Page 1 of The Sniper (Club Southside #9)

CHAPTER ONE

REYNA

F ive Years Ago

Port of Baltimore, Maryland

The darkness clung to the crumbling warehouse like a living thing, suffocating and absolute. Reyna Marx crouched low behind a rusted metal crate, her heart pounding in her chest as adrenaline surged through her veins. Her comm unit crackled softly in her ear, the voice on the other end a sharp reminder of the precarious situation.

“Reyna, status?” Coop’s voice came through, clipped and calm.

She pressed her hand to the mic at her throat, steadying her breathing. “Still in position. No visual on the target yet.”

The plan had been simple enough—too simple, if she were honest. Cerberus had received intel on a high-value arms dealer with ties to a human trafficking ring. Tonight was supposed to be a clean snatch-and-grab operation, but the moment they stepped into the building, something had felt wrong. Off. The hairs on the back of her neck began to tingle, a warning that made her instincts scream at her to pay attention.

Coop’s voice came again, firmer this time. “Marx, hold your position. We’ll clear the east wing and rendezvous at extraction.”

Reyna glanced at the team moving in on the far side of the building, shadows blending into the darkness. She counted four operatives. Too few. Coop wasn’t expecting resistance, but Reyna wasn’t so sure. The intel had come too easily, handed over by a source with no name and no verifiable history.

“Copy that,” she whispered, forcing herself to focus. Her fingers brushed the hilt of the knife strapped to her thigh, it’s a cool, familiar weight a small comfort. The Glock holstered at her hip was there if she needed it, but she’d learned long ago that the blade was quieter. More personal.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space, faint but deliberate. Reyna tensed, scanning the shadows. A figure emerged, tall and broad-shouldered, with a predator’s gait. Not the target. The man was younger, his movements too practiced to be anything other than a hired gun.

“Coop, we’ve got company,” she murmured into the mic. “One armed hostile, southwest quadrant.”

“Engage only if necessary,” Coop replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Reyna exhaled slowly, her muscles coiled like a spring. The man was moving closer, his head swiveling as he searched the area. If he saw her, there wouldn’t be time to hesitate. She tightened her grip on the knife, her breath steadying into a rhythm she’d practiced a thousand times. In. Out. Focus.

The man stopped, his boots scuffing against the concrete floor. For one agonizing moment, it felt like the world held its breath. Then he turned, his eyes locking onto hers.

“Shit,” Reyna hissed, surging forward before he could react. The blade flashed in the dim light, slicing cleanly across his arm as he raised his weapon. He grunted in pain, the gun clattering to the floor, but he didn’t go down. His other hand shot out, catching her wrist in a vise-like grip.

“Who the hell are you?” he snarled, his breath hot against her face.

Reyna twisted, using his momentum against him as she drove her knee into his balls. He staggered, releasing her wrist just long enough for her to deliver a swift kick to his chest. He hit the ground hard, his head cracking against the concrete with a sickening thud.

“Hostile down,” she said into the mic, her voice calm despite the adrenaline flooding her system. She bound the man’s hands with a zip tie before retrieving his gun and ejecting the clip prior to tossing it into the shadows.

“Good work, Marx. Keep moving,” Coop replied.

But something wasn’t right. The man wasn’t working alone—she could feel it. Her pulse quickened as she scanned the area, every shadow a potential threat. She didn’t have to wait long.

The gunfire came without warning, a hail of bullets ripping through the air. Reyna dove behind a stack of crates, her breath coming in sharp gasps as splinters rained down around her. Her comm unit crackled again, but this time it wasn’t Coop’s voice.

“Reyna, fall back! It’s a setup!”

The voice belonged to John Daniels, Cerberus’s FBI liaison. He wasn’t supposed to be on this op, but there he was, his tone laced with urgency.

“Daniels, what the hell are you doing here?” she snapped, her heart racing.

“Saving your ass, apparently,” he shot back. “You need to get out of there. Now.”

Reyna gritted her teeth. “I’m not leaving until the target’s secured.”

“He’s not here,” Daniels said, his voice grim. “This was a trap. They’re targeting Cerberus.”

