Page 15 of The Sniper (Club Southside #9)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

DANIELS

T he room was dark. Sated and happier than he’d been in a long time, he should have been sleeping like a baby, but Daniels knew better. He never slept easily. Not anymore.

Reyna lay beside him, her back pressed against his chest, her body warm and solid in his arms. The scent of her—clean, sharp, something uniquely Reyna—filled his senses as he inhaled against the soft skin of her neck. Even sleeping, she curled into him, seeking his presence, though she’d never admit she needed it.

Tonight had been too close.

The bandage on his side itched, the wound throbbing in a dull, persistent rhythm, but he ignored it. He’d had worse. The real wound was the one sitting between them—the sting of failure, the frustration of losing the killer again, the knowledge that Reyna was blaming herself.

He pressed his lips against the back of her neck, letting himself feel the steady rise and fall of her breath, the quiet rhythm of her heartbeat against his arm draped across her waist.

“You’re not asleep,” she murmured.

“Neither are you.”

A quiet chuckle. “Hard to sleep when I’m waiting for you to do something reckless again.”

Daniels tightened his hold on her. “I’m not planning on getting stabbed twice in the same week.”

“So you planned this one? Was it on your list of things to do?” she quipped, then turned, rolling onto her back to look at him. Even in the dim light, he could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the raw emotion she was still trying to bury.

“You did everything right tonight,” he said softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her face. “The bitch was fast. We’ll get another shot.”

She swallowed hard, her fingers trailing lightly over the bandage at his side. “We should’ve had her. If I’d fired a second earlier...”

He caught her wrist, stopping her. “Don’t.”

Her jaw tightened, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.

“You think I don’t want to break something?” Daniels said, his voice low, rough. “You think I don’t want to put a bullet between that bitch’s eyes? But we keep moving. We don’t let it eat at us.”

Her lips parted, something unreadable flickering in her expression. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not. But if you keep carrying this, it’s going to break you, Reyna.”

She stared at him, her fingers still resting lightly against his ribs. Then, with a breath that sounded too much like surrender, she leaned in, pressing her forehead to his.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” she admitted, so quietly he almost didn’t hear it.

Daniels’ chest tightened, something raw twisting inside him.

“You’re not going to.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I hate feeling like this.”

He nodded. He understood. He hated it, too. But there was nothing either of them could do about it. So instead of talking, instead of pushing her, he kissed her.

It was slow and deep, not about heat but about something else entirely. About grounding them both, about silencing the doubts for just a little while. Her fingers dug into his skin as she pulled him closer, and Daniels let himself get lost in her, let himself forget everything outside this room.

For now.

But the world didn’t let them have peace for long.

A sharp knock on the door shattered the moment.

Daniels’ head snapped up, his body immediately on high alert. Reyna was already moving, untangling herself from him and reaching for his shirt.

Another knock, this one more insistent.

Daniels slid out of bed, tugging on his pants, his side protesting the movement. He pulled the door open, his face set in a glare, ready to tear into whoever thought this was a good idea—until he saw Mitch standing there, looking wide awake and grim as hell.

“We’ve got something,” Mitch said without preamble. “Anton’s been digging through some financials tied to the auction. You’re gonna want to see this.”

Reyna stepped up beside Daniels. “Tell me you found something solid.”

“Not just something solid,” Mitch said, his tone dark. “We found a direct link between the killer and the auction house.”

Daniels felt the surge of adrenaline spike through his system.

“Give us five minutes,” he said.

Mitch nodded. “Make it fast.”

As the door closed, Reyna ran a hand through her hair. “We’ve got her.”

Daniels turned to her, his expression hard. “Not yet. But we will.”

He reached for her hand, squeezing it once. Then they moved, getting fully dressed because the hunt wasn’t over. Not yet.

The Cerberus war room was alive with the hum of computer monitors, the low murmur of voices, and the steady click of Anton’s fingers flying across the keyboard. The room was bathed in dim blue light from the screens, casting shadows on Fitz, and Mitch as they stood around the table.

Daniels walked in with Reyna at his side, his body still wound tight from the interrupted night, but his focus laser sharp.

Anton didn’t bother with pleasantries. He turned the monitor toward them, showing a series of encrypted bank transactions. “This is where it gets interesting.”

Daniels narrowed his eyes, scanning the data.

“These are payouts from the auction,” Anton continued. “At first, we thought they were standard laundering routes—moving money between offshore accounts to keep it off the books. But then I cross-referenced it with the auction’s internal logs.” He clicked, pulling up another screen. “Every payment here is tied to a specific event. A shipment.”

Reyna’s breath hitched. “Trafficked victims.”

Anton nodded grimly. “Exactly. The killer wasn’t just hunting people connected to the auction—she was tracking payments. Someone on the inside was keeping records, documenting who was profiting the most. That someone is now our best lead.”

Daniels crossed his arms. “Who is it?”

Anton’s fingers flew over the keyboard, pulling up a name. The moment it appeared on the screen, a cold chill settled in the room.

Jonas Hartley

Reyna let out a slow mutter. “That bastard.”

Daniels’ mind raced. Hartley had been a high-ranking member of the BDSM community, but he had always played the discreet middleman. If he’d been involved in the auction, it meant one of two things—he was either a buyer or a broker.

Mitch rubbed a hand down his face. “So, what? Our guy’s been making money on the side, and now Artemis is tying up loose ends?”

“Not just tying up loose ends,” Anton corrected. “She’s making a statement.”

Daniels clenched his jaw. “Where’s Hartley now?”

“I’ll get someone on him,” Fitz said. “He’s not going anywhere without us knowing about it.”

Daniels turned to Reyna. “We need to move on this. If Artemis knows Hartley is in our sights, she’s going to come for him.”

