Page 38 of The Sniper

Seconds later, she was locked and loaded.

She moved to the window, positioning herself just out of sight behind heavy curtains and sighting down onto the scene outside.

Rowe moved through the crowd like he belonged there—because he did. The man had aged well—mid-forties, salt-and-pepper hair, piercing green eyes that missed nothing. He wasn’t a Dom who demanded attention. He was the kind who let power settle around him like a second skin, effortlessly commanding without ever having to raise his voice.

He had that natural confidence, that easy command that made people step aside without realizing why. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he exuded power without ever needing to say a word.

But Reyna knew the man beneath the smooth exterior. She knew the lethal efficiency that lay just beneath the surface, the calculated precision of a predator waiting to strike. And tonight, he was hunting.

Reyna let out her breath slowly, resting her finger lightly against the trigger guard.

Now, she waited. Hidden. Watching. Ready.

It was a carefully orchestrated dance of dominance and submission, silk and steel, pleasure and control. She swept her gaze across the crowd, her pulse steady, her breathing even.

Then, she found him.

Daniels.

She adjusted the sight on her rifle, her fingers moving deftly over the gun. This was where she thrived—in the shadows, unseen, the silent reaper watching over the battlefield. Daniels was the bait, the one moving in close, drawing out the threat. And she was the executioner waiting for the right moment.

Through her scope, she watched him scan the room, searching. She slid the rifle back to site on Rowe. He seemed to be on edge.

Reyna could see it in the tightness of his posture, the way his gaze flickered to the shadows, expecting something—someone.

Daniels had seen it, too. She watched as he made his way toward Rowe, his expression carefully controlled, the perfect mask.

Then she saw the shadows shift. Her muscles coiled. Through the scope, she caught movement—three figures closing in fast.

Shit.

She pressed her comms. “Daniels. Three hostiles, ten o’clock.”

He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

A fourth figure appeared behind Rowe, blending into the crowd so seamlessly that if she hadn’t been watching, she would’ve missed it.

The killer—lithe and lean. It was an ambush. And Daniels was walking right into it.

Reyna breathed out slowly, her trigger finger resting against the guard. She could take the shot, but there were too many bodies, too much risk of collateral damage.

Daniels had to handle this on his own—at least for now.

She watched as he closed the final steps toward Rowe, his body a coiled spring, ready to react. He reached out, a firm grip on Rowe’s arm. Through the comms, she could hear Daniels say, “We need to talk. Now.”

But before Rowe could respond, the three assailants moved.

The first one came in high, reaching for Daniels’ shoulder—bad move.

Daniels pivoted sharply, catching the man’s wrist and twisting until the sickening pop of bone echoed through Reyna’s earpiece. The man barely had time to scream before Daniels drove a brutal punch into his throat, dropping him instantly.

Through the scope, she watched as the second assailant lunged, blade glinting under the fairy lights that had been strung through the bushes.

No time.

Reyna blew her breath out softly, finger tightening on the trigger.

The silenced round hit its mark, a clean shot straight through the attacker’s temple. The man’s body jerked violently before he crumpled, his knife slipping from his fingers and clattering on the ground.

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