Page 2 of The Sniper

“Coop, do you copy?” she said into the mic, but there was no response. Only static.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “Daniels, where’s the rest of the team?”

“Cut off,” he replied. “I’m coming to you. Hold your position.”

“I don’t need you to...”

“Reyna, shut up and listen for once!” Daniels’s voice was sharp, cutting through her protests. “You’re not invincible, no matter how much you want to believe that you are. Just hold tight.”

The comm went silent, leaving Reyna with only the sound of her own breathing and the gunfire in the distance. She hated waiting, hated relying on anyone else, but she had little choice. Daniels was right—she couldn’t take on an entire squad alone.

Minutes felt like hours as she crouched behind the crates, every sound setting her on edge. Finally, Daniels appeared, his movements swift and calculated. Daniels wore tactical gear, his dark eyes scanning the area as he approached.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking to the blood on her sleeve.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied, brushing off the concern.

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave her spoke volumes. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

Reyna hesitated, glancing toward the deeper shadows of the warehouse. “What about Coop?”

“He’s with the rest of the team, and they’ve already moved out,” Daniels said, his tone leaving no room for debate. “This op’s blown. We need to regroup and figure out what the hell’s going on.”

Reluctantly, Reyna nodded, following him as he led the way toward the exit. The tension between them was palpable, their unspoken history hanging heavy in the air. Daniels had always been a sore spot for her—too arrogant, too commanding, too... everything. But in moments like this, she couldn’t deny he had her back. And he had other talents as well.

As they reached the perimeter, an explosion ripped through the building, the force of it knocking them both to the ground. Reyna’s ears rang as debris rained down around them, the world spinning in a chaotic blur.

“Reyna!” Daniels’s voice cut through the haze, his hands gripping her shoulders as he pulled her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her legs felt unsteady beneath her. “What the hell was that?”

“Insurance,” Daniels said grimly. “Whoever set this up wanted to make sure we didn’t leave with anything.”

Reyna clenched her fists, anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. “They played us.”

“Yeah,” he said, his jaw tight. “And they’re not done.”

As they moved away from the burning wreckage, Reyna couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The op had left her shaken, a crack in the armor she worked so hard to maintain. But if whoever had orchestrated this thought they’d broken her, they were in for a rude awakening.

She wasn’t finished.

Three Years Later

Club Southside, Chicago

The air inside the private room at Club Southside was thick with anticipation. The faint hum of ambient music drifted through the walls, a rhythmic undercurrent to the strain that stretched between Reyna and Daniels. She stood in the center of the room, her arms at her sides, her breathing steady, though her heart raced. The soft glow of overhead lighting illuminated the polished hardwood floors, and in the corner, a rack of neatly coiled ropes waited for his hands.

Daniels’ voice cut through the silence, low and commanding. “Take off your robe, Reyna.”

Her pulse quickened. There was no hesitation in his words, only certainty, and that certainty had always unnerved her. She had spent most of her life in control, calculating every move, keeping herself one step ahead of danger. But here, with Daniels, the rules were different. He saw through every facade she wore, stripping her down to the parts of herself she was reluctant to face.

Reyna didn’t say a word; she simply obeyed. She untied the sash of her robe, slipped out of it, folded it neatly and placed it on the bench nearby. The cool air brushed against her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. She wore a simple black sports bra and matching boy shorts beneath, nothing fancy. Daniels never cared for frills. He cared about the truth of things, and tonight, he seemed determined to uncover hers.

“Good,” he said, his tone softer now though no less firm. He approached her with deliberate steps, his presence filling the space between them. “Turn around.”

She complied, her movements fluid. Running her hand through her hair, she turned to face the wall, her shoulders straight, her head held high. Daniels always said posture mattered, even in submission. Especially in submission.

“Arms out,” he instructed, his voice closer now. She raised her arms, holding them out from her sides, feeling exposed but steady.

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