Page 12 of The Sniper (Club Southside #9)

CHAPTER TWELVE

DANIELS

D aniels sat in his car across from the Club Southside staff entrance, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he watched the comings and goings of the people inside. This wasn’t just a club anymore—it was a place where a crime was being conceived, a breeding ground for deception. Someone within these walls was feeding a killer information. Someone was working against those who worked and played here.

He’d spent years hunting down people like this, ghosts who thrived in the cracks between law and chaos. But this time, it was personal. Too damn personal. And with every second that passed, Reyna was in more danger.

The thought of her being next sent something primal through him, something dark and possessive that had him gripping the wheel tighter.

He forced himself to focus.

Through his contacts in the Bureau he’d been able to obtain a list of Velvet Glove employees and affiliates who had access to sensitive information. He didn’t have a name yet, but he was damn close. Whoever the mole was, they knew enough about Cerberus, Club Southside, and the BDSM community to provide the killer with intel. And that meant they were someone entrenched in this world.

Daniels let out a sharp breath, checking the time. He had a meeting with Anton Greene, the Cerberus head of security—a former Marine with a reputation for keeping his mouth shut unless something threatened his business. If anyone knew who didn’t belong here, it would be him.

He stepped out of the car, adjusting the cuffs of his dark button-down as he moved toward the entrance. The bouncer at the door gave him a once-over before nodding, pushing the door open without a word. Daniels had been here enough times to not need an introduction.

He nodded to the receptionist and was buzzed through the entrance that led from the very public foyer to the very private dungeon beyond the door. Inside, the club was still in its pre-opening lull, the air thick with leather and the faintest trace of candle wax. The main floor was empty, the lights dim and the usual thrum of music absent.

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 a desk 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 without fear 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.

“Clear,” Reyna murmured, moving deeper inside.

Daniels followed, his gut twisting. The bedroom door was ajar, the bed still made, its covers undisturbed. No sign of struggle here. But the office? That was another story.

Reyna entered first, stepping over a shattered lamp. Papers were scattered across the desk, a laptop still open, the screen blinking.

Daniels moved to the desk, scanning the documents. Bank statements. Membership logs. And something else.

A note.

He picked it up, the scrawl jagged, hurried.

They know. I don’t have time.

Reyna came up beside him, reading over his shoulder. “Son of a bitch. He ran.”

Daniels released his breath. “Or he was taken.”

The thought sat heavy between them.

Reyna met his eyes. “We need to figure out who’s behind this.”

Daniels nodded. But deep down, he already knew—whoever it was, they were inside their circle. Close enough to know their moves before they made them.

The killer was still ahead of them. And if they didn’t close the gap soon, Sebastian Rowe wouldn’t be the last to disappear.

Not knowing who to trust, Daniels and Reyna chose not to call the cops or the Bureau. After all, there wasn’t a body, and the argument could be made that Sebastian was just sloppy and had gone on vacation—thin, but something they could fall back on if needed.

Before they could decide what to do next, Reyna’s phone rang. Glancing at the caller ID, she answered. “Anton, you’re on speaker.”

“Good. I take it Daniels is with you. I think I found our weasel.”

“Mole,” Reyna corrected.

“Nah, this guy isn’t sophisticated enough to be a mole. He’s just a little weasel. I caught him trying to get on the system from an offsite location through a back door he’d left himself.”

“So who is it?” Daniels asked.

“Winkie,” was Anton’s single word reply.

“Winkie?” asked Reyna incredulously.

“Who’s Winkie?” asked Daniels.

“Alvin Winkle. He’s worked on the admin side for years,” supplied Reyna. “Winkie. I wouldn’t have thought he had it in him.”

“Me neither,” replied Anton. “We were able to keep him online long enough for us to work it out. He’ll be waiting for you when you get back.”

“Good work, Anton.”

“No, good work would have been catching him before someone got hurt.”

Daniels stood just outside the Cerberus interrogation room, his arms crossed as he watched through the two-way mirror. Inside, Reyna was pacing, a barely restrained storm in motion. If you looked carefully, you could see the pulse jumping at the base of her throat, the raw energy vibrating off her in waves—but only if you knew her well. Outwardly she was cool and calm, but Daniels knew she was pissed.

He didn’t blame her.

Inside the room, Alvin Winkle, a member of Club Southside’s staff, sat handcuffed to the metal table, his head down, refusing to meet Reyna’s stare. Winkie, as he was known, had worked the administrative side from the club’s formation, processing memberships, managing guest lists, and handling client confidentiality. He was someone who had access to everything.

And he was someone who had betrayed them. Daniels could see the fury burning in Reyna’s eyes. She wasn’t just angry—she was hurt.

That’s what had him worried.

He wanted to go in, to make sure she didn’t let her emotions get the better of her, but he knew better. This was her fight. He had no right to take it from her.

Fitz had arrived only a few minutes behind them and now stood beside Daniels, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “She’s hanging by a thread.”

Daniels didn’t take his eyes off Reyna. “Yeah.”

“Think she’ll cross a line?”

Daniels exhaled slowly. “No. But I don’t think she’ll stop herself from getting damn close.”

Fitz was silent for a moment before shaking his head and chuckling. “I almost feel sorry for the little bastard. You may have to do some damage control with your sub when she’s finished. She seems wound pretty tight.”

“She’s not my sub,” Daniels answered.

“Bullshit. Neither of you plays with or even looks at anyone else. You need to put the hammer down on her and explain how things are going to be.”

