Hatchet lost track of how long he’d been tracing and retracing the large crack in the cement wall of his cell with his finger, but he didn’t really see it anymore. Everything was blurring around the edges and it was a constant battle to keep the memories at bay. Of being trapped in enemy territory, forcing himself into the cramped confines of a defile barely big enough for a child let alone a grown man in full gear.
If he didn’t try hard enough to block it out, he could still hear the blasts of the mortar rounds, the heat and the pressure on his lungs as he ran out of oxygen. The sound of angry shouts and even angrier gun fire, before a hand reached out for him. Hatchet had been so sure that he was going to die that day, that he would never make it out of that defile, until he had turned and looked up into the face of none other than Jackrabbit.
His friend had saved his life that day and they had both snuck out of there, quiet and quick as Jackrabbit’s namesake. They had both lived to fight another day in a war that they weren’t sure they believed in. Hatchet snorted at the thought. It was a hell of a lot like being in the Roadburners.
Mad Dog had always ridden that edge between criminal and truly evil. But lately he’d often skated closer to the latter, not caring who he hurt as long as he got his payday, even at the expense of one of their own.
Hatchet shook his head, trying to dispel the images of war-torn bodies and bomb-blasted buildings from his mind. He had to fight to turn his thoughts away, but finally he did. He tried to think about his situation, but his mind kept slipping away from it. Hatchet knew he should be worried about himself, especially after Mad Dog’s threatening words. He knew he should be torn up over losing his place with the Roadburners. A part of him was, but it was a distant part.
Instead, his thoughts kept sliding back to one thing and one thing only.
Elsie.
He forced his mind to fill with thoughts of her to distract himself from the rage bubbling up inside him. And, surprisingly, it worked. Over the long years, Hatchet had tried everything to block out the troubling memories, and nothing had done the trick, until one little slip of a woman with her bright sapphire eyes had dropped into his life.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deep as he thought of her, as if to draw the image of her even tighter inside him. How she looked, how she smelled, how she felt wrapped up in his arms. Hatchet wanted to remember every single detail, no matter how small. He needed to.
And even more, he thought about how she made him feel. How she made him want to be a better man—a better person—when she was around him. The way she lifted the weight that had been crushing him for so long that he hadn’t even realized it was there. She lit up every part of him, and he found himself wanting to show her his world, show her the deepest, darkest, most secret parts of himself that he’d never shown anyone before. To lay himself bare—truly bare—before her.
Hatchet could only marvel at the sudden lightness flowing through him as he thought of her. Elsie chased away all the nightmares. And in their place was just an overwhelming emotion that glowed from the center of his chest outward to fill his whole body with peace, a peace that he’d never expected to feel in his whole life after he’d come back from Afghanistan.
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.