Abe (Savage Kings MC Book 2)

by Lane Hart

We get parked in front of the huge warehouse type building, and then I walk Mercy straight inside to a room that actually has her name on the door. It’s a little impressive, and I want to take a photo of it when she’s not looking.

  I take it that this is supposed to be Mercy’s dressing room since it’s full of racks of clothes and bright ass lights around mirrors. Two random women come in a moment later, moving in a hurry as one starts rubbing shit on Mercy’s face and the other takes a hot iron thing to her hair. Why are they doing all that? I have no fucking clue since her face and hair looked gorgeous the way she had it after her shower. Hell, the woman even looked amazing right out of bed this morning when she came down the stairs.

  “So, ah, what’s this show about?” I ask Mercy as the two women continue to frantically work on her and she sits stock-still like a statue of a Greek goddess.

  “It’s a, ah, a dating show,” Mercy answers.

  “A fucking dating show?” I repeat.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So you signed up to date some random guy on television?” I ask, unable to wrap my head around the idea.

  “Something like that…”

  “There are actually twenty guys,” the hairdresser person, who is obviously eavesdropping on our conversation, casually throws out.

  “Twenty!” I exclaim, and without moving her head, Mercy’s green eyes cut to mine and narrow as if to warn me to cool it.

  “My bodyguard is concerned about my safety around so many strangers,” Mercy tells the hairdresser. And I get that she put an emphasis on strangers since she and I have only known each other for two days. I don’t care for the way she refers to me as just her bodyguard either, even if that is the only title I have. For whatever reason, I want to make a t-shirt that proclaims that I’ve had my tongue in Mercy’s pussy for so long I can still taste her even days after the act. And I swear I can. Even if it was just one time, it seems important enough to broadcast my accomplishment. I doubt Mercy feels the same, however.

  “So why do you need to be on a dating show? I’m guessing you don’t have any problems getting asked out,” I mutter.

  “It’s a big draw from viewers,” she replies. “They love the drama of eliminating women, or in my case, men, until I pick ‘the one.’”

  “The one?” I repeat with a scoff. Does she mean like the man of her dreams or some bullshit? “You think you’ll find that in a group of random asshats?”

  “Maybe,” she answers with a smile. “I fell for Blake that way, so it happens.”

  “Blake?” The sound of his name tastes as nasty and bitter as spraying lemon juice directly on my tongue.

  “He was the King of Hearts last season, and I was one of twenty women,” she explains.

  “Could he be the loser who wrote the note?” I ask.

  Again, I get that angry, narrowed-eyed look from her that’s a silent demand that I shut up. It’s also sexy as fuck to see her beautiful face try to look all angry. She fails and looks adorable instead.

  Adorable? Fuck, I’ve turned into a full-blown pussy.

  “It wasn’t from him,” Mercy snaps in his defense.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he picked someone else. Now they’re married, living happily ever after in Bali,” she answers with a tone of voice that implies she doesn’t approve of that shit. “At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

  It hits me that from the tension in her voice and defensiveness that this son of a bitch hurt her.

  How could he pick any woman over Mercy? She’s fucking perfect. Not just in the looks department either, but god, she’s sexy and sweet and there’s no one who could compare to her. Does she actually miss the fucker?

  And while she may believe that the asshole is living a happy life with someone else, I think I’ll still find out his last name and have Reece do a search on him to make sure he isn’t hanging around in town. To me, the bastard seems like the most likely suspect – the dumb ass who passed up an opportunity to be with Mercy. Then, when his stupidity eventually caught up to him, he realized how badly he fucked up and is trying to fix it.

  Mystery solved. Mercy’s stalker has to be her fucking ex.

  …

  “It’s not her ex,” Reece says to me on the phone a few minutes later when I call him. He’s easily able to figure out the dickhead’s full name with a few clicks on a keyboard and the name of the show.

  “How can you be sure?” I ask.

