by Brook Wilder
Never had he felt like this about a woman; about anyone at all, come to think of it. Hell, he never even came close. And it seemed almost too improbable that the woman who had him so wrapped up also just happened to be the daughter of the man he hated most in the world.
It would almost be ironic if it wasn’t so fucking impossible. Yet there it was, he and Elsie fucking McLaurel. Hatchet shook his head again, but this time there was a little smile playing around the corner of his lips. He wasn’t even aware it was there until a second later.
His eyes were still closed and he found himself drifting away on a daydream of them—he and Elsie—together. Really together, not just thrown together because he had tried to kidnap her or when he’d rescued her from Mad Dog’s insane plans to sell her to the highest bidder.
It was so easy to picture, almost too easy. Both of them, working outside on a little ranch of his own. He’d turn around and there she’d be. The sunlight streamed down, turning her hair into spun gold, her eyes brighter than he’d ever seen them, as she walked towards him, rich laughter catching on the wind.
It would be their ranch, something that belonged to them and no one else. Not Mark McLaurel, and sure as hell not Arnold ‘Mad Dog’ Barns. He wouldn’t owe anything to anybody, nor would he have anything hanging over his head. He would work for himself and nobody else, just himself and Elsie.
In his mind, Hatchet looked across the fields—their fields—and grinned at the sight of the small, white-washed farmhouse with black shutters that sat right in the middle of it all. That grin widened even more as he spied the kids playing in the front yard.
Whoa! Whoa, there. What the fuck! Slow down, slugger. Kids? His mind slid into a tailspin at the thought he tried to pull away from, but then a realization settled over him that shocked him nearly as much as the original thought had in the first place.
That image, that daydream, of Elsie and a little ranch, a little family of their own… It didn’t scare the shit out of him like it should have, like it would have at any time before in his whole life.
Instead, it left a feeling of warmth spreading through his chest, tightening some unfamiliar emotion deep inside him, until he had to blink rapidly against the sting in his eyes brought about by the image of a little girl with long, shining blond hair and bright blue eyes.
Just like her mommy.
Another realization hit him then, knocking the breath out of his lungs in the process. But there was no denying the truth of it as it settled over him like a warm blanket. Not to himself anyways. He was in love with Elsie McLaurel. Somewhere between kidnapping her and rescuing her, he’d gone and done the most unbelievably stupid thing he’d ever done.
He’d fallen for her.
Hook, line, and sinker.
And what was even worse was that he didn’t care that he had. He should. Hatchet knew he should be railing against it, fighting the emotion tooth and nail. Instead he found himself sitting in that tiny jail cell, a tiny space that should have had him mad with panic and memories of war, daydreaming with a goofy, lop-sided grin across his face and a feeling of peace he’d never known.
He loved Elsie McLaurel, the daughter of the man who’d ruined his life, the man he hated most in the world, and he didn’t care. He didn’t give a shit.
The incredible thought was still ricocheting round his numbed brain when the sound of a door squeaking open hit his ears. The noise barely registered. He was still reeling from the force of his discovery. But when Sheriff Donohue walked into view, Hatchet had to drag himself back to reality, however fucked up it was at the moment.
It was a hell of a lot harder than Hatchet anticipated, but by the time the sheriff’s steel-heeled boots stopped clicking in front of the tiny cell, he didn’t really have a choice.
“Have you changed your mind yet?” the sheriff asked, suspicion lighting his eyes as he looked at Hatchet through the thick metal bars of the cell. “Are you ready to explain to me what you and a biker gang like the Roadburners were doing with a sweet girl like Elsie McLaurel?”
“I already gave you my statement, Sheriff,” Hatchet replied, forcing a shit-eating grin as he spoke. “There was a little crash, I slipped off my bike and Elsie stopped to help. You know, being the sweet girl that she is. And the Roadburner’s aren’t a biker gang as you keep saying. We’re enthusiasts.”
“Of course you are,” was all that Sheriff Donohue grunted. The suspicious light gleaming in his gaze never dimmed as he shrugged and began to turn away. “So, you’re sticking with that load of horseshit, then.” Donohue looped the thumbs of both hands into the slightly too tight waistband of his beige uniform. “Well, if you’re not going to change your tune, I’m not about to waste my own damn time.”
The sheriff tipped his wide-brimmed cowboy hat with the tip of his fingers, finally breaking eye contact as he turned on his heel to head out the same door he came in through.
“Wait! Wait a minute!” Hatchet raised his voice and stepped up to the bars as he hollered for the man to stop.
The sheriff didn’t pause until he was almost at the door, his hand reaching for the handle. And even then, all he did was throw an irritated look over his shoulder. “What is it now? Want to tell me how enthusiastic you are about motorcycles?”
“Well, I was planning on it… Wait, hold on!” Hatchet said again as the sheriff started to leave mid-sentence. It took a lot of effort to bite down the snarky response that he wanted to make, but instead all he said was, “I’m ready to make my phone call.”
The sheriff turned around at this, shooting him a surprised look. “Oh, are you now? I thought you were going to forego that particular right.”
