Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
LANIE
P resent Day
The scent of vanilla and cinnamon wrapped around Lanie like a warm embrace, the familiar comfort of sugar and butter melting into the air as she worked. The kitchen at Club Southside was a world of controlled chaos, but she found solace in the rhythm of it—measuring, mixing, kneading. It kept her hands busy, her mind occupied.
And that was exactly what she needed.
She pressed her palm flat against the cool marble countertop, exhaling slowly before reaching for the piping bag. The macarons had to be perfect—delicate shells with just the right amount of give, filled with rich, silky ganache. There wasn’t room for mistakes. Not here. Not when perfection was the only thing she had control over anymore.
“Lanie, you’re gonna wear a hole in the damn counter,” Tessa, the club’s head bartender, teased as she breezed in, snagging a chocolate truffle off a tray.
Lanie startled, her grip tightening around the bag. “God, Tess. At least let me finish plating before you steal them.”
Tessa winked, popping the truffle into her mouth with a satisfied hum. “You know I can’t help myself. Besides, don’t pretend like you’re not stress-baking.”
“I’m not...” Lanie stopped, pressing her lips together. Tessa wasn’t wrong. The constant need to keep moving, to stay productive, to focus on anything but the past… it was a habit she hadn’t been able to shake.
Tessa gave her a knowing look, but before she could say anything, Logan, one of the club’s Doms, leaned through the kitchen’s side door. “Lanie, need those pastries for the VIP lounge, like, five minutes ago.”
“On it.” Lanie quickly arranged the last row of treats onto a silver tray. With practiced ease, she lifted it and turned...
And slammed straight into something solid.
The tray tipped, the delicate pastries cascading like falling dominoes. Some tumbled to the floor, others landed against the broad chest of the man she’d crashed into, smearing buttercream and ganache across his bare, sculpted torso.
Lanie sucked in a sharp breath, heart lurching as she looked up—way up—into the most commanding face she’d ever seen.
Archer Vaughn.
She knew who he was, of course. Everyone at Club Southside did. The man carried an air of authority so thick it seemed to have settled over him like a shroud. He too was a Dom at the club; he moved through the space like he owned it—calm, controlled, unreadable. His presence sent a ripple through any room he entered, and tonight was no different.
Except now he was standing there, chest dusted with powdered sugar, golden-brown macarons sticking to his chest, and the full force of his gaze pinned on her.
Lanie’s pulse skittered like hummingbird wings.
“Oh, God,” she blurted, mortified. “I...I’m so sorry...”
Archer didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. He simply looked at her, his eyes dark and steady, assessing in a way that made her feel bare despite the layers of her chef’s coat.
“Breathe,” he said, his voice a low command.
Her breath hitched, and she realized she wasn’t breathing. She forced air into her lungs, her cheeks flaming hot.
Tessa let out a low whistle from behind her. “Well, that’s one way to make an impression.”
Lanie felt her stomach twist. Impression? No. Disaster? Absolutely.
“I’ll...I’ll clean it up,” she rushed to say, dropping to her knees to scoop up the ruined pastries and finding herself at groin level. Before she could do anything but stare at his leathers, which showed a hardening cock behind the fly, Archer crouched beside her.
He cupped her chin in his hand, and its gentleness surprised her. She stilled.
“Eyes up here, pet,” he rumbled.
Her eyes met his, and she felt as though she could spend forever there. The last thing she expected was for him to help.
His fingers brushed over hers as he grabbed a macaron and popped it in his mouth, seeming to savor it before swallowing. The brief contact sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with shock.
“Not the end of the world and these are delicious, little one.” His voice was smooth, unwavering. But something about the way he said little one made her insides twist in a way that had nothing to do with embarrassment.
She shook her head quickly. “No, but it’s a mess, and it was my fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
His lips parted slightly, as if considering her words. “Accidents happen.” He popped another macaron in his mouth with what seemed to be deliberate slowness. “But you seem ready to punish yourself for it.”
She swallowed. Hard. She hated he could see that.
“I just don’t enjoy screwing up,” she admitted, keeping her eyes on the floor.
Archer was silent for a beat. Then, softly, “Has anyone ever told you that making a mistake doesn’t make you one?”
Her breath caught, her gaze snapping to his.
How did he do that? How did he see right through her with just a handful of words?
Before she could respond, Logan reappeared. “Uh… is now a bad time to ask if there’s a backup tray?”
Lanie blinked, the moment fracturing around her. “Right. Yes. There is.” She pushed herself to her feet quickly, stepping away from Archer before she did something reckless—like lean into him, just to see if his strength was as unshakable as it seemed.
“I’ll get it,” she said, smoothing a hand down the front of her apron. “Tessa, can you...”
“Already on it.” Tessa shot her a knowing grin before ducking into the walk-in cooler.
Archer stood smoothly, towering over her once again. He should’ve looked ridiculous, standing there in his leathers, which were now covered in sugar and cream, but he didn’t. He looked exactly the same—composed, steady. And that was what unsettled her the most.
“You’re shaking,” he observed, his voice quieter now.
Lanie curled her fingers into fists at her sides. She was. Not from fear, but from something she couldn’t name. Something he stirred inside her.
“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
Archer studied her for a long moment before nodding once. “Good.”
Just as he turned to leave, she surprised herself by speaking. “Wait.”
He stilled, glancing back.
She exhaled. “Your leathers...I should at least offer to get them cleaned.”
His lips curved slightly—just enough for her to catch a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, little one.”
