Karen stood there, at a loss for words, because she didn't understand what she had just heard.
She didn't know much about gangs or groups. All she knew was that the area she was in was a bad area, the type of place you didn't visit unless you had to. So she had no clue if the men in front of her were strong, or rough enough, or even organised. She had simply thought it might be enough to scare away some thieves.
Because that was still what she thought they were dealing with.
Thieves.
To Karen, crime was numbers on a report, broken glass, a stolen display. It wasn't organised pressure that made CEOs refuse calls and vendors hesitate. That was why this felt wrong. It was quiet, clean, and controlled, like a hand squeezing the store's throat without leaving fingerprints. And the fact these men knew it, meant she was already late.
