Page 8 of The Sniper

“Fine,” she said finally, her voice tight. “But if you’re going to stick your nose in, you’re going to follow my lead.”

Daniels raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady. “Your lead?”

“Yes,” she said, turning back to him with fire in her eyes. “This is still my turf, Daniels.”

“No, Reyna, it’s not. You want to work together? Then you play by my rules.”

She ground her teeth, but didn’t argue. The silence that followed was thick with tension. After a long moment, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if she’d just given him a migraine. “Look, I’m not here to step on Cerberus’s toes,” he said finally. “But if this killer is targeting those in the lifestyle, or Cerberus—or worse, if it’s someone on the inside—you’re going to need more than just your team to deal with it.”

Reyna hesitated, the weight of his words settling in her chest. He wasn’t wrong. She hated that he wasn’t wrong. Finally, she nodded, her expression reluctant. “Fine. But this stays quiet. No Bureau brass, no press, no leaks.”

“Agreed,” Daniels said, his tone steady.

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, the intensity in his dark eyes sending a ripple of something she refused to name through her chest. Finally, she turned back to the wall, the victim’s final act still screaming for answers neither of them had.

“What do you have so far?” Reyna asked, stepping up beside the body.

“Not a whole lot. Initial thoughts?”

“Veda didn’t play often at Southside. She wasn’t a member, but she knew people who were, and she knew others who played with guest privileges. She’d been in the scene a long time, long enough to know the risks of playing with the wrong people.”

Daniels nodded, his expression hardening as he studied the scrawled message. “AndCerber? What do you make of that?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Reyna said, her voice tight. “But it has to be some kind of warning. Veda was trying to tell us something. You don’t spend the last moments of your life and use your own blood to write something unless it’s important. My guess it’ssomething or someone tied to us, and they’re not afraid to make it messy.”

Daniels glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “Then we’d better figure out who it is and what they want before they strike again.”

She traced her gloved fingers over the jagged letters spellingCerbersending a chill down her spine. Veda’s message was crude, desperate—a plea scratched out in her final moments. Reyna’s mind churned with possibilities, her instincts screaming that this wasn’t just some random act of violence. Whoever had done it was sending a specific message.

“Why here?” she muttered, more to herself than to Daniels, who stood a few feet behind her, his presence as steady as the shadows around them.

“It’s relatively isolated—most regulars go through the front door,” Daniels said, his deep voice carrying through the cold air. “It’s quiet. Easy to control. If I were looking to send a message without attracting attention, this would be the place.”

She turned, her gaze meeting his. His dark eyes were sharp, assessing, but there was something else there, something deeper that he rarely let show. Concern? No, it was more complicated than that. It always was with him.

The way he said it, low and calm, made her chest tighten. She hated that about him—the way he could make her feel things she didn’t want to feel, like sympathy, connection, or worse, understanding. It was easier to keep her walls up when he wasn’t around, but now, in the dim light of the alley, with the smell of blood and death still lingering in the air, those walls felt more like glass.

“Reyna,” Daniels said, pulling her from her thoughts. “Look at me.”

She didn’t want to. She wanted to keep her focus on the case, on the task in front of them. But his voice had that edge, thatquiet command that always made her pause. Slowly, reluctantly, she lifted her gaze to meet his.

“I’m fine,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “Let’s get back to the case.”

Daniels studied her for a moment, his gaze lingering, before he nodded. “The evidence bag’s over here,” he said, gesturing to a nearby van.

Reyna followed him, her boots echoing softly against the concrete. On the shelf was a sealed bag, the contents clearly visible: a black leather collar, pristine and unmarked, as if it had been placed deliberately beside the victim’s body.

She stared at it, her stomach twisting. “That’s not hers.”

“I know,” Daniels said. “Mistress Veda didn’t wear collars. She was a Domme.”

“We know that, but did the killer?” Reyna said, her mind racing.

Daniels nodded. Reyna reached out, her gloved fingers brushing against the edge of the bag. The collar was simple but unmistakably symbolic, its message clear to anyone in the scene. Submission. Control. Ownership.

“This wasn’t just a murder,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Daniels stepped closer, his presence solid and grounding. “What do you see, Reyna?”

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