Page 9 of Protecting Lanie

“Hands off,” Archer ordered, voice quiet but lethal.

The man startled, looking up with a hazy, half-drunken expression. “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he muttered, releasing Lanie immediately.

Archer didn’t let go. His grip remained firm, his gaze steady. “She works here. She’s not here for you.”

The message was plain to see. Not available. Not an option. Not yours.

The man nodded quickly, stepping back and disappearing into the crowd.

His attention shifting to Lanie—she stood frozen, her breath coming faster than it should, her wide doe eyes locked onto him. He expected her to pull away, to mutter a quick “I’m fine” and disappear into the kitchen.

She didn’t.

Instead, she took a breath. A deep one. Like she was forcing herself to remember where she was, who she was.

That fire was still in her, even under the fear—another thing Archer liked more than he should.

“Come with me,” he said, voice softer now. He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

Lanie hesitated, just for a second, then nodded.

He guided her out of the crowd, keeping his body angled between her and anyone who might try to test his warning. She was too on edge, too shaken, and it irritated him. She shouldn’t have to put up with this kind of thing.

They reached a quiet hallway near the club’s back entrance, dimly lit and lined with sleek black walls. The noise from the lounge faded, replaced by the low hum of the ventilation system.

Lanie let out a breath and finally looked at him. “I had it handled.”

Archer crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “Did you?”

Her jaw tensed. “I could’ve walked away.”

He nodded slowly. “You could have. But you didn’t.”

She didn’t have a response to that.

Instead, she folded her arms, mirroring his stance, though the effect was very different. Despite her small size compared to his, he knew she would fight fiercely if she had to.

And that’s what got to him. He’d seen plenty of survivors in his life. Women who had been through hell and come out on the other side. Some had hardened, some had broken. Lanie seemed to still be trying to figure it out.

And for the first time in years, something inside Archer shifted—an instinct deeper than duty, something undeniably possessive.

He protected people. Submissives. Those who needed it. It was what he did.

But this? This was different. This felt personal. And that was dangerous.

His jaw tightened. “You don’t like crowds.”

Lanie blinked, startled by the change in topic. “What?”

“You don’t like people touching you. You don’t enjoy being the center of attention.” He kept his voice even. “So, why are you here?”

She hesitated. He saw the flicker of uncertainty, the instinct to retreat behind a quick excuse. But then she surprised him.

“I’m not a member of the club, but I wanted to see if there might be something here for me,” she admitted. “To see if I could be… normal again.”

Archer exhaled through his nose, studying her. “And?”

She gave a half-laugh. “Jury’s still out.”

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