Page 5 of The Sniper (Club Southside #9)

CHAPTER FIVE

REYNA

T he glow from the light of the Velvet Glove’s sign bathed the alley in an eerie light as Reyna adjusted the hem of her tight black spandex dress. The sleek fabric clung to her body, the long dark wig and colored contacts creating a necessary disguise to blend in with the club’s high-end clientele. She took a deep breath and strode toward the entrance, her heels clicking against the ground in a steady rhythm. The night was crisp, the air electric, and every nerve in her body was alive with the knowledge that she was walking straight into a den of secrets and lies.

The bouncer at the door, a massive man with arms the size of tree trunks, barely glanced at her as she handed over her ID. His expression was stone cold, but he stepped aside to let her in without a word. Reyna slid past him, her senses immediately assaulted by the throbbing bass of the music and the sultry hum of conversation mingled with the occasional crack of leather on skin. The club was alive in a way that felt both intoxicating and suffocating.

Inside, the Velvet Glove was a maze of shadowy corners, plush seating, and ambient red lighting that left much of the activity shrouded in mystery. The scents of leather, sex, and candle wax lingered in the air, a heady mix that clung to her senses. Reyna’s eyes scanned the room, cataloging exits, faces, and potential threats in a matter of seconds. She wasn’t here to play. She was here to gather intel.

A server, a tall woman wearing little more than a leather corset and thigh-high boots, approached with a practiced smile. “Welcome to the Velvet Glove. Are you here to watch or… participate?”

Reyna forced a coy smile, the kind she’d seen a hundred women use when they wanted to appear interested but not too eager. “Just observing tonight.”

The server nodded, her expression unreadable. “Let me know if you need anything. Enjoy the show.”

Reyna moved deeper into the club, her gaze flitting over the crowd. She recognized a few faces—players in the Chicago BDSM scene she’d seen at Club Southside or at private events—but none who would stand out as useful. It wasn’t until she reached the bar that she spotted her first lead.

A man in his mid-forties sat alone, nursing a tumbler of scotch. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, and his tailored suit screamed money and influence. He had the kind of presence that made people step aside when he walked into a room. His name was Alan Porter, and she knew he was a regular on the club scene. More importantly, he’d been close to Veda.

Reyna slid onto the barstool next to him, her posture relaxed but her senses on high alert. “Rough night?” she asked, her voice light but tinged with curiosity.

Porter turned to her, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly before his lips curved into a faint smile. “Not rough, just... evocative of reflection.”

“Funny,” Reyna said, signaling the bartender. “You don’t look like the reflective type.”

“And you don’t look like you belong here,” he countered, his tone carrying just enough edge to put her on notice.

Reyna met his gaze, refusing to back down. “First time,” she admitted with a shrug. “Trying to figure out if this is my scene.”

Porter studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “You’re bold. I’ll give you that.”

“I’m curious,” Reyna said, leaning in slightly. “About the place, the people, the... dynamics. Heard there was someone here who could show me the ropes, so to speak.”

He chuckled, a low, dry sound. “If you mean about being Domme, you mean Veda, but if you mean being a submissive, there are training classes.”

Her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression neutral. “Veda. Yeah. Someone mentioned her name.”

“Well, she’s not here anymore,” Porter said, his tone turning cold. “And I’d advise you not to go digging into her business. It’s a good way to make enemies—Veda wasn’t always popular with people.”

Reyna tilted her head, feigning confusion. “Enemies? I thought this was supposed to be a community.”

“It is,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “But communities have their... disputes. Veda got herself caught up in something she shouldn’t have. Now she’s gone, and I suggest you tread carefully.”

Reyna’s mind raced, parsing his words for clues. Porter wasn’t just reminiscing—he was warning her. Whatever internal feud Veda had been involved in, it had clearly run deeper than she’d realized.

“Good advice,” she said, her tone light. “Thanks.”

Porter didn’t reply, but the way his gaze lingered on her as she slid off the stool sent a chill down her spine. She moved back into the crowd, her pulse quickening. Porter knew more than he was letting on but pushing him further tonight would raise too many red flags.

