Page 8 of Protecting Lanie

Mason leaned back, stretching out like an alley cat who’d just snagged a bowl of cream. “Relax, Vaughn. Just came to share some intel.”

Archer shifted his gaze from Lanie and focused fully on Mason. “Talk.”

The affable grin on Mason’s face faded just a fraction. “Heard a name I thought you’d be interested in.” He took a slow sip of his drink before continuing. “Vinnie Molina.”

Every muscle in Archer’s body went tight.

Mason had his attention now. Archer nodded, “Go on.”

“Rumor has it he’s trying to reconnect with the major players. He kept a low profile for a while—guess he had some personal issues to deal with.”

Molina had been a low-level recruiter for one of the most vile trafficking networks Archer had ever encountered. Molina was the kind of scum who groomed. He didn’t snatch girls off the street. No, he earned their trust, conditioned them, and then delivered them straight into hell.

Archer’s fingers curled around his glass. “Who’s he working with?”

Mason shrugged. “Unclear. But the name keeps floating around, and when I hear a snake slithering back into the pit,I figure it’s worth mentioning.” He tilted his head. “You got a history with this one?”

Archer didn’t answer.

Because his eyes had drifted back to Lanie.

And suddenly, a very dangerous thought slithered into his mind.

Personal issues.

His gut twisted. He didn’t believe in coincidences. And the unease Lanie carried, the way she flinched at unexpected touches, the way she seemed to always be on guard…

It wasn’t just his interest in her making connections now, it was instinct.

He turned back to Mason. “Where’s he operating?”

Mason exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Like I said, not sure. But I can dig.” His gaze flickered toward Lanie, interest sparking. “That one of yours?”

A low warning settled into Archer’s tone. “No.”

Mason lifted an eyebrow, but his grin widened. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Archer ignored the jab. “Find out where Molina’s been. I want every detail.”

Mason saluted lazily. “You got it, boss.”

Archer leaned back, forcing himself to think. He wondered at her reaction from hearing Molina’s name. Could she have overheard something, or was she connected to Molina in some other way. If she was, she wasn’t safe.

And if that were so, he had a problem.

Lanie moved through the lounge like she was trying to disappear, shoulders drawn in, hands gripping an empty trayso tightly that her knuckles had gone white. The club’s usual atmosphere—the low thrum of music, the steady murmur of conversation, the occasional crack of a whip or soft moan from one of the private rooms—had no effect on her. She wasn’t absorbing the energy of the place the way the other submissives did.

She was enduring it, and she was struggling.

Archer had been watching her all night, not by choice, but because his instincts wouldn’t allow otherwise.

Lanie had that kind of fragile strength that made men like him take notice. The kind that showed she had been broken before but was still standing. They weren’t all in one piece, but they were picking up the pieces, trying to figure out how to make them whole again. The kind that made men like Vinnie Molina salivate at the idea of exploiting them.

A low growl vibrated in his chest at the thought, but he pushed it down. He was here to unwind, not to fix things that weren’t his business.

But when Lanie tried to weave through the crowd and a club patron grabbed her wrist, her body jerking in alarm, Archer was moving before he even thought about it. This was the second time a patron had put hands on her. Perhaps King should go over the rules again. Club Southside did not tolerate that kind of behavior.

He reached her in three strides, his hand closing over the man’s arm before she could yank free.

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