Chapter 2
TxsRngr
Uh…I have a slight issue.
Like you need bail money issue or a body fell out of the back of your truck issue?
Walker huffed another long-suffering sigh.
He liked this app back when it was just a message board for contract killers.
But the gamemaster—Tris—had turned it into a literal game, and now, the app was flooded with a bunch of wannabe assassins who thought murder was nothing more than points on a scoreboard.
Walker had met Cade and Tris one night at The Morgue when he was meeting with another asset, who was proposing teaming up for a kill.
Two minutes with the asset in question had Walker contemplating killing him instead.
When the asset had left, another asset, Cade, had come to the table at the request of his husband, Tris, a chatty little brat who’d never met a thought he didn’t voice.
He’d admitted that he was the gamemaster and that he knew Walker’s handle.
He should. The little shit was the one who’d given him the stupid name when the app had updated.
Despite Walker being as gruff and unlikable as possible, Tris and Cade had glommed onto him. They considered him a friend. He did not return the sentiment. He didn’t have friends.
TxsRngr
Like my target was mid-kill when I found him. I saved the victim but now I don’t know what to do with him.
BugReport404
I don’t suppose he’s also a monster and you could maybe just hit a double and clean up loose ends?
TxsRngr
Nope. He’s a pretty little thing with big cartoon eyes who never shuts up and whose second language appears to be sarcasm. He wanted to call the cops and claim I killed the man out of self-defense.
BugReport404
Uh, so where is he now?
TxsRngr
He’s tied up.
BugReport404
Tell me you’re using “tied up” as an idiom and not that you tied up an almost murder victim. Wait, did you say he’s pretty? I didn’t strike you as someone who, uh, tasted the rainbow.
Walker ignored him.
TxsRngr
He’s currently duct taped on my bed. Carrot Cake is keeping him company.
BugReport404
I have no idea what that means. You have him duct taped to your bed?
Kinky, I guess, but seems in poor taste unless he’s one of those who processes his trauma with sex, in which case, like, who am I to judge, you know?
But also, this isn’t some creepy schmexual schmassault shit right, ‘cause I will make you the next target on the game.
TxsRngr
I said he’s tied up on my bed, not tied to the bed. Honestly, by now, he’s probably chewed through the duct tape and called the cops on my radio. I cleaned up the scene and wrapped the body but I can’t guarantee I’ve removed all traces of the kid. Hopefully, he’s not in the system.
BugReport404
Do you know his name? I can run his name through NCIC and see if he’s got a record or if he’s ever been fingerprinted.
TxsRngr
Uh, not yet. I needed to move quickly.
BugReport404
You’ve got him tied to your bed and you didn’t even ask his name first?
TxsRngr
On my bed. On it. Stop making it weird. What do I do with him?
BugReport404
Oh, I don’t know. Just spitballing here but maybe find a way to convince him not to press charges over you murdering a man in front of him and then kidnapping him?
TxsRngr
If I let him go now, he’s definitely going to the police.
BugReport404
He’s not an animal. You can’t just keep him like a stray you found on the side of the road. You need to convince him that you only kill bad people, which probably would have been an easier sell if you hadn’t taped him to your bed.
Walker shook his head. Fuck. What did he do now?
He had to get out of there. Had to get them out of there before people got a good look at them.
The kid was hidden behind the curtain that separated his sleeping quarters from the cab, but he hadn’t bound his feet.
He could still try to flag someone down.
It was that thought that got him moving.
He pulled open the door to the sleeper, climbing inside then stopping short.
The kid hadn’t run away. He was lying on his side, facing him, eyes closed, Carrot Cake balanced on the side of his thigh, blinking at Walker like she thought he might make her leave her current bed.
Walker was far more concerned the kid had asphyxiated, but when he got closer, he saw his chest rising and falling slowly.
He huffed out a laugh. He was sound asleep, little breaths of air puffing from his nose.
Walker sighed, pulling his knife free from his belt and kneeling one leg on the bed to reach behind the sleeping boy and cut the tape on his wrists.
He stirred, wincing as Walker pulled the tape free.
He grimaced himself as he noted the raw skin beneath the bindings.
He tried to be gentle as he peeled the tape free, but still, the kid dragged open heavy lids, giving him a hazy look.
The tape around his mouth had left the same raw skin as around his wrists.
