Page 20 of The Sniper

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice steady.

“I will,” she replied, her voice was barely above a whisper.

The first touch of the wand against her bare arm was like returning to an old friend. A sharp, buzzing sensation danced across her skin, light and teasing, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. She inhaled sharply, her body tensing, but she didn’t pull away.

“Relax,” Daniels murmured, moving the wand in slow, deliberate strokes. “Breathe through it.”

She closed her eyes, focusing on the sound of his voice, on the way his presence filled the room like a steady, grounding force. The sharpness of the wand gave way to a tingling warmth that spread through her body, drawing her deeper into the moment. With each pass of the wand, her muscles softened, her breathing slowed, and the world outside the room faded into nothing.

“That’s it,” Daniels said, his tone low and almost soothing. “Just let go and drift.”

Reyna opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. There was something in his expression—an intensity that went beyond dominance, beyond control. It was care. And it made her chest ache in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

As the wand moved lower, skimming across her collarbone and down her arm, a shiver ran through her. The combination of sensations—the faint sting of the electricity, the warmth of his gaze, the steady rhythm of her own breathing—pulled her into a place she hadn’t allowed herself to go in a long time. A place where she didn’t have to be in control.

Daniels set the wand aside after a while, his hands replacing the electric hum with the steady warmth of his touch. He traced the paths the wand had marked, his fingers light but deliberate. The contrast sent a fresh wave of sensation through her, a reminder of the power he held—and the power she had given him, even if only for this moment.

“You needed this,” he said softly, his voice breaking through the haze that had settled over her. “You needed to let go.”

She didn’t reply, couldn’t find the words to explain the mix of emotions swirling inside her. Instead, she leaned into his touch, letting him guide her back to the present.

When he finally pulled away, the loss of his touch was almost jarring. He stepped back, his gaze never leaving hers as he reached for a nearby chair and pulled it closer.

“Talk to me,” he said, his tone quiet but insistent. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Reyna hesitated, her fingers brushing against the edge of the bench. “I don’t know,” she admitted finally. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

Daniels nodded, as if he already knew. “Too long. It isn’t good for you. You’re not alone. Let me help with the case, with this.”

The mention of the case snapped her back to reality. The killer. Veda. The tangled mess they were trying to unravel. It wasn’t just about her anymore; it never had been.

“We need to move fast,” she said, her voice sharper now. “If they’re targeting people connected to Veda, they won’t stop. We’re running on borrowed time.”

Daniels studied her for a moment before nodding. “We’ll figure it out. But not if you burn yourself out.”

Reyna sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the table away from him, and stood, her posture stiff as she grabbed her corset and thong. She needed to put some distance betweenthem and needed to make sure that distance remained in place. “I don’t need anyone thinking I can’t handle myself. Not you, not Cerberus, not anyone.”

“Reyna,” Daniels said, his voice cutting through her rising anger. He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “We’ve been through this—no one thinks you aren’t capable.”

As she left the dungeon and headed back to the submissives’ lounge, the weight of the case felt heavier than before. The killer was out there, circling closer with every passing moment. And while she hated relying on anyone, Reyna knew she’d need Daniels by her side if they were going to survive whatever was coming.

CHAPTER EIGHT

DANIELS

The call came just after dawn, jolting Daniels from the first real sleep he’d had in days. His phone vibrated against the nightstand, its incessant hum dragging him into the waking world. He answered by instinct, his voice gravelly and sharp.

“Daniels.”

“Another body,” Whitman said, his voice devoid of pleasantries. “Same kind of scene. You’re going to want to get down here.”

Daniels sat up, rubbing a hand over his face as the words sank in. Another body. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, already reaching for the jeans he’d discarded the night before. “Where?”

“An old warehouse in the industrial district. It’s already cordoned off. And Daniels…” Whitman hesitated, his tone dropping. “This one’s worse.”

Daniels’ stomach twisted. He didn’t ask for details—he’d see it soon enough. “I’m on my way.”

By the time he arrived, the sun was creeping over the horizon, casting the industrial district in a muted gray light. The warehouse stood at the end of a long, deserted street, its rustedexterior and broken windows adding to the sense of foreboding. Yellow crime scene tape flapped in the breeze, and the faint hum of voices drifted from inside.

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