Wrong Turn at Tahoe
Josh Gallagher runs a tight little operation in Reno—small-time muscle, casino shakedowns, nothing flashy. One night, tensions boil over in a dingy motel room off the Strip. He pumps two slugs into Bradley, a slick-talking drug runner who's been shorting him on product and mouthing off like he owns the turf. Blood stains the carpet, Josh wipes his prints, and bolts, figuring it's just another loose end tied off.
What Josh doesn't clock is Bradley's real gig. The guy's not some indie hustler—he's the front man for Duane, the shadowy kingpin who pulls strings from coast to coast, a guy whose name alone clears rooms. Duane's empire spans states, built on fear and flawless supply lines, and Bradley was his golden goose in the Tahoe corridor.
Word hits Duane fast. His lieutenant, a stone-cold enforcer named Mickey, rolls into Reno with a crew, turning the town upside down. Josh holes up in a snowbound cabin off Tahoe's backroads, paranoia gnawing at him as cars creep too slow and strangers linger at gas stations. Betrayals pile up—his own crew flips, old flames sell him out—and suddenly that quick kill spirals into a brutal game of cat and mouse across frozen highways and ghost towns.
Bullets fly in blizzards, double-crosses land like gut punches, and Josh fights tooth and nail to claw his way out before Duane's machine grinds him to dust. One wrong turn at Tahoe, and the whole house of cards comes crashing down.
