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“What is this place?” Brock asked in an aggressive tone.
The ticket taker looked askance, but then relaxed and smiled. “The Majestic is the home of Chicago’s best burlesque show.”
“It’s a strip club?” Brock asked, now more shocked than angry.
“Not at all. While burlesque shares a few similarities to exotic dancing, those similarities are only superficial. For one thing, you’re not going to see a lot of nudity and the intent of each club couldn’t be more different. Exotic dancers dance for a living. It’s how they put food on the table and pay their bills. Burlesque dancers for the most part don’t get paid, although here at the Majestic they do. I think most of them put that money back into their costumes and creating new acts. More important than the money, they do it for love of the art.”
Brock wasn’t sure he bought the guy’s explanation but paid his money for a ticket to enter anyway. He stopped as he entered the doors. He suddenly understood how Alice had felt falling through the rabbit hole into Wonderland. The place was dominated by a center stage surrounded by tables with chairs and some booths. There was a bar at the back with several bartenders busily making drinks.
He stood at the back where he could observe without being seen, listening to everything: conversations between patrons and staff, and different songs played by a live band. Scanning the room, he found the band at the foot of the stage and off to one side. They seemed to switch between a variety of different musical types: jazz, rock, blues and even big band. The performances included bawdy songs, dirty jokes, and risqué dances. The latter were comprised of beautiful women in fabulous costumes who combined true artistry with sensual movements. And the costumes were incredible. Maybe he’d suggest to King that they offer lessons at the club and have a monthly performance.
He watched several performances, but then the curtains opened to reveal a gorgeous woman with curves in all the right spots, amazing tits and hips a man could use to hold her in place as he pounded into her. She was dressed in a red and black lace dress with a black, feathered train that looked like it had come from the Moulin Rouge. It took him a moment to realize it was Alicia underneath a black wig in the style of a Roaring Twenties bob and artfully done stage makeup.
If his cock hardened at the sight of Alicia in her frumpy clothes and messy bun, it was nothing compared to the almost immediate hard-on that throbbed against the fly of his jeans. She was stunning, and he’d never wanted to fuck any woman as much as he wanted to fuck her. She had struck a pose and was waiting. There was no trace of nervousness or embarrassment. This was a woman in charge of herself and her audience.
Working at Cerberus, while she was confident in her role, he often thought of her as meek and mild. But standing on the stage, she was the embodiment of female empowerment—a woman that a man like him wanted to dominate. In that moment, she had reminded him of Miley: an Amazon warrior of the first order. Her clothing at work was ill-fitting, schlumpy and non-descript. It did nothing for what was now revealed as a female form of curves and beauty. She was, in a word, magnificent. Brock had never been so enraptured by a woman. It was weird, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it, but he kind of liked it.
“Next up,” said the bandleader and master-of-ceremonies, “is one of the Majestic’s best. She’s debuting a new number and I have to say the outfit is va-va-va-voom. Let’s give a big round of applause to Sonata Royale doing Fever.”
There was a wild round of applause as the band began to play the introduction of a song Peggy Lee had made famous. Watching her was a bit like watching Mikhail Baryshnikov at the height of his talent. There was grace and power in her movements—a grace and power that came from within. She shimmied across the stage, provocative, sensual, flirtatious, and totally in command of herself, her audience, and the stage. The performers who came before were nothing compared to Alicia.
Striking her final mark, the music ended, and the curtain began to fall as someone from the back of the audience called, “Alicia!”
Did anyone other than himself know her real name? The man hadn’t called her by her stage persona’s name. He’d called her Alicia. Brock noticed a small tremor of fear ripple through her body. What the hell was that about? Who was this guy, and what did he want with Alicia? More importantly, why was she frightened of him?
“Alicia!” the same voice called again.
Brock needed to get backstage but watched as the beefy bouncers deterred the man who had called to Alicia. Not that he didn’t think he could take the guy or the bouncers in a fight, but not wanting to take the time, he spun on his heel and dashed back out the front entrance, sprinting to the alleyway where Dewey was no longer at his post. Brock spotted the entertainer’s entrance and planted himself just outside it, effectively blocking the alley.
Alicia rushed out the stage door a moment later, almost in a panic. She scurried down the alley and slammed into him. Brock unfolded his arms as she knocked herself back. Taking hold of her upper arms, he steadied her and made sure she didn’t injure herself. She began to struggle until he shook her upper arms, shaking her lightly until she looked up.
“I think, little girl, you and I need to have a talk,” he rumbled.
A glimmer of recognition passed through her face right before she went completely loose and became a dead weight in his hands. She’d fainted.
CHAPTER 4
ALICIA
Slowly Alicia became aware of her surroundings. She vaguely remembered hearing him call her name and knowing she had to get out of there with all due speed. She’d stuffed everything she could into her bag, pulled on her coat and rushed out without changing. Her plan was to sprint to the L and get away. She hadn’t counted on slamming into something tall, rock solid and decidedly male. Brock.
He caught her, steadying her as she looked up at him and did the only rational thing she could. She fainted, knowing he would never let her fall.
As recognition began to blow away the cobwebs, she realized she was backstage at the Majestic. In fact, she was in the dressing room surrounded by Scarlett, Dewey, Bobby, and Brock.
“Hey, sweetie. Welcome back. I loosened your laces so you could breathe. Did I lace you in too tight?” said Scarlett.
Alicia laid her hand on Scarlett’s arm. “No. I just had a fright and then was a little shocked to find Brock in the alley.”
Dewey straightened up. “The only reason he’s in here is because he caught you when you fainted. I can make him leave.”
Brock snorted. Dewey wouldn’t have a prayer against Brock, and Brock knew it. Alicia suspected Dewey knew that as well. It was sweet and typical of Dewey to offer, but she needed to de-escalate this situation.
“Dewey, it’s fine. I’m okay, everybody. I just forgot to eat, and I made Scarlett cinch me tighter than normal.”
Another snort from Brock. She might be able to persuade the others, but he damn well knew that she was lying through her teeth. For one thing she’d ordered lunch for everyone in the office, including herself, and he’d seen her eating it. He also was an experienced Dom and he would have been able to tell if her laces were too tight.
She looked up at his face and watched as a myriad of expressions crossed it—concern, anger, curiosity. They seemed to circulate, cycling through again and again. Surreptitiously, she tried to look around the room to ensure the man who had called her and was the instigator of the nightmare that had become her life wasn’t present.
