I duck into a storage room and shove a crate over, buying myself maybe half a second or two.
Worth it. I’m already moving again, crawling through a maintenance hatch, scraping my palms, leaving a trail I know he’ll read like a love letter.
Run faster, Kayla,I can almost hear him think.
The chase tightens. His footsteps finally hit the floor behind me – heavy, controlled, devastatingly close. Each one lands like a promise. I can feel him smiling without ever seeing it.
I burst back into the corridor and he’s there, closer than physics should allow. A big hand snaps out and catches my wrist. I yelp, delighted, feral, and twist free by the skin of my teeth, laughing as I slip through his fingers.
“Fuck— Yes,” I gasp, half to myself.
Cornered at last, back to a wall, chest heaving. He closes the distance slowly now, deliberately, letting the anticipation coil tight between us. When he stops in front of me, the world narrows to his presence – solid, unyielding, utterly focused.
Then he moves.
Elation surges through me as fingers tangle in my hair and my head is jerked back.
“Fucking finally. I thought you were losing your touch, old man.”
He nips my shoulder in retaliation and I beam, grinding my hips into his crotch. He’s rock hard, loving the chase and this reunion just as much as I am.
The nips turn to kisses and it’s hard not to melt.
Sure, I could fight, get free, run again. But as fun as it is to run, the reward is in getting caught. And I get the feeling we don’t have much time.
“Fuck, I missed this. Missed you,” I groan, closing my eyes and sinking into the sensations coursing through my body. “You gonna fuck me, daddy? You’ll have to be quick before the others find us, ’cause I know you didn’t come here alone.”
His answering sound is a low breath against my neck, a vibration more than a noise, and it sends a thrill straight through me.
Soon. I will get him to speak soon,I vow.
One big hand tightens in my hair, not pulling now – just holding. Claiming. The other settles at my waist, firm and steady, a silent stay. My skin sparks under his touch.
He leans in, forehead to my temple, and I feel him smile without ever seeing it. Hatchet always did say more with stillness than anyone else ever managed with words.
The space feels smaller suddenly. Louder. Every distant creak and echo registers like a countdown.
I laugh softly, reckless and pleased, tilting my head to give him better access. “Yeah,” I murmur. “That’s what I thought.”
His teeth graze my skin again – warning, promise, punctuation – before he pulls back just enough to look at me properly. Warm brown eyes rake over my face, my mouth, my throat, as if he’s memorising me all over again. As if he hasn’t already.
Two fingers tap once against my hip.
Once more.
A question.
I nod, breathless and sure. Always sure with him.
He squeezes my waist in approval, grounding and intimate, then shifts us both deeper into the shadows, bodies aligned, movement efficient and practiced. The chase might be over, but the game isn’t.
If the others find us, they’ll know exactly what happened here. And honestly? I hope they do.
He doesn’t ask. Of course he doesn’t. He never does.
Hatchet just looks at me – eyes dark, jaw tight, that brutal stillness he wears like armor – and something in my chest sparks, sharp and delighted, like I’ve just dared gravity to blink.
I step into him first. Because I always do.