  “Because Blake Burton hasn’t left Bali. In fact, according to his credit card history, this morning he bought groceries. Now I’m looking at him sitting on his deck through his doorbell camera.”

  “Fuck,” I mutter. If he’s crossed off the list of suspects, then we’re back to square one. “You got the security system in yet?” I ask Reece, since he ordered it last night and had it overnighted despite the fact that the shipping fees are as much as the system itself. I don’t care what it costs. I told him I’d pay him back, because Mercy needs to have her house monitored ASAP.

  “Jesus, man. Not yet. I told you I would bring it over and install it as soon as it gets in.”

  “Fine,” I grumble.

  “You just need to focus on watching your girl’s back for now,” Reece tells me. I don’t bother correcting his comment that she’s my girl. “That note you texted me a copy of last night is obviously from someone with a very serious, very dangerous obsession with her. Those types of people can’t be reasoned with. Their reality doesn’t exist the same as ours. And if pushed, he could become extremely volatile. You staying so close to her could easily be what sets him off.”

  “He can bring that shit right to me,” I declare. “The sooner the better to get him put away and out of Mercy’s life.”

  “Looking through FBI profiles, if I had to guess, he’s probably socially withdrawn and rather timid in person. Likely unremarkable features. In other words, your average Joe who spends way too much time isolating himself from the real world.”

  “Hmm,” I grunt. That could be any damn body. “That sounds sort of like you,” I tease him.

  “Fuck you. I’m not average looking or isolated, despite my many attempts. Instead, I have to deal with one of you fuckers bothering me every damn day,” Reece responds grumpily, making me grin.

  When Mercy steps out of her dressing room with bouncy, red curls draped over her fair shoulders, wearing a short and sexy, white dress showing way too much cleavage, I tell Reece, “Gotta go,” then abruptly end the call.

  Jesus. No wonder this woman has a stalker. I’m on the verge of becoming a certifiable one myself. But I’m not just perving on her from afar. The way I’m looking at her leaves no doubts for Mercy about how much I want her again, even though I can’t have her.

  “Aren’t you going a little too far?” I ask her.

  “What?” Mercy asks with her red brows furrowing.

  “How do you expect any man to look at you wearing that without throwing wood?”

  Mercy lets out a small burst of laughter before she shakes her head. “You say whatever pops into your head, don’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I reply. “What’s wrong with that?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” she answers. “I like your honesty. It makes me think that the things you say are actually true.”

  “Of course they are. Why would I make shit up?” I ask in confusion.

  Exhaling heavily, she says, “You’d be surprised how many people hide those real thoughts and just tell people what they think they want to hear.”

  “Well, I’d be shit out of luck if I only said what I thought people wanted to hear. I’m fucking clueless most of the time.”

  “You’re not clueless; you’re just authentic,” Mercy tells me. “It’s nice,” she adds with another stunning smile before she struts away, her white high heels clacking on the concrete floor and her ass swaying hypnotically underneath her tight dress. I can’t help but wonder what kind of panties she has on. A white thong maybe? Damn, I want to find out, but
I need to spend less time worrying about her panties and more time looking around for dudes who look at Mercy like they literally worship the ground her long, gorgeous legs walk on.

  This job may be harder than I expected.

  …

  That torture of mine I was so worried about is proven absolutely fucking true a few minutes later when I have to watch twenty fucking assholes drooling over Mercy. While some dick with a clipboard told the men not to speak to Mercy and just pose for their photos, there wasn’t any need for words. All of their greedy eyes said the same things – they wanted to fuck my woman.

  Well, just because I fucked her once doesn’t mean she’s mine, but I did have her before any of them. And I guarantee that none of them could make her body shake as many times as I did.

  Fuck.

  I have to stop thinking about that shit. My cock is starting to swell, and I think being a “bodyguard” with a hard-on for the woman I’m supposed to be looking out for is generally frowned upon.

  Since none of the men touch Mercy unless specifically directed to by the photographer, all I can do is cross my arms over my chest and glare at them, trying to decide if any look like the type to dig through trash looking for rubbers that have been inside of Mercy.

