Chapter 6
Walker had been alone all of his life. Even when he wasn’t physically alone, he was mentally alone.
His mother hadn’t wanted him—or any of the children she gave birth to—and his father had tried to kill him more than once.
Several older siblings had been taken by the state before he was born.
His parents had birthed many children, but had cared for none.
But, unfortunately, birth control wasn’t a huge concern for people as mentally bankrupt as his parents.
After he’d killed his father, he’d left and never looked back. He’d never felt any kind of way about it. He had always just existed in the world, observing but never really a part of it, watching people move through emotions he could recognize intellectually but never fully understand himself.
He had limited experience with other people’s feelings.
He’d watched his parents rage at each other, had witnessed his father’s drug-induced violence and his mother’s rambling religious hallucinations.
In all that time, even as a child, he’d never experienced fear or empathy.
It was what made him an excellent executioner.
But it made him a terrible partner. People were inconvenient—a hassle that he just didn’t need.
Too unpredictable. Too emotional. Too fragile.
So, he stayed alone. His work didn’t really allow for any openness or honesty, anyway.
His lifestyle didn’t appeal to most people.
He understood—from a purely analytical standpoint—what people looked for in a “good” partner.
He had no idea if he was capable of such a thing.
He could mimic affection well enough when necessary, but real attachment? That was something else entirely.
But now, there was Kota. Kota who had just been dropped into his lap hours ago, Kota who was lying naked in his arms, looking seconds away from tears.
And Walker was stymied. The kid was warm where their bodies touched, soft in a way that made Walker hyperaware of every inch of skin pressed against him.
He tugged the covers up around them both, but Kota didn’t acknowledge the action.
Walker had no idea what to do or what to say. And for the first time in his thirty years on this planet, that bothered him. Why? Fuck if he knew. He’d eaten lunch meat that had sat out longer than he’d known this kid.
But watching Kota try to curl away from him, trying to hide that something was upsetting him…it did something to Walker. It agitated him, like a splinter under his skin he couldn’t dig out. His brain kept snagging on the problem and refused to let it go.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked.
What else could it be? Walker replayed the last hour automatically, searching for mistakes the same way he mentally reviewed a kill scene for loose ends.
There was a small sniffle. “No, I’m fine. Really. Just ignore me,” Kota said, words small and thick with tears. “I think the day is just catching up with me.”
The day? Oh, right.
He had been the victim of a violent crime just a few hours ago. He’d also witnessed Walker killing the man responsible. And now, they’d just had sex. He imagined that was a lot for most people to process. Honestly, Walker was a little impressed that Kota hadn’t snapped sooner.
“You can talk to me,” Walker said, propping himself up on his hand so he could see the side of Kota’s face, trying to ascertain just what—if anything—he’d done to set him off. The kid looked wrecked, his lashes damp, mouth pulled tight, like he was physically fighting the tears.
Kota peeked over his shoulder, his face collapsing when he saw Walker focused on him. “Oh, God. Don’t look at me,” he wailed.
Walker frowned. “Uh, why?”
“Because I prefer to have my mental breakdowns in private, as God intended,” he answered. “This is so embarrassing!”
Walker really wasn’t following. “Why?”
“Because crying after sex is what psychopaths do,” Kota said, his words dripping with self-disgust.
“I assure you it’s not,” Walker countered. “I’ve never cried after sex in my life.” He searched his memory. “I actually don’t think I’ve ever cried. I’m not even sure I cried as a baby.”
Kota gave a huff, flopping onto his back, not looking at Walker yet, but at least not turned away anymore. “Well, good for you. What’s it like to be emotionally stable?”
Walker couldn’t fight the chuckle that escaped. The sound felt strange coming out of him, rusty from disuse. Kota’s expression grew indignant. “Are you—Are you laughing at me?”
“I’m not,” Walker said, still grinning like an idiot. “I’m really not. You’re just so…” He struggled to find a word that fit what this feeling was digging in just under his ribs.
“Needy? Crazy? Unwell? Annoying?”
“Cute,” Walker finished, realizing he meant it. “Pretty.”
The words settled over the room differently than the dirty things they’d said earlier. Softer. More dangerous somehow.
“You think I’m…pretty?”
Walker nodded. Anyone who had eyes would think Kota was pretty.
