by Brook Wilder
Jesus, that had to have been eight or nine years ago now. Which made her, what, nineteen? Twenty at most?
He shook his head, trying to get a handle on his thoughts, but they were flying around as if caught in a storm and all he could do was hold on or be swept away right along with the rest of his honor and what little dignity he had left.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” Hatchet cursed as he leaned against the door he’d just slammed.
Why him? Why the fuck did this kind of shit always have to happen to him? With another curse, he ran his fingers angrily through his hair as he tried to decide what to do. It had been one thing when she was just a stranger, just a farm hand. But now she was Mark Fucking McLaurel’s fucking daughter. The only child of the man that Hatchet hated and stole from.
Shit, I basically stole her! The thought echoed in his head and an odd mix of anger and guilt flooded through him. He’d taken a hell of a lot more than just a few head of cattle last night, that was for damn sure. But he hadn’t known it was her! He hadn’t known, and now he would have to pay the price for his ignorance.
Before he could let himself think twice, Hatchet charged towards the living room and grabbed his cell from the coffee table where he’d left it the night before. He dialed the first number on speed dial and sighed in relief when it was answered on the second ring.
“Hatchet? What’s up, man?”
“Rabbit. Thank god.” Hatchet let himself drop like a lead weight on the couch but immediately stood up again as memories of what had happened flooded back.
“What’s up? You sound shaken.”
“That’s because I am fucking shaken,” Hatchet shot back and then took a deep breath, trying to get a rein on his out-of-control emotions. “Listen, I need you to come over here.”
“Why?”
“Because we have a problem.”
“We? What’s this ‘we’?”
“Just listen, Rabbit. You know that girl who was with me yesterday?”
“The hot blonde?” Rabbit said with a lascivious tone in his voice that had Hatchet’s hackles rising. “Yeah. What about her?”
“Well, I brought her home last night…”
“Hatch, I’m really not in the mood to hear about your exploits, okay? You know I’ve been having a bit of a dry spell. You don’t have to rub it in.”
“No! That’s not why I’m… Jesus, Jackrabbit, you are such a pain in my ass sometimes.” Hatchet ground out the words. His friend was compounding his frustration, but he knew it was more at himself than at anyone else. “She’s Elsie fucking McLaurel, Rabbit.”
Jackrabbit was quiet for so long that Hatchet was afraid the call had been disconnected, but finally a long whistle came over the line.
“Damn, man. Elsie McLaurel? As in Mark McLaurel’s daughter? As in the man we robbed, the man that you hate more than…?”
“Yeah. That’s the one, Rabbit.”
“And she’s… that’s his daughter?” Rabbit sounded incredulous and Hatchet could swear he even picked up an edge of humor there as well.
“I swear to god, Rabbit, if you laugh…”
“I won’t. I won’t! I swear.” Hatchet rolled his eyes at his friend’s antics and realized there was a small grin drawing across his face. That was the one thing he could always say about Rabbit. The man knew how to make people feel better.
“Are you gonna help me or not, Jack?”
“Of course I am!” That was another thing about the man. If you needed help, all you had to do was ask and he’d be the first one to lend you a hand. “Look, just sit tight. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Make it ten, alright?” Hatchet said, staring up at the ceiling. He knew his bedroom, and Elsie, was right above him.
“You got it, Hatch. We’ll figure this out.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said, but he was talking to himself. Rabbit had already hung up.
True to his word, nine and half minutes later, a black pickup truck slowed to a stop in front of his house. Hatchet nearly rolled his eyes in frustration when not one, but two men stepped out, Jackrabbit and the president of the Roadburners crew, Arnold “Mad Dog” Barns.
Hatchet opened the door just in time for them to both walk inside.
“What the hell, Rabbit?” Hatchet asked quietly as Mad Dog looked around. He was older, his head bald and shiny with it. With his ruddy complexion and round cheeks, he almost looked jolly. But that impression lasted only until he spoke.
“Where the fuck is the girl, Hatchet?” Mad Dog’s tone was one that brooked no disrespect, real or imagined, courtesy of years of cigars and whiskey, as he laid out his demand, a tone that brooked no disrespect, real or imagined. “Take me to her.”
Hatchet spared a single glare for Rabbit before turning with a sigh and leading the small group up the stairs. When they got to the door, Hatchet stopped to face them.
“You can wait here,” he said, more gruffly than he should have, but he was pissed and at the end of his patience. “I’ll go get her.”
“Open the door, Hatchet,” Mad Dog ordered. “Now.”
Hatchet met his gaze, stare for stare. “No.”
Rabbit’s gaze shifted uneasily between the two men as the tension in the hallway thickened between them.
Chapter 8
Elsie stared for a long time at the door Hatchet had disappeared behind. She’d lost track of just how long it had been as she replayed what had happened between them, but still all she felt at his abrupt departure was confusion with a little bit of hurt mixed in for good measure. They’d been lying there, talking. He’d kissed her. She’d told him her name, and he’d reacted like she’d said she was practically the devil herself.
