Page 6 of The Sniper

“Status?” Reyna whispered into her comm, her voice barely audible over the faint whistling of the wind.

“North perimeter is clear,” came Mitch’s reply, the team’s tech wizard. “No signs of movement on thermal.”

“South’s clear, too,” chimed in Caro, her partner for this mission, who was currently stationed on the far side of the building. “You’re good to plant and bounce.”

Reyna’s breath puffed out in a white cloud as she pressed herself lower to the ground. “Copy that. Moving now.”

Her boots made almost no sound on the pavement as she slipped from her cover and darted toward the side door. The lock was ancient, barely functional, and gave way with a soft click under her skilled hands. Inside, the factory was dark and musty,the air thick with the scent of mildew and rust. She moved quickly, her body flowing through the shadows like a wraith. One by one, she planted the devices in the designated locations, each placement precise and deliberate.

It wasn’t until she was on the last device that the vibration of her phone against her hip startled her. She froze, her pulse quickening as she quickly finished her work and ducked behind a nearby column. Fishing out the phone, she glanced at the screen, irritation prickling at her when she saw the name.

Daniels. The man had piss-poor timing. Of all the times for him to call, it had to be now.

“What do you want?” she hissed, her voice low but laced with annoyance.

“Reyna,” his deep, steady voice cut through the line, bringing with it a heaviness that immediately set her on edge. “We need to talk. Now.”

“I’m in the middle of something,” she snapped, peeking around the column to ensure she was still alone.

“This can’t wait,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s Veda.”

The name hit her like a blow to the chest. Veda wasn’t a friend, but she was someone Reyna knew. She was a well-known Domme within the BDSM community. She was someone Reyna respected in the way you respected another professional in the scene who played hard and clean. Veda didn’t get into trouble, at least not the kind that ended with Daniels calling her like this.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice softening despite herself.

“She’s dead,” Daniels said bluntly. “Murdered. And before you ask, yes, this involves Cerberus. She left a message before she died.”

Reyna leaned back against the column, her stomach churning. “What kind of message?”

“One word,” Daniels replied. “Cerber.Written in her own blood.”

Reyna closed her eyes, the implications crashing over her like a tidal wave. “Damn it,” she muttered. “Where are you?”

“Right outside the Velvet Glove,” he said. “The scene’s already cold, but I need you here. Now.”

“Fine,” she said, pocketing the phone. “But this better not be another one of your overreaches.”

“You’ll see for yourself soon enough,” Daniels replied, his tone cutting off the conversation before she could argue further. The line went dead, and Reyna let out a sharp breath, her mind already shifting gears.

She tapped her comm. “Mitch, Caro, op’s done. We’re pulling out.”

“What?” Caro’s voice crackled in her ear. “We’re supposed to watch for twenty-four hours. That was the whole point.”

“Change of plans,” Reyna said, already heading for the exit. “Get the equipment packed up and meet me at the van. Something serious has happened. I have somewhere else I need to be.”

“Everything okay?” Mitch asked, his usual laid-back tone replaced with concern.

“Not even a little,” Reyna replied before cutting the line. She moved quickly, her body tense as she slipped back out into the cold night. Whatever mess Daniels had stumbled into, it was clear he thought it was her problem, now.

Fifteen minutes later, Reyna pulled her black SUV to a stop outside the chain-link fence blocking the way to the alley beside and the parking lot behind the Velvet Glove. The hulkingstructure of concrete and steel loomed in front of her, stark and lifeless against the dark city skyline. She killed the engine, leaned back in her seat for a second, and took a deep breath. The cold night air seeped in through the cracked window, but it didn’t do much to steady her nerves. She grabbed her bag from the passenger seat, swung the door open, and stepped out, the wind biting against her exposed skin.

Daniels was standing near the entrance, his frame silhouetted by the faint glow of the streetlights. He looked like he belonged there—tall, commanding, the kind of presence that drew attention even when he wasn’t trying. Dressed in his usual dark slacks and tailored coat, he looked every bit the federal agent, rigid authority practically radiating off him. For a second, she thought about turning back. Climbing back into her SUV, driving off, and calling King to deal with whatever mess this might be. But she didn’t. She never did.

She adjusted her leather jacket as she approached, her footsteps purposeful against the pavement. “What the hell happened?” she asked, her voice carrying enough edge to cover the flicker of unease that still churned in her gut.

“Mistress Veda,” he said, his voice even but edged with something darker. “Found dead behind The Velvet Glove. Knife wound. She wroteCerberin her own blood before she died.”

Reyna’s stomach tightened. “Someone’s trying to frame us.”

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