And then he was gone, leaving her standing there, heart pounding, hands still sticky with sugar.
Tessa reappeared, tray in hand, eyebrows raised. “So… that was interesting.”
Lanie huffed, reaching for the fresh pastries. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Tessa grinned. “Oh, we’re definitely talking about it.”
Lanie turned toward the lounge with the tray, but she could feel Archer’s gaze still lingering on her. And for the first time in a long time, the thought of a man watching her didn’t make her want to run. It made her want to stay.
That thought put some sway in her backside as she sashayed away. He probably wouldn’t notice, but a girl could dream.
When she returned to the kitchen, its familiar rhythm helped to soothe the last of Lanie’s frayed nerves. The scent of vanilla and caramel wrapped around her like a protective cocoon, the hum of the mixers a welcome distraction. She focused on her work, carefully piping thick swirls of chocolate ganache onto delicate eclairs, pushing aside the ever-present undercurrent of unease that had been trailing her for weeks.
Club Southside was her safe space. Here, she was Lanie Cross, pastry chef—nothing more, nothing less. Not someone’s property. Not someone’s target. Just a woman who had found a place where she could breathe. As funny as it sounded, she had learned that Club Southside was a safe haven.
Sure, there were Doms and Dommes galore, but a submissive’s word was law and if someone said no, they meant it, and if necessary, one of the Cerberus Team would back it up. Cerberus, now there was an interesting group. As far as she could tell, each and every one of them had membership rights in the club, and most were active practitioners.
The sound of footsteps and laughter from the lounge filtered in through the kitchen’s open doorway. The club was alive tonight, its usual buzz of low conversation and sensual play filling the air. She liked it best when she could hear the activity but remain tucked away in her domain, far from the temptations and dangers lurking on the other side of those doors.
Then she heard it.
Vinnie’s name.
Lanie’s hand stilled mid-pipe, her breath catching in her throat. The voice was male, deep, conversational.
“Yeah, Molina’s still got his hands in a few things. Thought he went quiet for a while, but looks like he’s back in play.”
The air in the room seemed to shift, tightening around her like invisible fingers closing over her throat.
No. It was a coincidence. It had to be.
Lanie forced herself to breathe, forced her fingers to move. She had escaped. He had let her go. That had to mean something.
Another voice responded, casual, disinterested. “Shit. That guy’s got a reputation, even in the underground. Heard he had a real sweet setup before his boss found out.”
She swallowed hard. The room was too small, the air too thick.
They weren’t talking about her.
They couldn’t be.
Shoving the thought aside, she wiped her hands on her apron and forced herself to step away from the counter. She needed to get out of this damn kitchen for a few minutes before her heartbeat rattled straight out of her chest.
She moved toward the doorway, keeping her gaze lowered, carefully avoiding eye contact with the patrons filling the club’s dimly lit lounge area. The last thing she wanted was attention.
But she got it anyway.
Someone brushed against her—too close, too intentional. A hand skated lightly over the small of her back, not quite a grope, but enough to make her entire body seize.
Bile rose in her throat. She knew that move. Knew it well. It was a test, a way to see how much someone would allow before they pulled away.
Lanie went stiff, stepping sharply to the side, her breath coming faster.
“Relax, sweetheart.” The man’s voice was smooth, charming—wrong. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Every instinct she had screamed at her to move, to run...
Then another presence emerged from the shadows.
Archer.
She didn’t hear him approach, but suddenly he was there, a looming force of pure control. His presence filled the space, blocking out everything else, and in an instant, the man who had touched her withdrew, his effortless charm slipping into something wary.
“Something wrong here?” Archer’s voice was quiet, even—but there was nothing soft about it.
The man...John, maybe? James?...held up his hands. “Hey, man. No need to get involved. Just talking.”
Archer’s gaze didn’t shift. Didn’t waver. “Is that right?”
John-or-James shifted on his feet. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”
Archer’s eyes flicked to her, and that steady gaze unraveled her completely.
“You good, Lanie?”
She could barely form words, but she nodded.
Archer’s expression didn’t change, but something in him settled. His next words were for the other man.
“You touch her again or any of the other submissives here at the club without an invitation, and you and I will have a problem.” It wasn’t a threat. It was a fact.
The other man didn’t argue. He muttered something under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.
Lanie exhaled sharply, pressing a hand to her chest.
“You should tell one of the Doms if someone makes you uncomfortable.” Archer’s voice was still calm, but there was something else there now—something sharper, like the edge of a blade.
She forced a shaky breath. “I can handle myself.”
His brow lifted slightly, assessing her. “I don’t doubt that.” A pause. “But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
Lanie swallowed hard.
Archer was a Dom at Club Southside. But he didn’t need to be. His authority came from something deeper, something ingrained. The way he commanded the space, the way people responded to him—it made her insides coil in a way she really didn’t want to think about.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He nodded once, accepting it without making it a big deal. “Get some air,” he said simply, before stepping back, giving her space.
She did. She forced her legs to move, retreating to the kitchen, focusing on the simple certainty of her work.
For the rest of the night, she avoided looking at Archer, but she felt his eyes on her, anyway.
It was late by the time Lanie finished cleaning. The kitchen was silent now, the chaos of the night fading into stillness.
She dried her hands, reaching for her phone...
And froze.
One unread message.
No number. No name. Just words that made her blood run ice cold.
Miss me, baby?
Lanie’s fingers clenched around the phone so hard it hurt.
No. No, no, no.
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.