  Several dickheads take notice of me and go rigid with fear. They should be afraid of me. I’d snap their necks if they even think the wrong things about Mercy.

  The prissy photographer throws me an exasperated look over his shoulder before he walks up to Mercy and says something to her that causes her eyes to jump over to mine. Giving the photographer a nod and a smile, Mercy strolls on over to me, which means that no less than twenty sets of eyes watch her ass leave. More if you count the production crew that’s also hanging around holding lights and reflective shit.

  “What’s up?” I ask without uncrossing my arms when Mercy’s standing right in front of me.

  “The photographer asked if you could please wait for me outside the room.”

  “What?” I snap. “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “Apparently you’re making the guys a little stiff and uncomfortable,” she explains.

  “I’m just standing here,” I say, holding my arms out to the side.

  “Exactly,” Mercy replies with a small smile. “You’re intimidating.”

  “Isn’t that what bodyguards are supposed to do?” I ask. “Intimidate jackasses?”

  “Yes, but I’m safe in here.”

  “How do you know that for certain?” I point out with an arched eyebrow.

  “Because I just met these guys,” she says while gesturing with her thumb over her shoulder. “Most, if not all, probably just got into town very recently, so the letter probably couldn’t have come from any of them.”

  “Everyone is a suspect,” I tell her. “Except for your ex.”

  Mercy’s eyes widen at the mention of the asshole. “I told you it wasn’t Blake.”

  “Well, I wanted to make sure,” I reply. “Reece did a check on him. He’s in the clear.”

  “Good. Great,” Mercy says with a nod, but crosses her arms over her chest now as if she’s pissed off for some reason. “Anyway, will you wait for me in the hallway or in my dressing room? We shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “I don’t like leaving you,” I tell her, sighing heavily with my hands braced on my hips.

  “It’s fine. You’ll be right down the hall, so close that you’ll hear me if I scream.”

  A smirk stretches across my face at the reminder. “Yeah, I’m pretty familiar with the sound of your screams.”

  Smiling even while her eyes lower from mine like she’s a little embarrassed by my comment, Mercy shakes her head and slaps a hand against my chest playfully. “Go,” she says. Then, she turns around and swishes her ass right back in front of the camera. Before I leave, I give every last dick in the room an angry glare in warning.

  Chapter Eleven

  Mercy

  As soon as the heavy door slams shut behind Abe’s enormous frame, an unusual nervous tingle causes the hair on the back of my neck to stand up.

  I know I’m being ridiculous, but what if Abe was right and one of the people in this room is my psycho stalker? No, that’s impossible. These men don’t even know me…

  “Smile, Mercy,” Cyrus, the show’s photographer directs me when I don’t realize that my fake smile slipped.

  I paste the smile back on my face and turn this way and that at his direction while sneaking glimpses of the guys around me. While they’re all indisputably handsome, none of them really spark my interest. They seem so…small. I’m guessing most are around six feet tall; but after being around a giant the last few days, none of them look like they add up to him. And I’m not just thinking about height either.

  The vibe I get from most of these guys without them speaking a word is that they’re…pretentious and arrogant, sort of like how Blake was. And while confidence in a man is sexy, too much can make them think they’re god’s gift to women. Those would be the cheaters, as my mom would point out.

  What vibe do I get around Abe? Well, every time he sees me, his eyes go so dark that he looks like he’s seconds away from tearing off my clothes and slamming me against the nearest hard surface.

  Not that I mind.

  And I know exactly how damn good he is at what happens after clothes are removed from the equation. Except…I didn’t get to see him without his clothes on. Which is pretty disappointing. Our first time was pretty much all about me.

  First time?

  I say that like there will be a second time when there can’t be, especially since Abe hasn’t actually said he wants to be with me again or tried to touch me. I could be completely wrong about the way he looks at me, seeing something that’s not really there.

