Protecting Lanie (Club Tales #6)

Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

ARCHER

A rcher watched the shift in Lanie’s expression, the moment her defiance faltered, just for a second. It was all the confirmation he needed.

She was hiding something.

From the second they stepped into the masquerade, Archer had felt something was off. Now he was certain she was hiding something. While he understood why she had developed some of her bad habits, it was his job to correct them. She didn’t have any real tells unless you knew her, and he did. It was in the way she held herself too rigid, the way her fingers trembled against his arm, the way she avoided his eyes when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

The problem for her was, he was always paying attention.

Lanie tried to slip past him, but his grip was firm as he caught her elbow, pulling her back against him. Her pulse pounded against his fingers, her breath coming fast. She smelled of vanilla and something darker—fear, adrenaline, the sharp scent of nerves.

"Talk to me," he ordered.

She shook her head, her eyes darting toward the crowd, toward the VIP section upstairs. The main staircase leading up was at the far end of the ballroom, roped off and hidden behind heavy velvet curtains.

That was all it took. His entire body went stiff.

Archer bent his head, his mouth brushing her ear. "Is he here?"

Lanie flinched.

A low growl built in his chest. "Don’t lie to me again, little one."

She swallowed hard, still trying to force composure. "I don’t know," she whispered. "I...”

"Lanie." His grip moved from her elbow to her chin—gentle but firm—forcing her to look at him. Her pupils were too wide, her lips parted as she fought for air. "You saw him."

A flicker of fear flashed across her face before she forced it down, her fingers curling into her palm. She nodded, finally admitting, "Yes."

Every muscle in Archer’s body went tight. "When?"

"Earlier." Her voice was barely audible over the hum of the crowd. "By the bar. I turned around, and he was just... watching me. Like he was waiting."

Archer forced himself to breathe, to rein in the anger clawing at his chest. This wasn’t the time to lose control. He had to think, had to focus.

His earpiece buzzed with static.

"Archer," Reyna’s voice came through, sharp and urgent. "We’ve got confirmation—Molina’s in one of the VIP suites upstairs. And he’s not alone."

Archer’s gut twisted. "How many?"

"Four men with him. He’s got a laptop running, which means he’s probably communicating with buyers."

"Victims?" His voice dropped into something lethal.

A pause. "We’re working on it, but yeah. We think there are at least three girls up there being prepped."

Archer exhaled slowly, the rage in his veins running white-hot. This wasn’t just about Lanie anymore.

"Keep your eyes on them," he ordered. "I’ll be up soon."

"Copy that."

He tapped his earpiece off and turned back to Lanie. She was watching him, her chest rising and falling too fast, her lips pressed together like she was bracing for what came next.

"You’re leaving," he told her.

Lanie stiffened. "What?"

"You’re going home."

"No."

Archer arched a brow, tilting his head. "That wasn’t a request."

Her jaw tightened. "I’m not running anymore, Archer. Not from him."

A muscle flexed in his cheek. "This isn’t running. This is retreating to a safe place, so you survive."

Lanie crossed her arms, frustration burning in her dark eyes. "And what if I don’t want to survive like that? What if I want to fight?"

Archer took a slow, measured breath. He wanted to shake her, to make her understand just how dangerous this was, and that it was his job to protect her. But she was looking at him with something fierce in her gaze—determination, defiance.

She wasn’t just scared. She was furious. And damn it, he respected that... but that didn’t mean he was letting her stay.

Archer stepped forward, backing her against the nearest pillar, caging her in with his body. "Listen to me, little one," he murmured, his voice low, dark. "You don’t get to argue with me about this. Not when it comes to your safety."

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t look away. "I’m not yours to control, Archer."

Something dangerous flickered in his gaze. He reached down, brushing his fingers along the curve of her throat, feeling her pulse flutter beneath his touch. "Aren’t you?"

Lanie’s lips parted, a shiver rolling through her body. “You don’t own me.”

Archer let his hand drift lower, tracing the delicate lace of her mask, the smooth line of her collarbone. "I own your safety, little one," he said softly. "And right now, that means getting you the hell out of here."

Lanie swallowed hard, but she didn’t argue.

"Mitch is waiting in the alley with a car," he continued. "You’ll go straight to my place. I’ll have people stationed outside. You don’t open the door for anyone but me, Reyna, or Logan. Understood?"

She hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides. He knew what this cost her. He knew how much she hated feeling powerless. But this wasn’t about control. This was about keeping her alive. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Lanie exhaled and gave a single nod.

Archer leaned in, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. "Good girl."

She shivered.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. "Go. Now."

Lanie hesitated one last time, then turned on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Archer didn’t move. Didn’t breathe until he saw Logan guiding her out of the ballroom, her green dress vanishing through the exit.

