Chapter Fourteen

 

Mercy

 

The night after Abe fucked me into oblivion, someone stole my dirty panties, and then Abe flipped out for no reason after Reece came by and installed the security system, I’m in hair and makeup for almost two hours. Which does my self-image no good at all, especially when the makeup artist sounds like my mother, telling me I should get more sleep and put cucumbers over my eyes to help with the swelling. How do I get sleep when I have a crazed stalker out in the world and the one person who makes me feel safe refuses to touch me?

Abe made it clear that nothing will happen between the two of us again, basically stating that having sex with me is just a distraction that he doesn’t want or need.

I’m so over the whole fantastic sex with him. Or so I tell myself.

Now, it’s time for me to finally get to speak to the twenty handsome bachelors on the show.

Once the sun went down, the crew set up filming in the driveway of the oceanfront mansion with the waves crashing in the background and the moonlight reflecting off the ocean. The lights lining the driveway and sidewalk to the front of the house glow warmly, inviting guests inside. It’s beautiful and romantic, yet all I can think about is the brooding giant standing off to the side, watching me like a hawk with his arms crossed over his thick chest.

He’s tired again and should’ve given up his sentinel services hours ago to get some sleep, but of course he refused. I don’t know what Abe is going to do since he can’t possibly stay awake twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week until we’re able to identify and catch my stalker.

“Mercy, the first bachelor is ready if you are?” Ryan, the producer of the show, says from where he’s standing next to one of the cameramen.

“Sure,” I agree as I look down and smooth my hands over the front of my long, black gown to make sure everything is in place. Since it’s strapless, I’m worried that too much movement may cause my breasts to pop right out the top.

“Everyone quiet on the set. Cameras ready. Let’s pull the limo around, and action!” Ryan shouts.

I plaster a smile on my face when the headlights of the black limousine first appear before it drives up and comes to a stop right in front of where I’m waiting at the entry of the sidewalk. The passenger side nearest me opens, and then out steps a tall, lean, dark-haired man that I recognize from the photoshoot. His smile is enormous as he buttons his black suit jacket and approaches me.

“Hi, beautiful,” he says in greeting. “I’m Roman.”

“Hi, I’m Mercy,” I reply with a grin.

When he holds out his arms for a hug, I step forward to give him a quick embrace since it’s expected. And he’s tall, almost as tall as Abe, but not nearly as big and muscular.

“I can’t wait to get to know you more,” he says when the two of us separate.

“Me too,” I agree. Still smiling, he nods and then continues up the sidewalk toward the house where all twenty bachelors will be living together during the filming. That is one part of this season that I definitely won’t miss. The majority of the show is based on the drama that happens in the house during the competition. When you put twenty men, or in my case last season, twenty women, under one roof, there will always be fireworks.

The limo pulls away and then drives back around the semi-circular driveway a moment later to drop off a different man.

“Hiya, babe. I’m Tanner,” the next guy, a man who has ear-length light blond hair says. Even before he called me babe I wasn’t interested in the surfer boy. No, the only thing that was even slightly appealing were the tattoos that peeked out of his orange, yes, orange, button-down and cuffs. I had no idea that I was so attracted to ink, not until I met Abe…

Eighteen men later and I’ve finally met all of the contestants who I’m supposed to get to know over the next four weeks before I finally choose my soulmate. But deep down in my gut, even after meeting them for just a few seconds each, I already know that none of them are Mr. Right. I hugged all of them, and none of them even sparked the smallest warmth in my chest or in my lady parts.

The only names out of the twenty that I remember are Brian, Tanner, Roman, Henson, Robert, Cale, Eric, Winston, and Zeke. The only reason that I remember two of those names, Henson and Eric, is because they were assholes. How could I judge that based on a smile, greeting and quick hug? Well, the entire time both men only looked at my cleavage and not once at my eyes.

After all of the initial introductions, the crew sets up inside and on the patio for me to go mingle with all of the men.

I’m supposed to be learning about what they all do for a living, their hobbies, etcetera, but really it makes me feel like I’m back in the elementary schoolyard with boys fighting over who gets to have a turn on the swings. I’m the swing in this scenario, and I don’t really want any of them. They fight over who can get me a drink, a refill on my wine, who gets to talk to me alone, and I even hear a few whining about how I didn’t spend as much time with them as so-and-so.