  Besides, as soon as the show starts filming tomorrow night, I’m not allowed to date anyone. At least not publicly, since a photo of me with a man who is not on the show being published in a tabloid would kill the illusion of the show — that I’m here to find love. And I am going to try to find love, as well as abide by that contract. I need the money to pay not just my bills, but my mother’s as well. When my mom and I went to Europe like she’s always dreamed of, I splurged maybe a little too much, so my savings is quickly becoming depleted. It seemed like a necessary expense at the time to allow me to keep moving so that I wouldn’t have time to think about a certain heartbreaker.

  Surprisingly enough, being back here on the photoshoot set where I first saw Blake isn’t bringing up as many memories as I thought it would. Guess I have my stalker to thank for that, since my thoughts have been centered around whoever has been watching me and going through my trash. My safety right now takes precedence over falling for a man, believing everything he told me was true, and then getting crushed when I realized how wrong about him I truly was. I’m starting to think that what Blake did hurt me even more because he turned things around to make himself look better. He was leading me on, but turned the tables on me by saying he suddenly realized I was fake and bad in bed when he was just covering his ass for sleeping with two women without them knowing about it for weeks!

  Well, screw that man. Not that I would ever lower myself to his level by going public with it, but sex with Blake was less fulfilling than my alone time with my battery-operated bullet. He could seriously learn a few things from Abe.

  “Perfect!” Cyrus exclaims, pulling me back into the shoot. “In that last shot, your smile was so brilliant it could have lit up a city in a blackout,” he tells me as he looks down at the camera in his hands and scrolls through the images. “I think we’re done for the day, guys. Great work!”

  “Thanks,” I tell him as I break away from the group of men. I give a wave to them and say, “Bye guys. See you tomorrow,” before I hightail it out of there. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck finally relax as soon as I’m clear of the room and see Abe standing with his back holding up the wall.

  “Finally finished?” he asks w
hen he looks up and sees me, pushing away from his position.

  “Yep. Let’s go home,” I say on a sigh.

  “Hell yes,” Abe replies while cracking his knuckles.

  I debate telling him about the odd feeling I had after he left but figure I’m just being ridiculous. “I just need to change really quick,” I say as I go over and turn the doorknob for my dressing room.

  “I’ll come with you,” Abe offers, following close behind me.

  “You can stay here,” I tell him with a grin before I disappear inside.

  Chapter Twelve

  Abe

  My restraint for not touching Mercy in almost forty-eight hours is wearing incredibly thin. It wouldn’t take much for me to snap. Sleep deprivation isn’t helping me rationalize shit either.

  Seeing her around all those guys has me wanting to remind her that, despite their pretty-boy looks, they won’t ever be able to make her feel as good as I can. And why is that? Because I would stay on my knees with my tongue between her sexy legs forever if Mercy asked me to. It wouldn’t be a hardship either. It would be a goddamn honor.

  “Stay here and lock the door,” I order Mercy as soon as we walk through the front door of her house. I want to check every room and window first, making sure that there’s no psychos lurking around. Nothing looks out of place, so I return to give her the all-clear.

  “Thanks, big guy,” she replies with an appreciative smile before she turns around right there in the foyer and gives me her back. “Would you mind unzipping me?”

  Would I mind unzipping her? Um, fuck no.

  I’m behind her a second later, grabbing the tiny zipper of her dress with my thick fingers and tugging it right on down. I start to ask her how she would’ve gotten out of the dress if I hadn’t been around and realize exactly what’s going on here. She’s coming on to me, right? I could be wrong. So, to find out for sure, after the zipper stops at her lower back, as far down as it goes, I reach for the sides of her dress still along her shoulders and peel the material off of her until it puddles at the floor around her feet. And fuck me, she’s going braless, only wearing a purple lacy thong that matched the dress she wore today. Which makes me wonder if she was wearing any panties at all under that white dress for the photos. Believe me, I would’ve seen the purple strings through that one. That’s how hard I was staring.