“Well, you know how it goes, Barney.” Hatchet couldn’t help slipping in the disparaging nickname Marines had for law enforcement. “I changed my mind. It happens.”
He shrugged, trying to relax his jaw, which was suddenly clenched tight. When he’d been thinking of Elsie, an idea had popped into his head like a lightning strike. He just prayed it would work, otherwise his one phone call would be wasted.
“I’m allowed my phone call, Sheriff,” Hatchet finally said.
But the man just stood there, staring at him with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Alright then, let’s get this over with.”
Sheriff Donohue stalked back over to the front of his cell, waving Hatchet back before he would even draw the big loop of keys from his belt to unlock the barred door. The sharp click of the lock coming undone already had Hatchet breathing a little easier in the confined space.
“Nothing funny now. You hear me?” the gruff man said, adding in a hard stare through the bars for good measure.
Hatchet nodded impatiently, more than ready for a breath of open air, even if it was the stale, slightly musky air of the police station.
“You got it, Barney,” he said quickly. Sheriff Donohue just snorted in reply before finally, blessedly, opening up the cell door and leading him down a short, dingy hallway.
The laminate tile had seen better days. So had the rest of the place, to be honest. But Hatchet only had eyes for the outdated pay phone that hung against the far wall.
The sheriff tailed him on the entire short walk, closer to him than Hatchet’s own shadow. The man’s hard suspicious stare never wavered as he picked up the phone and, with another nasty look, handed it over.
Hatchet took it slowly, drawing a deep breath before putting it to his ear. He punched in the familiar number.
Sheriff Donohue crossed his arms over his chest, his suspicious gaze never leaving Hatchet as the line rang.
Hatchet turned slightly, trying for some semblance of privacy, but the sheriff was so close there was no escaping. Hatchet sighed and finally gave up on the futile attempt.
As the other line rang and rang and rang on the old pay phone line, Hatchet held his breath, praying that this would work. He knew it was a long shot, he knew it was improbable, but it was the only thing he could try at the moment.
He’d almost
given up hope of the phone call going through as planned when he heard a slight click—the sound that someone had finally picked up the call.
“H–Hello?” said a soft, feminine, achingly familiar voice, and Hatchet took a moment just to breathe in the sound of her, the sweetness of her. Unfortunately, neither of them had a lot of time to spare.
“Hey, Elsie. It’s Hatchet. I need to tell you something and I need you to listen.”
“Hatchet?” Elsie breathed out his name. “Is that really you? How did you know to call your phone? How did you know I would have it? How did you…”
“Elsie. Els, baby. Slow down a minute. We don’t have that much time right now. Please, listen to me.” Hatchet pinched the bridge of his nose against the headache that had been pounding there since this whole thing had begun. “Listen, Mad Dog was here…”
“What? That psychopath? How the hell did he get in there? How the hell did he get past the sheriff?”
Hatchet cast a sideways glance at the man Elsie had just mentioned, not deigning to answer but instead getting straight to the heart of what he needed to say.
“That doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is that he’s not going to give up. Do you know what I mean, baby? He’s not going to stop. He’s going to go after me, and after that he’s going to go after…”
“Me,” she finished his sentence for him, her voice soft in a way that he hated. Scared.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, darling. If it weren’t for me…” Hatchet started and then trailed off, not knowing how he could make an apology big enough or grand enough to express just how sorry he really was.
“What are you talking about, Hatchet? It’s my fault you’re in that jail cell right now.”
“No, it’s not,” Hatchet said on a snort of shocked laughter, before lowering his voice. “Don’t you remember who kidnapped who first?”
“I could have left, Hatchet. You gave me a choice. I chose to go with you. I chose to stay the night with you. I chose to sleep with…”
“I get it. I get it, Elsie,” Hatchet interrupted roughly. He had to clear his throat as memories of just what exactly had happened in his house that night rushed through him, bitter sweet. “Just, please Elsie, promise me you’ll stay safe, okay? That’s why I called you. To warn you. He could strike at any moment. Just stay home, stay with your daddy, and stay safe. Promise me, Elsie.”
“But what about you, Hatchet? Who’s going to protect you?”
The utter sweetness of her question had that damned warmth filling up his chest again. This time, there was nothing he could do about the roughness in his voice as he answered her.
“Baby, don’t worry about me, okay? Just keep your pretty little self safe.”
“He got in there once, Hatchet. What’s going to stop him from getting in there again?”
He didn’t have an answer to her question; at least, not one that would put her mind at ease. Because the truth was, there wasn’t a damn thing to stop Mad Dog from coming in here and making good on the threat he’d made. Hatchet remembered the man’s warning, the insane look in his snake-like eyes. No, nothing would stop Mad Dog if he had his mind set on coming after him. He’d bet his bottom dollar on that. Mad Dog wasn’t the type of man to stand by and take any slight, perceived or otherwise.
“I can handle it. Just look after yourself. Don’t go out alone, not until this thing blows over.”
