Page 7 of Protecting Lanie

Vinnie had stayed away for a year. Why now?

She forced herself to breathe, her heart hammering against her ribs. This meant nothing. It couldn’t.

Maybe it was a mistake. A sick joke. Maybe?—

Her breath stalled as three dots appeared.

He was still typing.

She didn’t wait to see what he said next.

Lanie shut off her phone, pressing it hard against her palm, as if that could erase the way her entire world had just tilted on its axis.

She wasn’t safe. She had never been safe. And now, she wasn’t sure if she ever would be again.

CHAPTER 3

ARCHER

Archer had spent the past ten years hunting the worst kind of men. The kind who saw people as commodities, who whispered in dark corners about shipments rather than human lives. He’d spent those years tracking them, dismantling their operations, and ensuring they never saw daylight again.

That kind of work left scars. Some were visible, most were not.

Which was why he was here—Club Southside. It wasn’t just a place for him to play; it was a place where he could observe. Watch without being watched. Unwind without truly relaxing.

Archer sat in his usual spot, a dimly lit booth near the back, nursing a bourbon he didn’t plan on finishing. The club pulsed with low music, a steady beat that hummed through the floor. Subtle sounds filled the air—gasps of pleasure, quiet commands from Doms, the occasional murmur of conversation.

He barely registered any of it.

Because his focus kept straying to her.

Lanie Cross.

She moved behind the bar with careful efficiency, stacking plates, wiping down the counter, trying too damn hard to make herself invisible. But he saw her.

He always saw her.

She differed from the other women who worked at Club Southside. The subs here moved with purpose, with confidence. Even when they weren’t playing, they carried themselves with a quiet assurance, secure in who they were, and that they were safe.

But Lanie? She was all contradiction.

Timid, but not weak. Shy, but with an undercurrent of something deeper—fire, maybe. It was in the way her hands never quite stopped moving, in the way she hesitated when someone got too close, yet never truly backed down.

When he’d first gotten into the lifestyle, he’d never been the kind of man to be drawn to fragile things. Lanie wasn’t fragile, but often he needed to break down submissives like her before rebuilding them. The trick was to do so without damaging the person within.

The more he understood it, the more he realized he had spent his whole life in service of one kind or another. A Dom who served his sub was just one more step along that road, and recognizing he was actually a Daddy Dom—a Dom who takes on a nurturing, protective, and authoritative role in the dynamic with his or her partner—had been the next step along his path. Unlike a traditional Dom, a Daddy Dom often emphasized care, guidance, and emotional support while maintaining control and enforcing discipline.

There was something broken about Lanie… something that called to him to help her rebuild whatever she had lost. He had to give it to her. It seemed she was trying. And that intrigued him more than it should have.

“Didn’t know you were into the quiet ones,” a voice drawled beside him. “I thought you were the resident brat tamer.”

Archer didn’t need to look to know who had slid into the booth across from him. Mason Carter, one of his informants—and a Cerberus asset who had more connections to the underground than Archer was comfortable with.

“I’m not,” Archer said, keeping his voice neutral.

Mason chuckled. “Sure. That’s why you’ve been staring at her for the past hour.”

Archer didn’t respond. He wasn’t in the mood for games.

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