Reyna nodded, her eyes dark with determination. “Then let’s make sure she walks right into our trap.”

Daniels’ lips curled into something dangerous.

They weren’t just playing defense anymore.

Now, they were hunting.

REYNA

The air inside the war room was thick with the scent of burnt coffee and something far more acrid—frustration. The walls were lined with monitors displaying encrypted files, financial records, and an ominous web of connections that led from the underground auction straight to Veda, Titan, and Rowe. The glow of the screens painted sharp shadows across the faces of those gathered around the sleek steel table.

Anton sat in front of a laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he pulled up a new set of data. His usual relaxed demeanor had been replaced by something harder, something that made Reyna take a step closer, instinct kicking in.

Daniels stood to her right, arms crossed over his broad chest, his presence a steady force beside her. Across from them, Mitch leaned against the wall, his sharp gaze locked onto Anton, his arms also crossed but with the kind of pent-up energy that made Reyna wary.

Anton let out a low whistle as another line of data scrolled across the screen. "You’re gonna want to sit down for this."

Daniels didn’t move. "I’ll stand."

"Suit yourself." Anton turned the laptop so they could see the screen. "So, after digging through those financial records we pulled from the auction servers, I found a pattern. Someone’s been moving money—big money—and not just through normal laundering channels. We’re talking about ghost accounts, offshore holdings, and shell corporations that don’t technically exist."

Reyna leaned forward. "Who’s behind it?"

Anton tapped a key, pulling up a ledger riddled with names. "Veda had an account. So did Titan. But here’s where it gets really interesting—Rowe had one, too."

Daniels blew out a hard breath. "So Rowe was mixed up in the auction?"

"More than mixed up. He was funding it. Not directly, but through a chain of transactions so layered even the IRS would’ve had a hard time untangling it." Anton’s fingers drummed against the table. "But here’s the kicker—he wasn’t funding it alone. He was paying someone. And not just for discretion."

Reyna’s stomach tightened. "What was he paying for?"

Anton clicked another file open, a grainy bank transfer statement appearing on the screen. "For names," he said simply. "And not just any names—people inside the BDSM community with enough skeletons in their closets to make them prime targets."

Mitch pushed off the wall, his jaw tightening. "Jesus."

Daniels narrowed his eyes. "He was buying information. Why?"

Anton turned the laptop back to himself, pulling up yet another document. "That’s where it gets muddy. At first, I thought it was blackmail. Standard pay-for-silence bullshit. But when I looked at the deeper transactions, it wasn’t just hush money. It was targeted." He pointed to a name on the list. "Veda wasn’t just an auctioneer—she was a broker. She had something on every single person who ever stepped foot in that auction house. And Rowe? He was paying her to access it."

Reyna groaned. "He was building a list."

Anton nodded grimly. "Yes, a list."

Daniels let that sink in for a moment before speaking. "Tell me you have something on the killer."

Anton’s smirk lacked any real amusement. "You know me. I hate to disappoint." He pulled up yet another document, this one showing a login history. "We’ve been tracking the killer’s digital footprint ever since Winkie gave us Artemis’s name. I figured she’d covered her tracks well, and for the most part, she did. But…" He tapped the screen. "She got cocky."

Reyna’s heart pounded. "Where?"

Anton’s expression darkened. "She accessed the auction’s records. Not just once. Several times. Cross-referencing names, pulling up financial records, movements. She was building a profile on her targets before they were even in the line of fire."

Daniels moved closer to the screen. "Tell me you traced the access point."

Anton grinned. "Would I call you here if I hadn’t?" He pulled up a location pin on the map. "Here. An abandoned storage facility on the west side of the city. She’s been using it as a temporary base. Logs show she accessed the files from there less than twenty-four hours ago."

Mitch straightened. "Then she’s still in the city."

"She was in the city," Anton corrected. "But I’d bet my last paycheck she’s still close. She’s too meticulous to just pack up and run without covering her tracks. And if she’s still looking at these files, it means she’s not done yet."

Reyna clenched her fists. "Who’s next?"

Anton pulled up another name. "Jonas Hartley—from what I can tell, he was Veda’s other client. Only instead of selling people’s secrets, he was buying them to keep certain names out of circulation."

Daniels rubbed his temple, breathing slowly. "Which means he knows something about what’s been happening."

"Exactly," Anton said. "And Artemis isn’t going to let him live long enough to talk."

Reyna felt the familiar rush of adrenaline kick in. "Where is she now?"

Anton double-checked his screen. "Still in Chicago. She’s got a private residence downtown, but her phone just pinged off a tower near the waterfront."

Daniels nodded, already moving. "Then that’s where we go."

Mitch grabbed his coat. "Fitz, we’ll roll out in fifteen."

Anton’s grin was sharp. "Let’s go get ourselves a killer."

Reyna met Daniels’s gaze, fire burning between them. They were closing in.

Reyna adjusted the sling of her rifle as she stepped out of the SUV into the thick, humid night. The warehouse loomed ahead, an ominous monolith against the darkened sky, the scent of sweat, machines and rust hanging in the air. It was the kind of place where bad deals were made, bodies disappeared, and secrets were buried—sometimes literally.

Beside her, Daniels scanned the perimeter, his gaze sharp and assessing. He wasn’t just looking—he was calculating. Planning. That sharp tactical mind of his was already twenty steps ahead, and for once, Reyna found that comforting rather than infuriating.

Fitz’s voice cut through the comms. “Reyna, you’re in the rafters. We need a set of eyes up high.”

She didn’t argue. Fitz rarely gave orders unless he was dead serious. If he wanted her on overwatch, it meant he had a reason.

“On it,” she murmured, already moving toward the rusted-out ladder on the side of the warehouse. The metal groaned under her weight, but she climbed steadily, keeping her profile low as she slipped into the shadows.