I swerved into the compound, the hum of my engine echoing through the quiet night. I parked my car, the lights flickering out, and reached under the seat for my gun. I didn’t have time to waste. I stepped out, eyes scanning the area. The guards nodded, keeping their distance.
The building above ground was nothing special—a quiet, unremarkable café with vintage décor. But beneath that, hidden away by a locked door and accessed through a narrow staircase, was a whole other world.
I made my way downstairs to the cellar, where the low, pulsing beat of music greeted me. The place was a nightclub for criminals—polished obsidian bar, dim lighting, arched brick walls, leather booths for privacy, and a dance floor full of bodies lost in the rhythm. Security screens flashed with live footage of t