As she made her way toward one of the club’s shadowed alcoves, she froze. Across the room, partially obscured by the crowd, was a face she hadn’t seen in years. A face she’d never expected to see again.

Julius Fowler.

Her breath caught, her mind reeling. Julius had been a Cerberus operative once, part of her team before he’d gone dark. He’d walked away after a mission in Venezuela had gone sideways, disappearing without a trace. Seeing him here, in the middle of this chaos, sent alarm bells screaming through her brain.

Julius was leaning against the wall, his stance casual but his eyes sharp as they scanned the room. He hadn’t spotted her yet, and shouldn’t recognize her with disguise, but the look on his face told her everything she needed to know. He wasn’t there to play. He was hunting.

Reyna slipped into the shadows, her pulse pounding. Julius Fowler was a ghost from her past, one she’d hoped she’d never have to deal with again. If he was tied to Veda’s murder—or worse, to the message left for Cerberus—things were about to get a hell of a lot more complicated.

She pulled out her phone, her fingers hovering over Daniels’ number. She hated calling him, hated the way his voice always seemed to cut through her defenses, but this wasn’t something she could ignore. Julius wasn’t just a piece of the puzzle—he was a bomb waiting to explode.

But if she sent an encoded text, the message would be more secure than speaking with him in an unsecure space. Reyna began sending a message.

We’ve got a problem

her gaze flicking back to where Julius had been. He had disappeared into the crowd.

Define problem

Julius Fowler is here. If I know Julius, he’s up to something.

Stay there. I’m coming to you.

Reyna slipped her phone back into her clutch as her mind raced. Julius Fowler wasn’t just a ghost from her past—he was the kind of problem that could destroy everything.

Deciding to wait for Daniels outside and avoid having Julius see her, Reyna stepped out into the chill of the night air outside the Velvet Glove, the frigid air biting against her skin as she pulled her leather jacket tighter around her. The steady thrum of bass from inside the club still hummed in her chest, but the relative silence outside felt like a relief. The red glow of the neon sign reflected off the wet pavement, casting an eerie sheen as she made her way to where she’d parked her SUV.

Her heels clicked against the sidewalk, each step calculated and deliberate. Years of training had taught her to keep her pace casual, her posture relaxed, even when her senses were screaming at her to stay alert. And they were screaming now.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, a familiar prickling sensation crawling over her skin. She wasn’t alone. Someone was following her.

Reyna didn’t stop walking, didn’t turn her head. Instead, she reached into her pocket, pretending to check her phone as her fingers brushed the cool metal of the knife she always carried. Her eyes darted to the darkened storefronts around her, searching for reflections, movement, anything that would confirm what her instincts already knew.

The phone in her pocket vibrated. She pulled it out, the screen lighting up with Daniels’ name. For a split second, she considered ignoring it, but her thumb swiped the screen before she could stop herself.

“Daniels,” she said, keeping her voice low and even.

“Where are you?” His voice was sharp. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

“Just left the club,” she replied, her eyes scanning the shadows around her. “Something tells me I’m not alone.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, just long enough for her to imagine his jaw tightening, his brow furrowing the way they always did when he was pissed. “Where’s your vehicle?”

“Two blocks up,” she said. Her hand tightened around the knife in her pocket as she felt a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. “I can handle it.”

“That wasn’t the question, Reyna,” Daniels said, his tone dropping into that commanding register that always set her on edge. “Get to your SUV. Now.”

Reyna allowed herself to laugh a small, dry laugh. “You don’t give me orders, Daniels.”

“Reyna,” he growled, the sound of her name on his lips sending an entirely different kind of shiver through her. “I mean it. Get in the vehicle, lock the doors, and wait for me. I’m five minutes out.”

“Five minutes is a long time,” she said, glancing behind her. The street was empty, but she knew better than to trust appearances. “A lot can happen.”

“Not if you listen for once,” Daniels shot back. “And don’t argue with me. I know you’re carrying. Use it if you have to. I swear to God if you don’t do exactly what I tell you, I’ll give you a spanking you won’t forget any time soon.”

