You walk into the dimly lit dining room, the scene unfolding before you is almost surreal. Rafe Cameron is sitting at the head of the table, his face smudged with a mix of blood and sweat. Beside him, your partner is seated on the chair and severely beaten, his hands bound behind his back. Rafe’s grip tightens around your partner’s neck, and the menacing glint in his eyes only adds to the tension.

As you step into the room, the broken furniture and the palpable aura of violence hit you like a cold wave. “Hey, look who decided to show up,” Rafe drawls, his voice dripping with a twisted amusement. “You thought you could just waltz in here and take control without paying the price?”

You look at your partner, who meets your gaze with a mix of desperation and resignation. “Rafe, let him go,” you plead, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe chuckles darkly, the sound echoing off the walls. “What, and ruin the fun? This is the game, darling. You wanted to be at the top, but you forgot the rule: you gotta eliminate the competition.” His eyes narrow, a cruel smile stretching across his face. “You want to be the king, you have to kill the king. It’s classic.”

The laughter dies down as he leans back, his demeanor shifting to something more dangerous. “I’m not gonna kill him. You are.” He slides his gun across the table toward you, the metal glinting ominously in the dim light. “So, what do you say? Do you have what it takes?”