Page 18 of The Sniper (Club Southside #9)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

REYNA

T he Cerberus war room was buzzing with an undercurrent of tension that crackled through the air like a live wire. The monitors lining the walls flickered with grainy surveillance footage, freeze-framing on a black SUV idling outside the Velvet Glove. Jonas Hartley—one of the last names on Artemis’s hit list—was caught in the moment before his disappearance, a gloved hand yanking him backward into the vehicle. No plates. No clear identifiers. Just another ghost vanishing into the city’s underbelly.

Reyna stood at the back of the room, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her ribs still aching from Artemis’s fists, her skin still stinging from where the ropes had bitten into her wrists. She should’ve been resting, recovering from the abduction, but that wasn’t how she operated. If anything, the fury boiling inside her made her more determined. Artemis had gotten away. Again. And now, another life was hanging in the balance.

Daniels was at the front, speaking in that low, commanding voice that sent shivers through her spine for reasons that had nothing to do with fear.

“She’s escalating,” he said, his eyes locked onto Fitz. “She took Hartley in broad daylight, at the site of the first murder. She’s not just eliminating names—she’s making a statement.”

Fitz exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know. And I don’t like it. She’s getting bolder, but she’s not getting sloppy. This was planned.” His gaze flicked toward Reyna, assessing. “How’s your head?”

Reyna lifted her chin. “Fine.”

Daniels turned then, his eyes pinning her in place. “You need more time to rest.”

A muscle in her jaw ticked. “I need to be out there.”

Daniels took a step closer, towering over her in that way he did when he was about to give her an order, she had no intention of following. “You were drugged, beaten, and tied to a chair less than twenty-four hours ago.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you think you’re fit for the field?”

Reyna lifted her gaze to his, daring him to challenge her. “I know I am.”

Fitz cleared his throat. “You’re on recon, Reyna. You track the vehicle. No direct engagement.”

Reyna balled her fists, barely holding back her frustration. She wanted more. Wanted in . But Fitz wasn’t giving her room to argue.

Daniels nodded approvingly. “Smart move.”

She shot him a glare. “You don’t get to play the protective Dom right now.”

He leaned in, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Oh, I always get to play the protective Dom. Especially when my sub doesn’t know when to sit her ass down and let someone else handle the dirty work.”

Heat flared low in her belly. Not just anger. Something darker. Something more dangerous.

She stepped closer, her lips inches from his ear. “I’m not your sub.”

Daniels didn’t back away. He tilted his head slightly, brushing his stubble against her cheek. “Not yet.”

God help her, she wanted to bite him.

Fitz sighed, clearly unimpressed with their silent standoff. “Mitch, Daniels—shake out Artemis’s network. I want to know who’s helping her and why the hell we haven’t been able to pin down her location. Reyna, you’re with Anton. Find that damn SUV.”

Daniels held her gaze a second longer before stepping back, his expression unreadable. “Be careful.”

She rolled her shoulders, trying to shake off the way his voice settled deep in her bones. “Always.”

Reyna spent the next few hours in Anton’s lair of technology, scouring traffic cams, hacking into private security feeds, trying to find the black SUV. It was like tracking a ghost—one minute, the vehicle was there, the next, gone, slipping between blind spots, taking back roads that weren’t covered by surveillance.

“She’s good,” Anton muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard.

Reyna breathed out through her nose. “She’s too good.”

Anton clicked his tongue, shifting through yet another set of footage. “Here...” He slowed down a video, rewinding it frame by frame. “This intersection, just outside the south docks. That’s our SUV.”

Reyna narrowed her eyes. The camera had only caught the edge of the vehicle as it turned onto a side road leading to the waterfront. “Can you get an exact address?”

Anton snorted. “What do you think I am, a miracle worker?”

She arched an eyebrow.

“Fine,” he grumbled, typing furiously. “Give me ten minutes.”

Reyna paced the room while Anton worked, her muscles thrumming with restless energy. She hated waiting. Hated sitting on the sidelines.

The door opened behind her. She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

Daniels.

His presence filled the space instantly, dark and commanding. “We’ve got something,” he said, crossing the room in that measured way of his.

Anton glanced up. “What kind of something?”

Daniels handed Reyna a tablet. On the screen was a list of names, all connected to past Cerberus raids. “Artemis has been paying people off—former auction workers, people who weren’t arrested when we took down their operations. They’ve been feeding her information.”

Reyna’s grip on the tablet tightened. “Which means she knew exactly where to find Hartley and when.”

Daniels nodded. “And she knows how we work. How we think. She’s anticipating us.”

Anton let out a low whistle. “That’s bad.”

Daniels’s expression darkened. “That’s a damn understatement.”

Reyna looked up at him, something cold settling in her stomach. “She’s playing us, isn’t she?”

Daniels nodded, his jaw ticking. “Yeah. And she’s winning.”

They returned to a war room that hummed with urgency, the tension inside thick as a live wire ready to snap. Reyna stood behind Anton, watching as he tore through traffic cams, piecing together a trail that barely existed. The black SUV that had taken Jonas Hartley was a ghost, slipping through surveillance gaps like it had been planned by a professional. And it had.

Artemis was always a step ahead, but Reyna refused to accept that she was untouchable.

“Come on, come on,” Anton muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard as he spliced together fragments of footage, cross-referencing timestamps. “Where the hell are you taking him?”

Reyna leaned in, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. “Check private routes. Back roads. She wouldn’t take him somewhere obvious.”

