Page 15 of The Sniper
That kiss. Why the hell had I kissed her? The question gnawed at me, sharp and insistent, as I stared at the smudged mirror across the room. Respect, maybe—she’d stood there, unflinching, staring down a gun like it was nothing. Something in that hit me square in the chest, like I’d seen a piece of myself reflected back.
Or maybe it was simpler—those big blue eyes, wide and steady, like the sky after a storm clears. The way she’d looked up at me, confused, shaken, but not scared. Not of me. I couldn’t read it, couldn’t pin it down, and that pissed me off more than the cuffs.
The door banged open, snapping me out of it. The lieutenant stormed in, face red and veins bulging like he’d been chewing nails. Deputy Mendez trailed behind, quieter, her eyes flicking between us like she was waiting for the explosion. The lieutenant didn’t sit—just loomed over the table, hands braced on the edge, glaring down at me.
“You shouldn’t have done it, Dane,” he spat. “This isn’t a goddamn war zone. You don’t get to play judge and jury out there.”
I laughed—right in his face, loud and sharp. “You have no fucking idea what’s lurking in the shadows, officer. I did you a favor. Took out your trash before it bit you in the ass.”
His eyes narrowed, lips curling into a sneer. “A favor? You killed a man in my jurisdiction without authorization. That’s not a favor—that’s a crime.”
“Go ahead,” I said, leaning forward as far as the cuffwould let me, grinning wider. “Charge me. Lock me up. I don’t give a shit. At least I had the balls to do something while you were twiddling your thumbs waiting for SWAT to show up in twenty.”
Mendez stepped in then, voice calm but firm. “Mr. Dane, call your lawyer. Let’s get this sorted.”
“Don’t need a lawyer,” I said, not breaking eye contact with Hargrove. “I’m one of the good guys. You know it. She knows it.” I nodded at Mendez. “Hell, even the wife and kid know it.”
The lieutenant’s sneer deepened. “Good guys don’t shoot a man in the head without a badge. This’ll come down to witnesses, drone footage, forensics. If there’s one shred of evidence that killing could’ve been avoided, I’ll see you do hard time. Count on it.”
I laughed again, leaning back in the chair, the chain rattling against the table.
“Go for it, Lieutenant. You’re part of the fucking problem—sitting there with your rulebook while women and kids get terrorized. Maybe you should ask that wife what she thinks about her dead husband. Ask the kid if she’s crying over him tonight. Go on. I’ll wait.”
His face went purple, a vein throbbing in his temple.
“Take him to a cell,” he barked at Mendez. “He can wait for arraignment. See how cocky he is then.”
I grinned—full teeth, all edge.
“Make sure it’s with the hardasses, lieutenant. I could use the workout.”
Mendez sighed, unhooking the cuff from the table and guiding me up by the arm. She didn’t say anything—just gave me that look, the one that said she knew I was digging my own grave and didn’t care because obviously I didn’t.
She was right. I didn’t. I wanted it. Wanted the fight,the chaos, the chance to let the aggression boiling in my veins spill out. Maybe a cell full of tatted-up thugs would give me an excuse to crack some skulls. Maybe it’d feel good—like the old days, when survival was the only rule that mattered.
They marched me down a hallway—flickering lights, scuffed walls, the faint echo of some drunk yelling from a holding pen. Mendez kept a hand on my elbow, not tight, just steady. The lieutenant stomped ahead, muttering about procedure and vigilantes. I didn’t listen.
My mind was back on her—Hallie Mae, though I didn’t know her name yet. Those blue eyes burned into me, sharp and unyielding, even as I’d kissed her. She’d let me. Hadn’t pushed me off. Hadn’t run. Her hands had gripped my shirt like she needed it, like I’d woken something in her she didn’t know was there.
Why’d I do it? I still didn’t have an answer. Respect, sure—she’d faced that bastard down like a soldier, not a saint.
But it was more than that. Something in the way she’d looked at me—like I was a puzzle she couldn’t solve, like I scared her and pulled her in all at once.
I’d felt it, too, that pull. Didn’t like it. Didn’t trust it. But it was there, gnawing at me, making me want to find her again, see if she’d break or bend under the weight of what I was.
The cell block smelled like sweat and metal. Mendez led me into a six-by-eight with a rusted bunk and a toilet that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since Reagan was president. Three other guys were already in there—big, mean-looking sons of bitches with ink crawling up their necks and knuckles scarred from too many fights. Perfect.
“Play nice,” Mendez said, locking the bars behind me.
I smirked at her. “No promises.”
She shook her head and walked off, leaving me with the welcoming committee. One of them—a bald guy with a swastika on his forearm—sized me up, cracking his knuckles like he thought it’d impress me. Another, leaner, with a busted nose and a grin full of missing teeth, leaned against the wall, watching. The third just sat on the bunk, staring at the floor, probably too high to care.
“Who the fuck’re you?” Swastika asked, stepping closer.
“Guy who doesn’t give a shit,” I said, dropping my shoulders, letting my stance loosen. “You?”
He sneered. “Guy who’s gonna make you wish you’d stayed home.”