Also, it’s incredibly difficult to act like I’m having a one-on-one conversation walking with a man on the beach when I know that Abe is watching and listening from just a few feet away.

There are just too many guys to keep straight, so hours later when it’s time for me to deliberate on who I want to send home, I have to sort through photos with the producer to figure out which two I want to send home tonight along with the perverts, Henson and Eric. 

Is it crazy that I want to ask Abe his opinion?

I wonder who he would pick, or would he tell me to send them all home? I ultimately decide on two more photos of men who could barely think of a sentence to say to me all night because they were also too busy looking at my breasts.

The ceremony involves me handing out red heart pins for the men to each wear on their shirt collars or lapels. When all the pins are gone, I tell the four standing with the group who did not get pins that I’m sorry, but they did not win my heart, so they must go home. Cheesy, I know, but the show is called Queen of Hearts.

Once I give the boot to the perverts, dwindling the group down to sixteen bachelors, the producer finally says it’s a wrap for tonight.

Tomorrow, the real fun will begin with competitions for the guys to win a solo dinner date with me.

Abe is sitting in a lawn chair with his arms crossed in front of my trailer, looking about as thrilled as a man waiting for a root canal. It’s surprising that he hasn’t inserted toothpicks in his eyes to hold them open since it’s so late.

“Ready to get out of here?” I ask him.

“I was ready to leave the moment we got here,” Abe grumbles, then yawns. “It’s almost two fucking a.m.”

“You’ve been awake for way too long,” I tell him when he stands up and stretches his arms over his head, revealing a hint of his tan stomach. “Are you hungry?” I ask, since he needs to eat before I insist that he sleeps.

“Hell yes,” he agrees. Can’t say I’m surprised either. Big men need a lot of food.

“We can grab breakfast, and then you’re going to sleep,” I tell him on the way to my car.

“We’ll see,” he answers grumpily.

After Abe gets some bacon, eggs and pancakes in his stomach at the local diner, he becomes a little less hostile. His eyes finally meet mine again between bites, and the scowl behind his beard seems less severe.

“What did you think of the show?” I ask while I finish eating my fruit salad.

“Ugh,” Abe groans. “None of those fuckers are good enough for you.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. All of them are total pussies. At least you got rid of the pervy ones fast,” he says.

“You noticed that too, huh?” I ask. “They were only interested in having conversations with my boobs.”

“No shit,” Abe gripes. “I wanted to gouge their eyeballs out.”

“Thanks for not doing that,” I tease him. “The producer probably would’ve had to find more men, and that could’ve taken forever.”

Abe’s phone that’s sitting on the table buzzes, and some sort of notification pops up on the screen before he quickly drops his fork to grab it.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“What?” I ask.

“Your porch camera just had movement,” he tells me, causing the food in my stomach to nearly revolt.

“Maybe it was a cat,” I say, trying to be hopeful.

“Nope,” Abe disagrees before he turns the screen to show me. It’s a still photo of a man in dark clothes. He’s wearing a baseball hat that casts shadows on his face so that only his eerily glowing eyes show up. He looks like he’s trying to peek into my front window! 

“Holy shit,” I mutter as a shiver runs through me. Abe and I could’ve been home, in bed asleep, while some creep tries to look at us or get into the house.

Tossing his phone down on the table, Abe says, “This is why I can’t fuck you or fall asleep.”

“Is that the only reason?” I ask softly so that the late-night owls around us won’t hear.

“The only reason what?” Abe asks when he picks his fork back up to spear some fluffy eggs.

“That you don’t want to…you know, have sex with me,” I whisper.

“I can’t risk the distraction,” he says. “This fucking stalker is serious if he’s stealing your panties and lurking around your house in the middle of the damn night.”

So, I’m a little disappointed that he still thinks sex with me is a distraction. Even so, he can’t go without sleep. “You have to rest sometime,” I point out. “And I would feel much safer if you were resting in the same bed as me. Isn’t there another option?”

Abe pauses in his eating for several long moments while his dark eyes watch me. I brace myself for his rejection yet again.