Anton shot her a look. “You think I’m new at this?”

Reyna ignored the jab, eyes locked on the screen as Anton ran the latest traffic camera through a filtering software, removing glare, enhancing plate readability. The footage was still grainy, but this time, the pieces aligned—an intersection leading to a restricted-access road.

Anton cursed under his breath, tapping a few more keys before sitting back. “Shit. That road leads straight to an old private airstrip. Looks like it still sees use for chartered flights.”

Reyna’s stomach dropped. “If she gets Hartley on a plane, we lose him.”

Anton nodded grimly. “She’s not stupid. She knows we’d have her pinned in the city. A plane gets her out clean.”

Reyna didn’t hesitate. She spun on her heel and strode toward the office Fitz commandeered when he was in town. “Daniels, Fitz—we have a lead. Sending coordinates now.”

Daniels’ voice crackled in her earpiece. “Where?”

“Private airstrip outside the city. She’s trying to get Hartley airborne.”

“We need to move, and we need to move now,” said Daniels.

She had left the room and was already strapping a sidearm to her thigh when she felt his presence enter the armory behind her.

Daniels didn’t even break stride. He stormed into the armory like a thundercloud, his jaw set, eyes flashing with something between fury and control.

“No.”

Reyna paused, lifting an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not going in. You stay back, run recon.”

She let out a humorless laugh. “Like hell I do.”

Daniels closed the space between them in the space of a heartbeat, his sheer size forcing her to look up at him. “I am not arguing with you about this.”

“Then stop talking and let me gear up.”

His hand shot out, gripping her arm before she could reach for another magazine. “Reyna.”

The way he said her name—low, authoritative—made everything inside her quiver as arousal surged through the system. She had it bad for Daniels… really bad.

She wrenched her arm free, stepping into his space. “I am not sitting this out.”

“You’re not thinking straight. You’re pissed off and reckless, and that’s going to get you killed.”

Her blood boiled, her jaw tightening. “You think I’m not in control?”

“I know you’re not,” Daniels snapped. “You don’t get to play fast and loose with your life just because you’re pissed off.”

She sucked in a breath, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. The air between them crackled with something electric, a volatile mix of frustration, attraction, and something deeper neither of them was willing to name.

Then, before she could react, Daniels moved.

In a blur, he grabbed her waist and spun her, pinning her against the steel desk behind them. The edge of the metal bit into her lower back, his body a solid wall against hers. His hands caged her in, palms flat on the desk on either side of her hips.

Her breath hitched, her pulse hammering.

His voice was a growl, his lips inches from hers. “You will follow my lead, Reyna.”

She swallowed, trying not to react to the heat radiating off him. “Or what?”

Daniels’ fingers brushed against her hip, a teasing stroke that contradicted the hard edge of his tone. “Or I put you over my knee and remind you exactly who’s in charge.”

She was drowning in him, in his dominance, in the way he commanded the air between them. Her entire body was on high alert, every nerve ending attuned to him.

“You like pushing me,” he murmured, his voice dark silk. “But there are rules and consequences for breaking those rules. If you make me, I will enforce them.”

Her breath came in shallow bursts, and for the space of a heartbeat she considered leaning in, closing the final inches between them.

But she wasn’t ready to surrender. Not yet.

She forced a smile and tilted her head. “We both know you need me in this fight.”

Daniels let out a weighted breath, stepping back, giving her space she didn’t want. “Fine.” His voice was steel. “You follow my orders. No heroics.”

Reyna nodded, though her body was still buzzing with the ghost of his touch.

The airstrip was eerily quiet, the darkness swallowing the runway whole. They moved in teams—Daniels, Reyna, and Mitch taking the main hangar, while Fitz and Anton covered the perimeter.

Reyna’s grip on her rifle was steady as they advanced, the sound of their boots barely a whisper against the concrete.

Something felt off.

Daniels stopped suddenly, lifting a fist to halt them. “Hold.”

Mitch scanned the area. “What is it?”

Daniels took a deep breath, his gaze sharp. “Too easy. It feels like a trap.”

And then the explosion hit.

A detonation ripped through the side of the hangar, sending a shockwave through the air. Anton’s voice came over comms, strained. “We’ve got a man down...”

Reyna’s stomach lurched. “Who?”

“Fitz,” Anton bit out. “The trap was wired. He’s hit, but breathing.”

Daniels swore under his breath, his eyes darting between the smoldering wreckage and the hangar where Hartley was being held.

Artemis had played them. Again.

They had two choices—go after her or save Hartley.

Daniels made the call.

“Mitch, you and Anton get Fitz out of here and to the emergency room. Reyna, we’re getting Hartley.”

They stormed the hangar, sweeping in fast. The metal building was empty save for a single chair in the center of the room. Hartley sat tied to it, beaten and bloodied, but alive.

Daniels cut through the restraints while Reyna covered them. “How bad are you?”

Hartley coughed. “I’ve had better days, but then I’ve had worse.”

The moment they pulled him up, the back doors of the hangar burst open.

Reyna swung her rifle up, but it was too late.

A figure stood silhouetted against the night—a woman, her stance relaxed, almost mocking.

Artemis.

Reyna’s fingers tightened around the trigger, but Artemis just smirked. “Too slow, sniper.”

Then she vanished into the night.

Daniels swore, his jaw tight as he hauled Hartley toward the exit. “We’ll get her.”

Reyna watched the shadows, hoping he was right.