Her lips curled into a slight grin despite the knot coiling in her chest. “I don’t do impact play.”

“Bullshit. Get in the damn vehicle.”

“Aww… you sound like you care. You’re awfully protective of me, aren’t you?”

“Reyna,” Daniels said, his tone low and warning. “This isn’t a game.”

“Good,” she replied, slipping the knife out of her pocket and letting it rest against her thigh. “Because I’m not playing.”

She ended the call before he could respond, slipping the phone back into her jacket as she crossed the street. The dim light from a streetlamp flickered and then went dark; the sound of her footsteps echoed against the buildings around her. She could feel them now—two of them, trailing behind her at a safe distance. Professional. Calculating.

Reyna’s pulse quickened, adrenaline sharpening her senses. She slowed her pace just slightly, giving them time to close the gap. She wanted them closer. Needed them closer.

Her hand tightened around the knife as she reached the mouth of an alley. She stopped, turning slightly to glance back over her shoulder. The street behind her was empty, but she knew better than to trust what she saw. They were there. She could feel them.

“If you want to make a move,” she muttered under her breath, “now’s your chance.”

The first attack came fast—a shadow breaking off from the darkness to her left. Reyna spun, her knife slashing through the air as she narrowly avoided the swing of a crowbar aimed at her head. The clang of metal against the brick wall sent a sharp ring through the air, and her attacker swore, recovering quickly as he came at her again.

The second man was on her before she could counter, his arm locking around her throat as he tried to drag her back into the alley. Reyna lashed out, driving her elbow into his ribs with enough force to make him grunt in pain. She twisted, her knife catching the light as she slashed it across his forearm, forcing him to release her.

“Cute,” she hissed, her breath coming fast as she squared off with both men. “But you’re going to need a lot more than that.”

The one with the crowbar grinned, blood dripping from a split lip. “Feisty. I like that.”

“You won’t,” Reyna shot back, her voice sharp and cold. “Not when I’m done with you.”

The first man lunged again, the crowbar swinging in a wide arc. Reyna ducked, her movements fluid as she stepped inside his guard, her knife flashing up to slice across his chest. He stumbled back, cursing, but the second man was already moving, his fists swinging toward her face.

Reyna blocked, twisting her body to deliver a sharp kick to his knee. He faltered, but only for a moment. He was bigger, stronger, and clearly used to fights like this. But Reyna had something he didn’t—training.

She dropped low, driving her knife into his thigh before spinning to face the first man again. He was bleeding, clutching his chest, but the crowbar was still in his hands, and the look in his eyes told her he wasn’t done.

“Last chance,” she said, her voice steady despite the rapid thrum of her pulse. “Walk away.”

He didn’t.

The crowbar came down in a brutal swing, and Reyna stepped inside it, her knife slashing across his wrist. He howled, the weapon clattering to the ground as he staggered back. Reyna didn’t give him a chance to recover. She stepped forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall.

“Who sent you?” she demanded, her knife pressing against his throat.

The man’s eyes were wide, panicked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”

“Wrong answer,” Reyna said, her voice like ice.

Before she could press further, the sound of tires screeching to a halt filled the air. Headlights illuminated the alley, and a familiar voice cut through the chaos.

“Reyna!”

Daniels.

Relief and irritation warred inside her as she turned toward the sound of his voice, just in time to see the second man scrambling to his feet and running away. With her attention diverted elsewhere, the man against the wall gave her a hard shove and he too sprinted away. Damn it.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Daniels growled, his eyes blazing as he turned to her.

“I had it under control,” Reyna said, though her chest was heaving, and adrenaline still coursed through her veins.

Daniels stepped closer, his presence dominating the narrow alley. “This isn’t control. This is reckless.”

Reyna opened her mouth to argue, but the glint of something in the corner of her eye stopped her. A glimmer of light, a reflection off a barrel.

Sniper.

“Daniels!” she shouted, lunging forward just as the shot rang out.