Urban Hood Novels & Stories

The sky was high, a cobalt blue stained with a hint of neon purple; the air was so dry it felt ready to ignite. I pulled my hoodie low, dragging my 20-inch carry-on through the terminal, vanishing into the crowd like a droplet of water hitting the sand and instantly evaporating. The Uber I’d booked dropped me at a grayish-pink single-story apartment on the edge of Henderson. The wrought-iron sign was rusty, but it perfectly blocked the blinding neon from the casino across the street.

And one last piece of advice, I think its best if you stopped being errand boys " I added and continued on my way. Hudson was the son of one of the alphas Kurt Cobain conquered their clan and brought them together with ours. Even though we are one city but the clans still existed and are ruled by different Alphas, during any disputes each alpha provides the city with their best warriors and they all join hands to fight their enemies. Hudson was from the Riverside clan and the alpha in line to succeed his father, but he was no good as he formed a gang and chased after girls, he was dubbed the 'bad-boy' of Great lake high. And now he has always been trying to get me on his side, but I guess hi

"Same time tomorrow?" "If the roof doesn't collapse." She wiped down the bar with a rag that smelled of bleach and old beer. "You know how landlord Thursdays go." The Rotted Oak was a dive, the kind of place where the floorboards creaked, the neon sign flickered, and the clientele had more scars than teeth. It sat on the border between Verance City's human district and the shifter underbelly, it was a grey zone where everyone pretended not to notice claws under gloves or eyes that glowed in the dark.

The rookie blushed but continued, “Sir, I think we need more officers in Odton, not in Gulden.” Ted Baines yawned, “That's your two cents, boy. You see, Gulden is home to the rich citizens, who donate generously to our department. The mayor wants us to keep them safe. Meanwhile, Odton is filled with criminals and other such lowlives. Did you know that there are more than a hundred gangs in that block alone? Why do you think Odton is also called Ganghaven, a name they relish? We generally leave them alone because the gangs fight and destroy each other, making our work easier. It's the way of things around here, and that's not going to change any time soon. Understood?”

“Come.” Hilda took her to a boutique. Keondra happily looked around. “This is amazing!” “Should've taken you to the mall in Kraxuris.” “This is fine too.” “Yeah, but everything is better, and bigger in Kraxuris.” Hilda picked out a black hoodie. “This is nice.” “It looks just like my shirt.” “It's called a hoodie.” “What is a hoodie?” Keondra took it from her. “It's longer than mine.”

I send a second copy to Ilya using the burner phone. I dash out of my apartment and onto the streets. Away from the block of fancy apartments and into the slums of New York. The hoodie over my head shields my face as I walk through the streets. The city is still loud and bustling. My hands are stuffed deep in the pockets of my hoodie, gripping the burner phone tightly. After a long while of walking, I finally round the corner into a block full of homeless people. Fires burn in metal bins, crackling and sending sparks into the air.

He was the easy scapegoat, had been since he showed up on his uncle's doorstep. Time to face the music. Luke approached the front door of the large home. Uncle Johann could afford to move into one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in the city, live in luxury, and yet he chose to remain here. The men who'd been his neighbors back in the eighties when he'd bought the house were Uncle Johann's underbosses, each running their own crew and jobs. They practically owned the whole neighborhood. Their wives all played Bunko together, and it was widely considered one of the safest neighborhoods in Johannesburg. Because who was going to fuck with Johann Nodorf?

"Come alone. And Adrian?" "Yeah?" "Bring your signature. We have business to discuss." The line went dead. An hour later, we stood outside a converted warehouse in Brooklyn. Red Hook was a neighborhood that had been gentrified just enough to be expensive but not enough to be safe—perfect for someone like Julian Thorne. The warehouse was huge and industrial, the kind of place where tech startups went to play at being edgy. Adrian pressed the buzzer. "Enter," a voice said through the intercom.

"They entered the hood a few minutes ago. Destroyed another mall and some properties in the hood as well." I gritted my teeth as I rose and put my legs down, earning a addition to my dizziness and a movement on the bed too. "We caught quite a number of 'em but you know how relentless them Marcel's boys are," he said as I rested my eyes on the IV catheter inserted in my wrist and connected to the empty IV drip. "Some ran to the abandoned underground car park at Winfield and you know today begins the hood's racing season." he reminded me. Fucking morons.

The sunrise over Oakhaven was a cold, artificial gold, filtered through the massive weather-control grids that kept our city in a state of perpetual, controlled pleasantness. Today was Selection Day. Usually, the city would be filled with the sound of music, celebrations, and families gathered around their screens, waiting for the results that would determine who would ascend to the Towers and who would descend into the mines. But today, the air felt thick, heavy with the electricity of a storm that hadn't broken yet.