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“Absolutely. I’m rounding up the video you requested.”
“We won’t need that until morning. I’ll have Seth give you a call and the two of you can coordinate.”
“This isn’t necessary, Brock. I feel fine. I think it would be best…”
“I think it would be best if you let your friends take care of you. Dewey, can you let Bobby know to take Sonata off the schedule until further notice?”
“Brock,” she protested. He turned and leveled his scowl at her, and she held up her hands in defeat. “Okay.”
“Good girl. Everything will be all right.” He turned and extended his hand to her. “Sonata?”
Not knowing what else to do and knowing Brock was capable of fighting his way past anybody and everybody at the Majestic, she placed her hand in his. He led her outside and hailed a cab. Once inside, Brock directed the cabby to Elmo’s. The diner was a Chicago institution. There wasn’t a cabby in the city who didn’t know where it was. In addition, it was said that Elmo enforced his safe conduct zone with lethal efficiency.
“I’ve always wanted to go to Elmo’s,” she said, knowing it was an innocuous and inane thing to say.
He nodded. “It’s a great place to go. It is absolutely safe, and the food is excellent—not fancy, but really good.”
They arrived at Elmo’s. Brock paid the cabby and said, “Can I get you to stay here until we come back out?”
“Sure enough,” answered the cabby.
Brock walked her inside, nodded to the hostess, grabbed a menu, and headed to a booth in the back. He ushered her onto the bench seat and then slid in beside her, handing her the menu.
“Don’t you need to look at it?” she asked.
“Nope. I’m going to have Elmo’s Special, which is just Joe’s Special with a side of thick cut, perfectly cooked bacon.”
Alicia put the menu down. “That meatloaf sounds delicious.” Thinking of her diet, she said, “I’ll just have a salad with dressing on the side.”
Brock turned and looked at her but said nothing.
When the waitress came to the table, she looked at Brock. “Hey, big guy. Want your usual?”
He nodded. “That would be great. Alicia will have the meatloaf.”
“I said salad.”
“I heard you.” He looked at the waitress. “She’ll have the meatloaf.”
The waitress grinned. “Gotcha. I’ll bring you a French press for your coffee.”
When the waitress turned to walk away, Alicia noticed Brock watching her hips and buttocks as she did so. She was irrationally angry and could swear it was tinged with the color of jealousy.
“I thought you Doms believed in focusing on the woman you’re with.”
“You’d better hope I don’t decide to really focus on you.”
“I think maybe you should let me leave,” she said stubbornly.
“I think you should sit there, behave yourself, and eat your meatloaf. It is really good.”
Alicia had decided to refuse what was being offered, when the waitress returned with a French press with coffee, corn muffins, and biscuits. She set them down and headed over to help the next table, where four uniformed cops were sitting.
“That’s not good,” said Brock quietly, unzipping his leather motorcycle jacket and ensuring his gun was available. “If I tell you to get down, you do it. No questions, just move until I tell you something else.” He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.
“What’s wrong with four cops?”
“They aren’t cops.”