The words hit her like a blow, but she didn’t have time to process them. The gunfire intensified, the air thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder. She peeked out from behind the crates, her mind racing. If it was a trap, they needed to regroup and escape before the enemy pinned them down.

“Coop, do you copy?” she said into the mic, but there was no response. Only static.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “Daniels, where’s the rest of the team?”

“Cut off,” he replied. “I’m coming to you. Hold your position.”

“I don’t need you to...”

“Reyna, shut up and listen for once!” Daniels’s voice was sharp, cutting through her protests. “You’re not invincible, no matter how much you want to believe that you are. Just hold tight.”

The comm went silent, leaving Reyna with only the sound of her own breathing and the gunfire in the distance. She hated waiting, hated relying on anyone else, but she had little choice. Daniels was right—she couldn’t take on an entire squad alone.

Minutes felt like hours as she crouched behind the crates, every sound setting her on edge. Finally, Daniels appeared, his movements swift and calculated. Daniels wore tactical gear, his dark eyes scanning the area as he approached.

“You okay?” he asked, his gaze flicking to the blood on her sleeve.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she replied, brushing off the concern.

He didn’t argue, but the look he gave her spoke volumes. “Come on. We’re getting out of here.”

Reyna hesitated, glancing toward the deeper shadows of the warehouse. “What about Coop?”

“He’s with the rest of the team, and they’ve already moved out,” Daniels said, his tone leaving no room for debate. “This op’s blown. We need to regroup and figure out what the hell’s going on.”

Reluctantly, Reyna nodded, following him as he led the way toward the exit. The tension between them was palpable, their unspoken history hanging heavy in the air. Daniels had always been a sore spot for her—too arrogant, too commanding, too... everything. But in moments like this, she couldn’t deny he had her back. And he had other talents as well.

As they reached the perimeter, an explosion ripped through the building, the force of it knocking them both to the ground. Reyna’s ears rang as debris rained down around them, the world spinning in a chaotic blur.

“Reyna!” Daniels’s voice cut through the haze, his hands gripping her shoulders as he pulled her to her feet. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her legs felt unsteady beneath her. “What the hell was that?”

“Insurance,” Daniels said grimly. “Whoever set this up wanted to make sure we didn’t leave with anything.”

Reyna clenched her fists, anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. “They played us.”

“Yeah,” he said, his jaw tight. “And they’re not done.”

As they moved away from the burning wreckage, Reyna couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The op had left her shaken, a crack in the armor she worked so hard to maintain. But if whoever had orchestrated this thought they’d broken her, they were in for a rude awakening.

She wasn’t finished.

Three Years Later

Club Southside, Chicago

The air inside the private room at Club Southside was thick with anticipation. The faint hum of ambient music drifted through the walls, a rhythmic undercurrent to the strain that stretched between Reyna and Daniels. She stood in the center of the room, her arms at her sides, her breathing steady, though her heart raced. The soft glow of overhead lighting illuminated the polished hardwood floors, and in the corner, a rack of neatly coiled ropes waited for his hands.

Daniels’ voice cut through the silence, low and commanding. “Take off your robe, Reyna.”

Her pulse quickened. There was no hesitation in his words, only certainty, and that certainty had always unnerved her. She had spent most of her life in control, calculating every move, keeping herself one step ahead of danger. But here, with Daniels, the rules were different. He saw through every facade she wore, stripping her down to the parts of herself she was reluctant to face.

Reyna didn’t say a word; she simply obeyed. She untied the sash of her robe, slipped out of it, folded it neatly and placed it on the bench nearby. The cool air brushed against her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms. She wore a simple black sports bra and matching boy shorts beneath, nothing fancy. Daniels never cared for frills. He cared about the truth of things, and tonight, he seemed determined to uncover hers.

“Good,” he said, his tone softer now though no less firm. He approached her with deliberate steps, his presence filling the space between them. “Turn around.”

She complied, her movements fluid. Running her hand through her hair, she turned to face the wall, her shoulders straight, her head held high. Daniels always said posture mattered, even in submission. Especially in submission.

“Arms out,” he instructed, his voice closer now. She raised her arms, holding them out from her sides, feeling exposed but steady.