“I can’t just bonk her over the head and drag her back to my cave by her hair.”

“You’re right. Her hair’s too short. But I would suggest the judicious use of your hand applied to her backside before you get between her legs and explain to her the new order of things.”

Daniels barked a laugh. “Easy for you to say. JJ isn’t one of the best snipers in the world.”

“True, but JJ didn’t think she wanted a Dom for a partner, either. She only wanted someone to top her when she wanted to be topped. Ask her now, and she’ll tell you she’s right where she wants and needs to be. Reyna’s a bit different. More hands-on, but I’ve seen the two of you together, and she responds to you in a way she has to no other. She needs you, Daniels. Don’t let her down.”

Fitz turned and headed back to the Cerberus bullpen. Daniels watched him leave and wondered if the Scotsman might be right. He usually was when it came to handling independent, feisty subs.

Inside the interrogation room, Reyna slammed her palms against the table, making the cuffs rattle. Winkie, a nondescript man in his late thirties who had once been trusted with the club’s most sensitive information—flinched but didn’t look up.

“Look at me,” Reyna demanded, her voice cutting through the thick air like a blade.

Winkie didn’t move.

Reyna shoved the chair back with a screech and started pacing again. “You don’t get to act like you’re the victim here, Winkie.”

Still, nothing.

Daniels shifted against the wall, his jaw clenching. She was pushing too hard, too fast. If she didn’t reel it in, the bastard was going to shut down completely.

And then Reyna did something he hadn’t expected.

She went quiet.

She quit pacing and sat in the chair across from Winkie, folded her hands on the table, and leaned in. “How much?”

Winkie hesitated. “What?”

Her voice was eerily calm now. “How much did they pay you?”

Winkie swallowed, but still didn’t answer.

Reyna leaned back in her chair. “You know what the worst part is?” she said, tilting her head slightly. “I trusted you. We all did. And you sold us out like we meant nothing.”

Winkie finally looked up, and Daniels could see the guilt in his eyes.

Good.

Reyna leaned forward again, her voice low and venomous. “Who was it? Who gave you the orders? Who sent you to find information about Veda, about Titan?”

Winkie’s lips parted, then pressed shut again.

Reyna’s hands curled into fists. “Say something.”

Winkie let out a clipped breath. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Daniels stiffened.

Reyna’s eyes narrowed. “How was it supposed to be, Winkie? What was the plan?”

Winkie shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was just passing along information. Names. That’s all. I didn’t know they were going to kill anyone.”

Daniels wanted to break something. That wasn’t good enough.

Reyna let out a humorless laugh. “So that’s what you tell yourself? That makes it easier, doesn’t it?”

Silence stretched between them.

Daniels had seen enough. He pushed off the wall and entered the interrogation room to join Reyna and Winkie. Reyna looked up, something unreadable flashing in her eyes, but she didn’t say anything.

Daniels pulled out the chair beside her and sat down, his presence adding to the already suffocating air in the room. He let the silence settle, let Winkie feel the weight of what he had done.

Then he spoke, his voice smooth, calm, terrifyingly quiet.

“You don’t get to play the victim, Winkie.”

Winkie flinched.

Daniels leaned forward, his gaze pinning the man in place. “You gave them access. You let them in. You handed them names, information, and leverage. And now people are dead because of you.”

Winkie swallowed hard. “I...”

“You’re going to tell us everything you know,” Daniels said, his voice dropping even lower. “Right now.”

Winkie hesitated.

Daniels let the silence stretch, let the pressure build. Then he placed his hands flat on the table and said, “If you don’t start talking, I’ll let Reyna take you down to the shooting gallery and use you for target practice.”

Winkie’s breath caught, his gaze flicking to Reyna. And then—finally—he cracked.

“It’s a woman,” he blurted. “I never met her face to face. She used a burner phone. Sent payments through an offshore account. I don’t know who she really is, but she called herself Artemis.”

Reyna and Daniels exchanged a glance.

Artemis. So Orion wasn’t working alone.

Daniels’ gut twisted. He knew that name. Not personally, but through whispers, through intelligence reports. She was an information broker, a ghost in the underworld, someone who only surfaced when there was something worth selling.

Reyna’s expression darkened. “And the next target?”

Winkie hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Daniels didn’t believe him. “You’d better start remembering.”

Winkie’s mouth opened, then closed. His fingers twitched. He was holding back.

Reyna’s patience snapped. She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him forward, her voice cold and sharp. “Who is it?”

Winkie’s breathing was ragged now, fear creeping into his eyes. “I swear—I don’t know exactly. But they were looking for someone. Someone in the community.”

Daniels narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

Winkie swallowed hard. “A whistleblower. Someone who knew too much about what Veda had been doing. They think this person has records. Files. Proof.”

Daniels exchanged another look with Reyna, his pulse kicking up.

Sebastian Rowe.

Reyna stood so fast her chair scraped against the floor. “We need to move.”

Daniels didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his phone, already dialing. “Fitz, we have a name. Sebastian Rowe. We went by his place earlier in the day and he wasn’t there. His office had been ransacked. We need to find him.”

Reyna turned back to Winkie, her expression stone cold. “If you’re lying, I’ll be back.”

Winkie didn’t argue.

Daniels followed Reyna out of the room, his stride matching hers as they moved with urgency.

They were running out of time.

If Artemis was after Sebastian, it meant one thing—he had something she wanted. And if they didn’t get to him first, he’d be dead by sunrise.