Only then did he let himself focus on the rage clawing at his insides.

He rolled his shoulders, adjusting his cuffs, then turned toward the VIP stairs.

It was time to end this.

Archer looked around the room. The team was moving into position. They’d have to do this quietly, as there were too many civilians. They might be sleezebags, but they were still civilians. He watched as the team made their way up the stairs one-by-one and moved beyond the velvet curtains, which effectively blocked them from view.

Molina was here, but if he stuck to his tried-and-true MO, it wouldn’t be for long. He was a slimy weasel and seemed able to slip away from things with an almost uncanny ease.

Reyna’s voice buzzed in his earpiece. “We’re in position. I’m in position if things get dicey and the others have already positioned themselves inside. Molina’s in the big room at the end of the hallway. Looks like another ballroom. Double doors. Four armed goons. Silencers. Watch your six.”

Archer moved beyond the velvet rope and up the stairs.

“Sir?” a man called from the main floor. “That’s a restricted area.”

“Shit,” Reyna whispered in his ear.

“I understand that,” Archer said in an English accent. “I was told by Mr. Molina he had some choice merchandise available. I flew in from London, but if it’s restricted, I can call my pilot to ready the plane and you can tell Mr. Molina why I wasn’t in attendance.”

“Damn you’re good,” chuckled Reyna softly in his ear. “And the accent is spot on. You sound just like Nigel at Baker Street.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know you were here at Mr. Molina’s invitation. Please proceed, and my apologies.”

“None necessary. You were just doing your job.”

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Archer continued up the stairs. With Reyna in position to take out anyone who needed taking out, Archer slipped into the VIP auction. The air inside was thick with expensive cologne, sweat, and something darker—the quiet hum of power, of danger. Archer could smell it, feel it in the calculated way the bidders lounged in their chairs, glasses of high-end whiskey in hand, their gazes fixed on the three terrified women standing on the small platform at the front of the room.

They dressed the girls in underbust corsets, cinched tightly to expose and show off their breasts, and the most minuscule thongs he’d ever seen. The outfits left nothing to the imagination of the leering buyers. The girls’ wrists were bound with delicate silk ribbons meant to make the whole thing look like some depraved game. Archer’s stomach burned with barely leashed rage. No doubt this was what he’d wanted to do to Lanie.

Molina was standing at the far end of the room, speaking with one of his buyers, his back partially turned. He was cocky. Too comfortable. He thought he was untouchable.

Archer was about to change that. Archer flexed his fingers, signaling Kane, Logan, and the two other Cerberus operatives to move. Guns were out of the question—too many civilians in the room, the victims and everyone downstairs. Too many lives at risk. So, they’d do this the old-fashioned way.

Archer took the lead, stepping away from the doors with the kind of presence that made people look twice. The conversations in the room faltered, eyes turning toward him as he strode forward, masked, dressed like a buyer.

Molina’s head lifted, and for a split second, their gazes locked.

Recognition flickered.

Then all hell broke loose. The men who had been so comfortable lounging in their seats, ogling the women, ran for the exit.

“They’re headed for the stairway…” said Reyna.

“Hold your fire. Let them go.”

Archer knew one of the team had taken pictures of all those present. Cerberus’ facial recognition program would give them names to go with the faces and they could round them up later. Getting the girls to safety was their priority and catching Molina was a close second.

One of Molina’s men—big, ex-military from the look of him—was the first to react, yanking a sleek black pistol from his jacket. He barely got the barrel up before Logan was on him, slamming his arm to the side and twisting until the bone cracked.

The shot was muffled, but its sound still echoed in Archer’s ears. The other goons weren’t far behind.

Another silenced round hissed through the air, missing Kane’s shoulder by an inch before he ducked low, driving his elbow into a second man’s gut and sending him sprawling.

One of the other Cerberus men moved like a ghost, a blade flashing as he cut the ties off the first girl’s wrists, shoving her behind the nearest couch for cover, before moving on to the next.

Archer didn’t stop moving. Molina was slipping away, retreating toward the side entrance like the slimy bastard he was. Archer surged forward, but another one of the goons intercepted him, bringing his pistol up to bear.

Archer ducked to the side, grabbed the man’s wrist, and wrenched it sideways, forcing the gun to drop. In the same breath, he drove his knee into the guy’s ribs and sent him crashing to the floor.

“Archer—Molina’s moving!” Reyna hissed in his ear.

Archer’s head snapped up, just in time to see the door slam shut behind the trafficker.

“Shit.”

Logan took down the last goon with a brutal chokehold, leaving the bastard unconscious on the floor.

The room was silent except for the ragged breathing of the rescued women and the muffled bass of the party outside.

Kane straightened, glancing toward the exit. “He’s escaped.”

Archer clenched his jaw. “Not for long.”