Daniels came into her line of vision, a coil of vibrant red rope in his hands. It was smooth, the kind that glided across the skin without biting too deeply unless he wanted it to. He paused in front of her, his eyes meeting hers. Dark and steady, they held her gaze, speaking words he didn’t need to say aloud.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

Her breath caught. He had asked her that question once before, years ago, in an entirely different context. Back then, she had lied, nodding without truly meaning it. Tonight, there was no room for deception.

“Yes,” she said, and the word felt heavier than she expected.

Daniels nodded once, satisfied. “Good. Then let go.”

He began with her wrists, his hands sure and precise as he worked the rope. The strands slid against her skin, soft but firm, as he wrapped them in intricate patterns, securing her without constricting. He moved methodically, checking in with her through subtle glances and the occasional brush of his fingers. His touch was steady, grounding.

Reyna closed her eyes, letting the sensation wash over her. The pull of the rope, the subtle pressure against her skin, the way her body relaxed with each knot he tied—it was all part of the process. She didn’t have to think, didn’t have to strategize or calculate. Daniels was in control, and for once, that was enough.

“Breathe, Reyna,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Slow and steady.”

She did as he said, her breaths evening out as she focused on the rhythm he set. The room seemed to shrink around them, the outside world fading into nothing. Here, in this space, there were no ops, no betrayals, no ghosts from the past. There was only the feel of the rope, the sound of his voice, and the steady hum of her own heartbeat.

Daniels shifted behind her, guiding her arms into position as he continued his work. He looped the rope across her chest, creating a harness that framed her ribs and crossed just beneath her breasts. The knots were secure but never harsh, each one tied with care. He moved with the precision of an artisan, his focus unshakable.

“You’re holding a lot of stress in your shoulders,” he said, his hands brushing against her back. “Let it go.”

She hadn’t even realized it, but he was right. She was holding on, clinging to the control she had spent a lifetime cultivating. It wasn’t easy to let go—it never had been—but here, with Daniels, she could try. Reyna rolled her shoulders back and released the stiffness.

“Better,” he said, his approval sending a small spark of warmth through her. “You’re doing well.”

She opened her eyes, glancing down at the intricate web of rope now encasing her torso. It was beautiful, an unexpected work of art. But more than that, it felt... freeing. Each knot, each loop, each pull of the rope seemed to strip away a layer of her defenses, leaving only herself behind.

Daniels stepped back, his eyes sweeping over his work before meeting hers again. “You’re ready.”

Her brow furrowed. “Ready for what?”

Instead of answering, he moved to a pulley system on the wall, threading the ends of the rope through the mechanism. “This isn’t just about the rope, Reyna,” he said as he worked. “It’s about letting go of what you can’t control. Trusting yourself. Trusting me.”

Her chest tightened at his words, the truth in them hitting too close to home. She wanted to argue, to push back, but something stopped her. Instead, she watched as he finished securing the ropes to a suspension harness, testing them both before turning back to her.

“Take a deep breath,” he said.

She did, her lungs filling with air as he pulled the rope that ran from the harness through a hard point in the ceiling, gently lifting her slightly off the ground. The sensation was strange at first—floating but supported, suspended yet secure. He waited for her to settle and then raised her off the ground. The knots in her muscles melted away, replaced by a deep, calming stillness.

Daniels stepped closer, his hand brushing against her cheek as he tilted her chin upward. “How do you feel?”

“Light,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “Like... everything’s gone.”

“That’s the point,” he said, his lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “You’ve carried too much for too long. You can let it go now.”

Her eyes stung, but she refused to let the tears fall. Instead, she focused on the warmth in his voice, the steadiness of his presence. She had spent so much of her life fighting—fighting to survive, to prove herself, to stay ahead of the pain. But here, in this moment, there was nothing to fight.

Daniels stayed close, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder as she drifted into the quiet space he had created for her. The room seemed to fade; the edges softening until there was nothing but the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the steady strength of his touch.

“You’re safe, Reyna,” he said softly, his words wrapping around her like a soft blanket. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

For the first time in years, she believed him. And for the first time in years, she let herself surrender.