Page 12 of The Sniper

Reyna moved deeper into the club, her gaze flitting over the crowd. She recognized a few faces—players in the Chicago BDSM scene she’d seen at Club Southside or at private events—but none who would stand out as useful. It wasn’t until she reached the bar that she spotted her first lead.

A man in his mid-forties sat alone, nursing a tumbler of scotch. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, and his tailored suit screamed money and influence. He had the kind of presence that made people step aside when he walked into a room. His name was Alan Porter, and she knew he was a regular on the club scene. More importantly, he’d been close to Veda.

Reyna slid onto the barstool next to him, her posture relaxed but her senses on high alert. “Rough night?” she asked, her voice light but tinged with curiosity.

Porter turned to her, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly before his lips curved into a faint smile. “Not rough, just... evocative of reflection.”

“Funny,” Reyna said, signaling the bartender. “You don’t look like the reflective type.”

“And you don’t look like you belong here,” he countered, his tone carrying just enough edge to put her on notice.

Reyna met his gaze, refusing to back down. “First time,” she admitted with a shrug. “Trying to figure out if this is my scene.”

Porter studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

“I’m curious,” Reyna said, leaning in slightly. “About the place, the people, the... dynamics. Heard there was someone here who could show me the ropes, so to speak.”

He chuckled, a low, dry sound. “If you mean about being Domme, you mean Veda, but if you mean being a submissive, there are training classes.”

Her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression neutral. “Veda. Yeah. Someone mentioned her name.”

“Well, she’s not here anymore,” Porter said, his tone turning cold. “And I’d advise you not to go digging into her business. It’s a good way to make enemies—Veda wasn’t always popular with people.”

Reyna tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Enemies? I thought this was supposed to be a community.”

“It is,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “But communities have their... disputes. Veda got herself caught up in something she shouldn’t have. Now she’s gone, and I suggest you tread carefully.”

Reyna’s mind raced, parsing his words for clues. Porter wasn’t just reminiscing—he was warning her. Whatever internal feud Veda had been involved in, it had clearly run deeper than she’d realized.

“Good advice,” she said, her tone light. “Thanks.”

Porter didn’t reply, but the way his gaze lingered on her as she slid off the stool sent a chill down her spine. She moved back into the crowd, her pulse quickening. Porter knew more than hewas letting on but pushing him further tonight would raise too many red flags.

As she made her way toward one of the club’s shadowed alcoves, she froze. Across the room, partially obscured by the crowd, was a face she hadn’t seen in years. A face she’d never expected to see again.

Julius Fowler.

Her breath caught, her mind reeling. Julius had been a Cerberus operative once, part of her team before he’d gone dark. He’d walked away after a mission in Venezuela had gone sideways, disappearing without a trace. Seeing him here, in the middle of this chaos, sent alarm bells screaming through her brain.

Julius was leaning against the wall, his stance casual but his eyes sharp as they scanned the room. He hadn’t spotted her yet, and shouldn’t recognize her with disguise, but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. He wasn’t there to play. He was hunting.

Reyna slipped into the shadows, her pulse pounding. Julius Fowler was a ghost from her past, one she’d hoped she’d never have to deal with again. If he was tied to Veda’s murder—or worse, to the message left for Cerberus—things were about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over Daniels’ number. She hated calling him, hated the way his voice always seemed to cut through her defenses, but this wasn’t something she could ignore. Julius wasn’t just a piece of the puzzle—he was a bomb waiting to explode.

But if she sent an encoded text, the message would be more secure than speaking with him in an unsecure space. Reyna began sending a message.

We’ve got a problem

her gaze flicking back to where Julius had been. He had disappeared into the crowd.

Define problem

Julius Fowler is here. If I know Julius, he’s up to something.

Stay there. I’m coming to you.

Reyna slipped her phone back into her clutch as her mind raced. Julius Fowler wasn’t just a ghost from her past—he was the kind of problem that could destroy everything.

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