“But what about you?”
“I’ll be fine,” he lied. “Just get in touch with Jackrabbit. He’ll be able to help you. He’ll keep an eye on you for me. He’s a good man, Elsie, underneath all the bluff and bluster and bullshit. You can trust him.”
“Hatchet, I…”
“Times up,” Sheriff Donohue said, glancing down at the oversized watch on his wrist.
“Wait, no, just hang on one more fucking minute…”
But it was too late. The sheriff had already reached over and hung up the call with a not so hidden smirk drawing across his face.
“Back to your cell.” Donohue held one arm out in front of him, and Hatchet had no choice but to follow him.
Chapter 19
“Hatchet, I…” Elsie said, starting to say something, anything, to convince him that he was wrong. She wasn’t the one who needed help and protection. He was. But before she could get the rest of the words out, muffled cursing reached her and then the line went dead. He was gone.
“Hatchet? Hatchet?” She said his name a few more times, praying that maybe, somehow, she’d be able to get through to him, but it was too late. There wasn’t anybody on the other end of the call. It was just her, talking into the air.
With a sharp curse of her own, she slammed her finger on the button to disconnect the call and just sat there, holding Hatchet’s phone against her chest, as her mind flew with rapid thoughts.
There was so much more that she wanted to say, that she needed to say, and now her only chance to talk to him was gone. She wished she had asked him how he was. She wished she had told him how sorry she was. All the regrets and doubts of the past two days had flooded her mind, and all she could do was stand there, frozen, just hanging onto the sound of his voice, a sound she hadn’t realized she could miss as much as she did.
Elsie wasn’t sure how long she stood there, still clutching the phone, repeating their all too brief conversation over and over in her head, until something finally jarred her out of it. The words that Hatchet had said: that Mad Dog would be coming after her, that he had already been in the cell once.
It was all too easy for Elsie to imagine just how simple it would be for that greasy bastard to get in there with a knife or a gun. And Hatchet wouldn’t be able to run, or get away, or even fight back. He’d just be locked away in a cage like an animal waiting for the slaughter. Well, there was no way she was going to just stand there and let it happen. Hell no!
Fury and terror and defiance crashed through her in a maelstrom that pushed her into action. She opened up Hatchet’s phone once more, quickly scrolling through the contacts with shaking fingers. Her whole body was shaking, not in fear for herself, but in fear for Hatchet. For what Mad Dog would do to him if he got his slimy claws on him. Elsie knew what she needed to do. She needed to help Hatchet. The only problem was that she had no idea where to even start.
She was under house arrest, and Hatchet was locked up in a prison cell. Mad Dog was on the loose. He could be anywhere. Elsie just prayed that Hatchet was right and that Jackrabbit really could help.
Elsie stopped scrolling when she got to the name she was looking for. She drew in a deep, steadying breath and then hit the button to dial the number. It rang three times before someone answered: a gruff, masculine voice that sounded groggy with sleep as if he’d just woken up. Elsie glanced at the clock. At nearly four in the afternoon? Her hopes took a nose dive. But it was too late now. Besides, she had to try everything she could to help Hatchet.
“What the fuck! This better be good, man. I’ve got two birds in my bed and I’m the worm if you know what I mean.”
Elsie had to grit her teeth and, for a second, she considered just hanging up and coming up with a new plan altogether. The only problem was that she didn’t even have a plan. She was just running on instincts. As much as she hated to admit it, she needed this man’s help.
“Hatchet? Hatchet, what the hell, man? Stop fucking around with your balls over there! What the fuck are you doing?” Jackrabbit said, his voice still gravelly but now with more than a hint of irritation. “If you’re balls deep in that McLaurel chick and dialed me on accident, I’m gonna be pissed. I’m glad you’re out of the slammer and all, but – shit, man! – like I told you, no pussy is worth getting locked up for. Hatchet? Hatchet, what the hell!” There was another slight pause and she heard a loud sigh, “Whatever, man! I’m hanging up. I’ve got things of my own to do.”
“Wait!” Elsie finally forced out the single word and she had to take a deep breath before she could continue. “Jackrabbit, wait. It’s… it�
��s not Hatchet. It’s Elsie.”
The complete silence from the other end of the line drew on so long that Elsie was afraid Jackrabbit had gone and hung up the phone.
After a long, tense moment, he spoke up again, this time sounding contrite as he went on. “Oh, shit, Elsie. Sorry, I didn’t realize…”
“Yeah, I figured as much,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.
“Really, sweetheart. I thought it was Hatchet. Otherwise I wouldn’t have said…”
“I get it. It’s fine,” Elsie interrupted, a new growl entering her voice. “And don’t ever call me ‘sweetheart’ again, got it?”
“Hey, alright swee… I mean, Elsie. No problem, no problem. No need to bust my balls about it. Won’t happen again. Scout’s honor.”
“Uh-huh. As if you were ever a scout,” Elsie sneered. Or would know what honor was if it hit you in the face, she added to herself. “Listen, that’s not important. I talked to Hatchet.”