed its lights.
"Oi!" the rider yelled. "Police patrol coming!"
Everyone scattered. CJ ran hard, lungs burning, heart thumping, blood buzzing like bass in his ears.
They regrouped behind Mama Shiru's closed shop, panting, bruised, alive.
"Y'all good?" CJ asked.
Charles wiped blood from his lip. "Still breathing."
Lulu clutched her shoulder. "Next time, we bring backup. Or bars."
They laughed weakly, tension still thick in the air.
CJ stared into the dark. Blaze wouldn't forget this.
This wasn't just a rap battle anymore.
This was war.