Page 33 of The Sniper

Anton was already waiting at the bar, arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

“FBI.” The man’s voice was a gravelly rumble as Daniels approached. “Didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

Daniels leaned against the bar, leveling him with a look. “I need names, Anton. People who have access to the club’s back rooms, security feeds, membership lists—someone’s selling us out.”

Anton sighed, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. “You think I don’t know that?” He nodded toward a side hallway. “Come on. We’ll talk in my office.”

Daniels followed, his gut telling him Anton knew more than he was letting on.

The office was small but efficient, filled with security monitors lining one wall, a filing cabinet in the corner, and adesk that had clearly seen better days. Anton dropped into his chair, pulling up a digital log on one of the screens.

“I started digging after Veda was killed,” he admitted. “Something wasn’t sitting right. I had my IT guy check the records for Southside and The Velvet Glove. We found that someone’s been accessing files they shouldn’t.”

Daniels leaned over his shoulder. “Who?”

Anton huffed, “That’s the thing. They’re good. Covered their tracks. But look here...” He pointed to a line of code. “This was a recent login. Someone pulled a client list from three years ago. Members who’ve had high-profile discretion clauses.”

Daniels felt his pulse pick up. “The kind of people who wouldn’t want their names associated with this place if something went public.”

“Exactly.” Anton turned to face him. “Veda had her own encrypted records. If she was running blackmail, she would’ve had something solid. Someone must’ve thought she was about to use it.”

Daniels absorbed that information, the pieces slotting into place. The killer wasn’t just targeting members of the BDSM community—they were going after those who had something to lose. And now they had a list of names.

“Who’s next?” Daniels asked, his voice deadly calm.

Anton hesitated. “That’s where it gets worse. The last file that was accessed was for someone very specific. A club member known for keeping secrets.”

Daniels straightened. “Who?”

Anton pulled up the file. Daniels stared at the name, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

Sebastian Rowe.

The man was a legend in the BDSM scene, known for his ironclad discretion. He ran an exclusive private club where high-profile members could play the most dangerous games withoutfear of exposure. If someone was trying to tie up loose ends, Sebastian was a loose end they couldn’t afford to leave alive.

Daniels pulled out his phone, dialing Reyna. She picked up on the first ring.

“Tell me you have something,” she said, skipping the pleasantries.

“I do. We need to find Sebastian Rowe. Now.”

There was a pause, then, “Damn it. I just got word he went off the grid two days ago. No one's seen him since.”

Daniels ran a hand through his hair. “He’s already a target. He may have already been located.”

“We’ll find him,” Reyna said, determination in her voice.

Daniels wanted to believe that. But they were running out of time.

Hours later, Daniels stood with Reyna outside Sebastian’s last known location—a penthouse downtown, the kind of place that boasted exclusivity and security. The problem was, security hadn’t done shit to keep whoever was after him at bay.

The door had been forced open.

Reyna looked at him, gun drawn. “I’ll take point.”

Daniels didn’t argue. She was faster, and right now, they needed every advantage.

They slipped inside to the scent of expensive cologne and the sight of overturned furniture. The place had been searched.

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