The way he’d stiffened and pulled away, as if he couldn’t even bear to touch her. It made her feel cold all over and, no matter how much she tugged the blankets up and around her, she still couldn’t rid herself of that chill.
The sudden sound of angry raised voices just outside the door had her clutching the coverings even closer in front of her chest, and she didn’t even have time to figure out what was going on before the door burst open. Elsie couldn’t hold back the shriek that escaped her but, when the rough looking older man smirked at the sound, she forced her chin up, refusing to back down from his snake-like green eyes.
Terror worked its way through her as the big man stalked into the room, looking her over like a man looking over merchandise he’s about to buy, but Elsie shoved it away. She couldn’t afford to let fear seep in right now. She was already vulnerable enough. She just prayed that the man, whoever he was, wouldn’t realize just how vulnerable.
“My, my, my,” the man said, walking farther into the room. Elsie didn’t take her eyes off of him for a second. He oozed bad intention, but she would fight with every bit of strength inside her if she had to. “Aren’t you a pretty little piece? You know, it’s a shame you had to fall in with the likes of Hatchet. Bad luck, really.” He smiled and the sight of it sent icy cold chills racing down Elsie’s spine. “For you. Not me.”
“Mad Dog! Leave her alone!” The familiar voice washed over her like a warm breeze and Elsie spared just a second to flick her eyes to the doorway, where Hatchet and the other man she’d seen the night before – Jackrabbit – stood. Jackrabbit was shifting nervously from one foot to the other and his eyes didn’t land anywhere in particular, as if he wasn’t quite sure where to look. Meanwhile, Hatchet’s dark-eyed gaze never left the older, bald man. Mad Dog, Hatchet had called him. Elsie nodded to herself, examining the man once more. The name fit him. There was something rabid behind those green eyes of his.
“What did you just say to me, you bastard?” Mad Dog turned on Hatchet quicker that Elsie thought possible for a stocky man like him.
Elsie held her breath at the sudden tension that filled the room as the two men stood off.
“I said…” Hatchet took a few steps forward until his body was blocking Elsie from the other man’s view. “…leave her alone. She isn’t
your problem.”
“She fucking is, Hatchet. And a problem of mine is a problem for all the Roadburners, don’t you ever forget that,” Mad Dog sneered, anger and rage burning in his eyes. But then, as quick as a flash, he was throwing his bald head back and letting out a belly laugh. “You’ve got balls, Hatchet, I’ll give you that.”
Mad Dog leapt forward then, closing the distance between them and he had Hatchet’s throat held in a vice-like grip, pushing his face close until they were nearly nose to nose. “But don’t forget who you work for. I own you, Hatchet. You never forget that either.” Mad Dog finally let go, and his mood shifted like lightning again.
He smiled as he walked towards Jackrabbit. “Get the girl dressed, Hatchet. Then meet me downstairs. We have plans to discuss.” Mad Dog threw the words casually over his shoulders before leaving.
Hatchet hastened to close and lock the door as soon as Mad Dog left with Jackrabbit.
He stood there like that for a long time, just leaning his forehead against the door and Elsie was afraid to speak. She didn’t even know what the hell to say. There was something fragile about the moment, like, if she were to say the wrong thing, the air around them would just shatter and she’d never be able to put it back together again.
You’re not making sense, girl. Get your mind right! She knew the inner voice urging her on was right, but she still didn’t know what to do. So she sat there in silence, her thoughts swirling around and around, not getting her anywhere. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Hatchet, what… what’s happening?” Elsie hated the tearful sound in her voice, but she couldn’t keep the truth at bay anymore. She was scared. No, she was terrified. But for some reason, she knew in her heart that she could still trust Hatchet. If she doubted him before, the way he stepped between her and that Mad Dog guy had changed her mind. She knew now. He would protect her. She had to believe that. There sure as hell was no one else there who was going to swoop in and rescue her.
Rachael would, but at the moment her best friend was under house arrest. Not to mention the fact that Rae had no idea where Elsie was or who she’d been taken by. Elsie wondered briefly what her father would think but, after their argument the night before, he probably wouldn’t think anything of her disappearance for several more days.
You’re stalling. Why are you stalling? Elsie shushed the voice again, but she knew it was right. She was stalling. Thinking about anything except what she really needed to. Namely, getting the hell out of here.
“Get dressed,” Hatchet said. His sudden words in the heavy silence startled her.
“Please, Hatchet, I just want to go home. I don’t know who that guy was or what his ‘plan’ is, and I don’t want to.” Elsie pleaded with him, staring across the room at him as she spoke, “I won’t make any trouble for you, I promise. Just let me go.”
Hatchet turned towards her slowly, almost mournfully, and there was a look on his face that begged her to understand.
