Page 1 of The Sniper

CHAPTER ONE

REYNA

Five Years Ago

Port of Baltimore, Maryland

The darkness clung to the crumbling warehouse like a living thing, suffocating and absolute. Reyna Marx crouched low behind a rusted metal crate, her heart pounding in her chest as adrenaline surged through her veins. Her comm unit crackled softly in her ear, the voice on the other end a sharp reminder of the precarious situation.

“Reyna, status?” Coop’s voice came through, clipped and calm.

She pressed her hand to the mic at her throat, steadying her breathing. “Still in position. No visual on the target yet.”

The plan had been simple enough—too simple, if she were honest. Cerberus had received intel on a high-value arms dealer with ties to a human trafficking ring. Tonight was supposed to be a clean snatch-and-grab operation, but the moment they stepped into the building, something had felt wrong. Off. The hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle, a warning that made her instincts scream at her to pay attention.

Coop’s voice came again, firmer this time. “Marx, hold your position. We’ll clear the east wing and rendezvous at extraction.”

Reyna glanced at the team moving in on the far side of the building, shadows blending into the darkness. She counted four operatives. Too few. Coop wasn’t expecting resistance, but Reyna wasn’t so sure. The intel had come too easily, handed over by a source with no name and no verifiable history.

“Copy that,” she whispered, forcing herself to focus. Her fingers brushed the hilt of the knife strapped to her thigh, it’s a cool, familiar weight a small comfort. The Glock holstered at her hip was there if she needed it, but she’d learned long ago that the blade was quieter. More personal.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, faint but deliberate. Reyna tensed, scanning the shadows. A figure emerged, tall and broad-shouldered, with a predator’s gait. Not the target. The man was younger, his movements too practiced to be anything other than a hired gun.

“Coop, we’ve got company,” she murmured into the mic. “One armed hostile, southwest quadrant.”

“Engage only if necessary,” Coop replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reyna exhaled slowly, her muscles coiled like a spring. The man was moving closer, his head swiveling as he searched the area. If he saw her, there wouldn’t be time to hesitate. She tightened her grip on the knife, her breath steadying into a rhythm she’d practiced a thousand times. In. Out. Focus.

The man stopped, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor. For one agonizing moment, it felt like the world held its breath. Then he turned, his eyes locking onto hers.

“Shit,” Reyna hissed, surging forward before he could react. The blade flashed in the dim light, slicing cleanly across his arm as he raised his weapon. He grunted in pain, the gun clatteringto the floor, but he didn’t go down. His other hand shot out, catching her wrist in a vise-like grip.

“Who the hell are you?” he snarled, his breath hot against her face.

Reyna twisted, using his momentum against him as she drove her knee into his balls. He staggered, releasing her wrist just long enough for her to deliver a swift kick to his chest. He hit the ground hard, his head cracking against the concrete with a sickening thud.

“Hostile down,” she said into the mic, her voice calm despite the adrenaline flooding her system. She bound the man’s hands with a zip tie before retrieving his gun and ejecting the clip prior to tossing it into the shadows.

“Good work, Marx. Keep moving,” Coop replied.

But something wasn’t right. The man wasn’t working alone—she could feel it. Her pulse quickened as she scanned the area, every shadow a potential threat. She didn’t have to wait long.

The gunfire came without warning, a hail of bullets ripping through the air. Reyna dove behind a stack of crates, her breath coming in sharp gasps as splinters rained down around her. Her comm unit crackled again, but this time it wasn’t Coop’s voice.

“Reyna, fall back! It’s a setup!”

The voice belonged to John Daniels, Cerberus’s FBI liaison. He wasn’t supposed to be on this op, but there he was, his tone laced with urgency.

“Daniels, what the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her heart racing.

“Saving your ass, apparently,” he shot back. “You need to get out of there. Now.”

Reyna gritted her teeth. “I’m not leaving until the target’s secured.”

“He’s not here,” Daniels said, his voice grim. “This was a trap. They’re targeting Cerberus.”

The words hit her like a blow, but she didn’t have time to process them. The gunfire intensified, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder. She peeked out from behind the crates, her mind racing. If it was a trap, they needed to regroup and escape before the enemy pinned them down.

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