He had a nice bone structure, a small frame, a toned body.
Beautiful eyes. He was little compared to Walker, and Walker would be lying if he said that didn’t turn him on.
Kota looked like something delicate enough to cup in both hands.
Something easily broken. Having a creature so small and fragile depend on him for their needs just did it for him.
Like Cake.
Walker liked that Cake was fully dependent on him. That she relied on him for her food, her comfort. There was something about it that made his lizard brain tingle. He was her god and a benevolent one at that. And in exchange, she helped fill the silence and offered company without expectation.
He huffed out a breath through his nose as the fuzzy image in his head sharpened into focus.
He wanted Kota. He wanted to be that for Kota.
He wanted Kota depending solely on him for everything.
It was sick. Twisted, even. But just thinking about it had all the blood in his head rushing south.
The realization should have alarmed him. Instead, it felt disturbingly natural.
Walker wouldn’t hurt the boy. That wasn’t something that turned him on. It wasn’t the pain, it was the power. He wanted to be the one who made him happy, who made him laugh, who made him orgasm so hard he cried.
Fuck.
He should get rid of him. Drop him somewhere safe—for Kota’s sake. But where was someone like Kota safe? He already said he was too gullible, that people took advantage of him. Walker would never let anyone take advantage of him again.
The thought rooted itself in his brain with alarming speed, settling there like it belonged.
What the hell was he saying?
“You think I’m pretty…” Kota said again, as if that didn’t make sense.
Somehow, that made Walker want to smile more. Kota’s red nose, his damp lashes, the way his mouth was still red and swollen from the last hour or so they’d spent kissing. Yeah, he was pretty. Pretty in a messy, human way Walker found increasingly difficult to look away from.
“Yeah,” Walker said. “Can you try to tell me what’s wrong?”
Kota studied him like he was a difficult crossword puzzle, eyes narrowed. Like he was trying to determine whether Walker was making fun of him or being sincere. Finally, he shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Okay,” Walker said carefully.
He laid back down, sharing Kota’s pillow, sliding his arm underneath, then pulling him closer.
The boy didn’t resist, just rolled to bury his face against Walker’s bare chest. Something clenched deep inside him.
This sense of…ownership. Possessiveness.
Protectiveness? He didn’t want anyone touching Kota because his brain had decided he was his.
Christ.
Walker had never understood why people enjoyed cuddling. Now, he found himself irrationally pleased by the weight of Kota draped across him, the way he kept burrowing closer like he wanted to hide in his arms from the world.
“I’m fine. I promise,” Kota assured him, words muffled. “I don’t mean to be so high maintenance.”
High maintenance? Kota had been doing his best to take up as little space as possible since Walker had—technically—kidnapped him. Walker was willing to bet he’d spent most of his life trying to be as small as possible for those around him.
The realization irritated him more than it should have.
“How are you high maintenance, exactly?” Walker asked.
“I’m just…needy.”
Walker could feel his brows knitting together. “Can you explain what your definition of needy is?”
Kota peeked out from his hiding spot to glare at him. “Are you fucking with me?”
Walker shook his head. “No. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of a loner. Feelings aren’t really my strong suit. How about you just tell me what you mean by needy?”
“I get clingy,” Kota said, “Like this.”
He burrowed closer to Walker. His legs tangled carelessly with his beneath the blankets, warm skin brushing against his. Walker brought his other arm around Kota’s waist, crushing him closer.
“That’s not so bad,” Walker said, realizing he meant it.
He liked holding Kota. He was small enough to fit right under his chin. He was warm, too. Like a heated blanket. A drippy one, but nothing was perfect. The kid practically radiated body heat, soft and alive against him in a way Walker found bizarrely soothing.
“I’m super insecure. I need constant reassurance,” Kota said.
“Reassurance of…”
Kota shook his head helplessly, like he didn’t understand why his brain did these things to him. “That you still like me, that I’m not annoying, that you’re not secretly mad at me, that you don’t hate me, that I’m not weird, that I’m not stupid or embarrassing or…all of the above.”
Each admission seemed physically painful for him to say out loud.
Walker was glad he didn’t experience life the way normal humans did. It sounded exhausting. He couldn’t imagine this kind of dialogue running in the background of his brain like some kind of demonic operating system.