“I’m sorry, Elsie. It’s far too late for that.” He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. It was obvious he wasn’t any happier about the situation than she was. “I can’t let you go.”
***
“Hurry up and get dressed.” Hatchet said gruffly, fighting the conflicting emotions that swirled inside him. He had a job to do. This was just another job. That was it. Then why was it so hard for him to think of her like that? To think of her as anything but the woman who had totally melted in his arms just last night. The woman whose father had ruined his life.
“Turn around,” Elsie said sternly. Hatchet glanced at her, still sitting on the middle of the bed with the blanket pulled up to cover her otherwise naked body.
He could only shake his head at the command in her voice, amused despite himself that this petite woman, still tussled from sleep and other things if he was being honest, would be ordering him around when she was the one who should be terrified.
“Sorry, sweetheart, but that just ain’t gonna happen.” Hatchet tried to keep his voice firm and words terse, but it was nearly impossible. “I can’t have you sneaking away behind my back.”
“I didn’t have to sneak away last night,” Elsie shot back, her brows lowered as she tossed him a displeased glare. “Last night you said I could just leave if I wanted to.”
“Well, last night was…” Hatchet trailed off as the memories of the night before rose up unbidden in his mind, scorching him, still just as potent as they had been just a few hours ago. “Things have changed.” That was the understatement of the century. “Just get dressed, alright?” he bit off, irritated now more by his own wayward thoughts than anything else.
“Fine!” Her angry word hit him, and he didn’t have time to react before she threw the covers back defiantly to reveal all the lush curves of her beautiful naked body. Her very naked body.
He sucked in a breath, instantly regretting his decision not to turn around as the room started to close in around him and his whole world narrowed down to her. His pants tightened painfully in an instant, and it took all the strength in him not to stare as he watched her walk around the room looking for her clothes. She was shameless, a sweet mix of innocent and brazen, and he couldn’t look away.
Elsie glanced over at him suddenly and he swore that he blushed. He actually blushed! It took him a moment to notice the unsure look in her blue eyes.
“Where are my clothes?” she asked, searching the bedroom without any luck, and Hatchet cursed himself and his unwanted reaction to her as he forced his brain out of the gutter and into some semblance of a thinking organism.
“Downstairs,” he replied curtly. But then he started thinking about just how exactly they had ended up strewn across his living room and he swore that damned blush was back.
Hatchet cleared his throat, stomping down on his wayward thoughts once more, trying to get himself back under control. Which was a goddamned epic battle with her standing there, naked and gorgeous and just about the most delicious thing he’d seen in his whole life. She reminded him of the cherry pies that his elderly neighbor used to keep out on the windowsill when he was a kid. Sweet and tart and just begging to be taken.
“Well?” Elsie asked, and he finally realized that she’d been staring at him expectantly. “Are you going to go get them?”
“He shook his head, trying desperately to remember how to form anything more than single syllable words. “Can’t.”
“Well, why the hell not?” she said in a huff, planting her hands on her hips in a way that had all the blood in his body draining south.
“I can’t risk it,” Hatchet bit out, finally able to force a complete sentence. “I can’t risk you making a run for it. Not now.”
He caught the way she looked away, her guilt written across her too expressive face and nearly shook his head. He could see the truth of it in her blue eyes when she finally looked back at him. Every thought, every emotion was bared open and visible. Damn, she really needed to work on her poker face, Hatchet thought to himself, but it was a distant sort of thought. He was still too distracted by her blatant nudity to really focus on anything else. If she didn’t get something covering her soon, he wouldn’t hold himself accountable for anything he did to her sweet body.
It really didn’t help that he could remember just how sweet it really was. How irresistible. How delicious. And how all too tempted he was to just forget all about the two men still waiting for them downstairs and, worst of all, what Mad Dog had planned.
She looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, to disappear completely, or like she would take the first opportunity that presented itself to get away. Though he couldn’t really blame her, it was irritating as hell.
He knew he should hate her. For who she was. For what she was. A McLaurel. He knew the type of person her daddy was, and he knew he shouldn’t trust her, but he just couldn’t make himself.
Feeling like he was hanging over the edge of a precariously long drop, Hatchet sto
mped over to his closet and blindly pulled out some clothes, thrusting them in Elsie’s general direction. He tried desperately not to look as she walked closer to take them, but his eyes had a mind of their own and drank in the sight of her one last time despite his best intentions.
Hatchet nearly groaned in desperation as she tossed on the pair of shorts that cinched around the waist and one of his t-shirts that hit her about mid-thigh. He thought clothing would help, but now all he could think about was how much fun it would be to take them off again. The sight of her in his shirt had something inside his chest tightening in a way that made him move forward gruffly.
“Give me your hands,” he growled, fighting his own instincts, fighting everything inside himself as she looked at him in confusion.