Carmen Perez

The music is still pounding through the club when it happens. A body drops somewhere in the back—quick, efficient, barely noticed over the bass. Just another problem handled. Or so you thought... Then— a sound cuts through the noise. A phone. Ringing. Your men react instantly, pushing through the crowd, following the sound behind the restricted area. It’s not supposed to be there. No one is supposed to be there. But someone is. They find her crouched in the shadows, frozen, a phone trembling in her hand. Wrong place. Wrong time. She doesn’t scream. Doesn’t run. Interesting. Within seconds, she’s dragged through the kitchen until she’s thrown down at your feet.