The pub sat just a few kilometers away, tucked beside a giant, ancient tree. From the outside, it looked calm—almost too calm—but inside, it was a completely different world. The place pulsed with life.
They watched as the pub came alive under the night's spell. The atmosphere was electric—lively, loud, and overflowing with energy. Men in sharp outfit and women in bold, eye-catching outfits streamed in and out, laughter trailing behind them. Some gathered in dim corners, whispering secrets over drinks, while others staggered toward their cars, clearly having had more than enough alcohol for the night.
Flashes of reddish-blue lights danced across the walls and reflected off glossy tables and polished glasses, adding a wild, almost hypnotic glow to the scene. It was Friday night—the kind that swallowed worries whole—and everyone inside seemed completely lost in the thrill of it.
Outside, the air was cooler, quieter—but not for long.
Diego sat still in the Lamborghini, the engine humming softly beneath him. The interior lighting cast a faint glow across his face as he leaned back in his seat, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel. His expression was unreadable, calm but calculating.
The two guys seated behind him exchanged uneasy glances, their confusion written all over their faces. They didn't understand why they were here—or what Diego was planning.
Diego finally broke the silence, his voice low and controlled.
"Boss…" Ryan's voice trailed off, uncertain.
Diego didn't answer immediately. Instead, he shot a quick glance at the two dark-skinned guys standing behind them and gave a slight nod.
He, stepped forward reaching into a large nylon bag and shoving it to them.
"Weed?" Dave asked, scratching his head, clearly confused.
Diego let out a low, irritated breath. "Y'all ask too many unnecessary questions," he muttered, his tone sharp as a blade.
The words shut them up instantly.
He leaned back slightly, his gaze hard and calculating. "These are my clients," he added.
The two men didn't hesitate. They moved forward, dressed in plain red T-shirts and matching face caps pulled low over their eyes. One of them stepped closer and stretched out his hand.
Ryan scoffed, shaking his head. "That's a whole lot for a deal like this," he said, his voice laced with doubt.
Diego cut in, calm but firm. "We know what it costs. Just bring the money and deliver the stuff to them."
There was something in his tone—something final—that made it clear there was no room for argument.
The two guys exchanged a quick glance, then nodded without another word.
Dave, however, wasn't convinced. He shook his head slowly, his expression already showing his dissatisfaction. Something about the whole situation didn't sit right with him—and he knew it.
And deep down, they all did.Dave couldn't shake the feeling.
Something about the whole deal didn't sit right with him. It wasn't just the money or the setup—it was deeper than that. A quiet, nagging instinct he couldn't explain, but couldn't ignore either.
They stepped back into the club, the noise hitting them instantly—music blasting, people moving, lights flashing. Their eyes scanned the room, searching through the crowd for the two men their boss had been talking about.
But they were nowhere in sight.
Dave leaned slightly toward Ryan and gave him a subtle look. Ryan understood immediately.
"Let's check inside," Dave muttered.
Ryan nodded, gripping the nylon bag tightly—the one filled with weed—as they pushed their way through the crowd and headed toward the inner section of the club.
The hallway leading to the private rooms was quieter, dimly lit, with the bass from the music thumping through the walls. They walked carefully, their footsteps slower now, more cautious, until they finally reached a door marked Room 1.
Ryan raised his hand and knocked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
For a second, nothing happened. Then the door creaked open.
A tall figure stood in the doorway, his face partially hidden by the low lighting. He looked them over briefly before stepping aside to let them in.He also wore a red shirt and matching red cap just like the other man who sat on the bed.
Inside, the air was thick—heavy with smoke and something stronger.
A guy sat on the bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. There was white powder spread out in front of him, and he sniffed it casually like it was nothing.
Ryan paused for a split second.
The man lifted his head, his eyes slightly red but sharp enough. He smirked.
"Yo… what's up, guys?" he said, his voice slow and relaxed.
Ryan didn't waste time. He stepped forward and dropped the bag on the floor with a dull thud.
"The stuff's here," he said flatly.
The older man in a red outfit glanced down at the bag, his eyes narrowing slightly. He crouched,untied it slowly, as the faint smell of weed escaped into the already smoky room.
He reached in, pulling out a small wrap and inspecting it carefully.
Dave stood back, arms slightly tense, watching everything. His uneasiness hadn't gone away—in fact, it was getting worse.
Something about the pub wasn't right.
And he was starting to realize they might already be too deep in it.
The man leaned back slightly, still inhaling the substance like it was second nature. He wiped his nose and looked up at them, eyes half-lidded but sharp underneath.
"Nice job…" he said slowly. "So, how much we talkin' about here?"
Ryan shrugged, unfazed. "Boss already told you. You know the price."
The man let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Aw, come on, man… that's way too expensive."
Dave stepped forward, his patience already thinning. "We're not here to argue about price," he said firmly, setting the bag down with more force this time. "You either pay, or we walk."
For a brief second, the room went quiet.
Then—
Gunshots.
Loud. Sudden. Violent.
The sound tore through the building, followed by the sharp clatter of bullets hitting the bare floor somewhere outside. Voices immediately rose—shouting, screaming—people scrambling in panic.
"Yo, what the—?" Ryan turned toward the door.
More gunshots echoed, closer this time. Heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway, mixed with frantic yelling.
Chaos had broken loose.
"We gotta get outta here, now!" Dave snapped.
Without waiting for a response, he rushed toward the window, yanking the curtain aside. His eyes scanned outside quickly, calculating.
"We can't use the door," he said sharply. "We try that, we're getting caught or shotfor sure."
Ryan hesitated for half a second, then nodded, adrenaline already kicking in.
Behind them, the man in red looked just as tense now, whatever calm he had earlier completely gone.
The situation had changed.
And fast.
Outside the room, the noise only kept getting worse.
Inside, they had seconds to decide—
Or risk not making it out at all.
"Move!" Dave snapped, his voice cutting through the chaos.
The gunshots outside were getting louder, closer—too close. Whoever was out there, they weren't playing around.
"It could be street crews… could be cops," Ryan muttered, his voice tight. "Either way, we don't stick around to find out."
Dave nodded. "Yeah. We get out. Now."
Behind them, the men hurriedly tossed bundles of cash onto the table, hands moving fast, careless under pressure. The deal was no longer the priority—survival was.
Ryan didn't hesitate. He grabbed a thick stack of dollar bills, stuffing it into his pocket, while Dave snatched up a heavy figurine sitting on the table.
Without warning—
CRASH!
Dave swung it hard against the window. The glass shattered instantly, pieces scattering across the floor as cold night air rushed into the room.
"Go!" he shouted.
Ryan climbed through first, landing roughly outside. Dave followed right after, not even looking back.
They didn't stop.
Feet hitting the ground, adrenaline pumping, they took off into the darkness—running fast, weaving through the shadows, leaving the noise, the gunshots, and the chaos behind them.
Neither of them said a word.
They just ran.
Because whatever was happening back there…
They didn't plan for it
And they were lucky to have gotten out alive.