Walker took in the kid’s brownish-blond hair and his blue eyes. His hair was a bit too long, falling into his eyes, his cheeks were round, his lips full. He had a kind of baby-faced prettiness that had Walker staring long enough for the boy to stare back.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Kota,” he mumbled, eyelids fighting to remain open.
“Kota what?”
“Dakota King,” he mumbled. “If you’re worried someone is gonna come looking for me, don’t worry. Nobody cares if I live or die. Promise.”
With that, he rolled away from him, displacing Cake before burying his face in Walker’s pillow with a contented sigh. Walker just stared at him for a long minute, contemplating what kind of person would tell a killer that nobody would ever care if he went missing.
Walker watched as Kota rolled onto his belly, rubbing his face on Walker’s pillow, like he was bedding down for the night.
When Kota rolled onto his belly, Cake stepped onto his back, sinking her beefy body into the curve of the boy’s lower back.
Walker tried not to stare at the generous swell of the kid’s—Kota’s—ass, but it was right there, encased in jeans that clung to him just right.
He wore a white t-shirt, still dotted with his attacker’s blood, and a flannel shirt that wasn’t thick enough to keep him warm.
Walker pulled the boy’s worn-out sneakers from his feet and grabbed the heavy blanket from the edge of the bed, draping it over him, securing the straps to the ceiling so he wouldn’t roll off the mattress as Walker drove.
Once he’d made him as comfortable as possible, he hopped into the driver’s seat then looked at Cake, patting the spot on the dash where he usually slept.
Cake stood, turned in a circle on the boy’s lower back, then settled, facing away from Walker just as the boy—Kota—had done.
He wasn’t very popular today, it seemed.
He’d been driving for two hours, a history podcast keeping him company, the steady drone barely registering, when he heard Kota stir.
His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror that let him see into the back as the boy blinked in confusion, then sat up, looking at the straps that effectively caged him in before glancing in Walker’s direction.
Their eyes met for half a second—long enough for Walker to register fear, then resignation.
He could see Kota calculating whether he was allowed to leave the bunk or not, but he stayed silent, testing the air, the rules, seeing what Walker would do.
Finally, he heard the clips give and the straps fall.
Kota swayed with the motion of the truck as he stood, looking around, then slid into the passenger seat.
“Seatbelt,” Walker said, the word coming out harsher than he meant it to, but Kota didn’t seem to notice, already reaching for it. Good instincts.
Walker had never really been much of a conversationalist. He found trying to make small talk tedious. Nobody ever wanted to talk about anything that mattered to him. Not that much did. Still, the kid’s silence was worrisome after he’d been so chatty earlier.
He glanced over at him, noting the finger-shaped bruises on his throat, the purple blooming on his temple, and the dark circles under his eyes. Evidence of violence layered over exhaustion. Despite all of that, he was still attractive. Distractingly so.
“Where are we going?” Kota asked after a while, staring out the window at the world flying by, voice raspy but steady.
“I’m going home. You?” Walker asked, wondering where he’d wanted to go before Early got a hold of him.
Kota fixed him with a flat stare. “You abducted me, remember? I’m kind of at your mercy. I’m going wherever you take me. Is this your first kidnapping or something?”
Walker snorted out something akin to a laugh. It surprised him how easily it came. “Yeah, something like that. I mean, where were you heading before that piece of shit attacked you?”
Kota’s shrug spoke volumes. “I was gonna try to find my aunt in LA. But it seems stupid now.” His mouth twisted, like he’d already lost the argument with himself.
“She hasn’t seen me since I was a baby. I doubt she has any interest in meeting her jobless, homeless, deadbeat nephew.
And I don’t know anything other than her name and her last location, which was more than ten years ago.
” He paused, staring at nothing. “But I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I figured it was worth a shot. ”
The words landed heavier than Walker expected.
Kota didn’t say it like he was feeling sorry for himself. He said it like he couldn’t believe he’d thought a plan like that could work, like disappointment had already settled in.
“I can get you to LA. I live in Oregon. I’m already gonna be on the West Coast.”
It would be out of his way—far out of his way, really—but it meant more time to convince the boy not to call the cops. More time to assess, to contain the problem.
Kota pulled his knees to his chest, making him look much smaller than he was, folding in on himself, like he was trying to take up less space. “Just…take me wherever you’re going. I’ll figure something out from there.”