Epilogue
Kota had no clue what to expect of a bar called The Morgue. Walker called it a neutral zone for players of the game, a place for them to come and meet for various reasons. Kota had expected something sleek, modern, something with neon lights and loud music. A night club of sorts.
The Morgue…was not that.
They’d left Walker’s truck at a hotel just off the highway, taking an Uber to the bar instead. Kota hadn’t really understood why until they crested a hill overlooking the town.
The Morgue was the sole shining light in a sea of black, right smack in the middle of a town called Last Chance. Last Chance was a ghost town. There were endless boarded-up houses and miles of barren landscape between the real world and whatever this place was.
Even the Uber driver had gone quiet as they’d approached, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.
Kota spotted the bar a full mile before they reached it, tugging at Walker’s sleeve and pointing at it.
“Is that it?”
“That’s it,” Walker said.
The Uber driver didn’t even pull into the parking lot, like they were afraid their car might get sucked into the sea of cracked asphalt and broken beer bottles. The second they stopped, the driver unlocked the doors.
As soon as the car pulled off, Kota wrapped his arms around Walker’s bicep.
“What is this place?” he asked in a scandalized whisper.
Walker laughed. “It used to be a funeral home.”
Kota believed it.
The large square building was unremarkable. The windows were coated with film that made it impossible to see inside. The wooden double doors resembled a crumbling church. A faded stone angel stood near the entrance, half hidden by weeds, one wing broken clean off.
“Why did your friends want to see you out here?” Kota asked, still keeping his voice at a whisper, half afraid he might wake whatever spirits lived in all those dark empty houses surrounding them.
“They’re not my friends,” Walker said. “And I have literally no idea. I guess we’ll find out.”
Kota swallowed hard. “You sure it’s okay for me to be here?”
“Who’s going to stop you?” Walker asked.
Kota wrinkled his nose. “Literally anyone. I’m the least intimidating person on the planet.”
“Good thing you have me then,” Walker said gruffly.
Butterflies danced in Kota’s stomach. The ridiculous part was that it worked.
Walker said things like that and suddenly all the sharp edges of the world seemed a little duller.
He couldn’t believe Walker still wanted him after the spectacle with the cop.
So embarrassing. Part of him worried the older man would change his mind, but he refused to think about something like that tonight.
Walker held the door for Kota. As soon as they entered, heads turned like they were in an old Western. Conversation didn’t stop completely, but it dipped noticeably.
For a solid minute, all the blood drained from Kota’s head, pooling heavily in his feet. Some of the people in the bar looked scary, some shockingly normal. But they all looked at Kota and Walker like they’d just walked into someone’s house instead of a bar.
A woman with pink hair and sleeve tattoos lifted her beer. A man who looked like somebody's accountant gave Walker a nod. An elderly woman knitting in the corner looked up over the top of her glasses and somehow managed to be the most intimidating person in the room.
The music was low enough for the din of voices to carry over it. The lights were low, except for over the two pool tables in the corner. There was a ball game playing on a TV behind the bar, but it was on mute. Nobody seemed to be paying it any mind.
The place smelled faintly of beer, wood polish, and something smoky simmering in a Crock-Pot somewhere. It should have felt threatening. Instead, it felt weirdly...comfortable, like a small-town bar. If every regular happened to be a murderer.
“Tex,” someone cried, followed by an almost maniacal cackle, then there was a guy in front of them.
He was taller than Kota and freakishly hot.
He had a drink in his hand and a lollypop in his mouth.
He wore tight black leather pants and a black and red jersey that looked like he’d bought it in the children’s section.
A full strip of his toned stomach was on display.
He looked less like a professional killer and more like a pop star who occasionally committed tax fraud for fun.
Before Kota could even think to ask who he was, the stranger looked at Kota with wide eyes. “Is this him? Is this your swan?”
“Shut up,” Walker grunted.
“His what?” Kota mumbled, frowning.
“Never mind,” the stranger said, waving a dismissive hand that managed to look theatrical.
He pulled Kota from Walker, linking their arms and leading him deeper into the bar. Kota looked desperately over his shoulder for Walker, who followed behind, looking both exasperated and amused.
Walker wouldn’t let anything happen to him. The realization came so naturally now that it barely registered.
“I’m Tris,” the supermodel said, leading him to a circular booth in the very back.
“I’m—”
“Kota, right?” Tris finished. “We’ve heard so much about you. Has Walker told you anything about us? About the game? About—”
“Mouse,” a sultry voice interrupted. “How about you take a breath and let him speak?”
Kota’s gaze landed on a man as he slid into the booth from somewhere in the shadows. He had an otherworldly appearance to him.
Kota looked between them in confusion. “I thought you guys were contract killers. Why does everyone look like a movie star?”
The guy in the booth wore a blazer over a t-shirt, his hair curling perfectly over his forehead. He chuckled at Kota’s—astute—observation.
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. Walker looked like a rugged action hero. Tris looked like a model. This guy looked like he’d been cast as the dangerously attractive villain in a CW show.
“Crazy, right?” Tris said, dropping into the booth. “He looks like a TV vampire, doesn’t he?”
Kota nodded, letting Tris drag him down then tug him deeper into the booth.
“This is my husband, Cade,” Tris said. “Cade, this is Kota. Isn’t he darling?”
“Mm,” Cade said, assessing Kota over the rim of his highball glass.
It wasn’t intimidating, exactly. It felt more like being evaluated by a very expensive predator.
Walker appeared then, taking a seat beside Kota. He melted against his much larger frame, relaxing as soon as Walker draped his arm over his shoulders. Immediately better. Walker might be a murderer, but at least he was a familiar murderer. He was his murderer.
Kota fought back a laugh at the absurd notion. He fidgeted, looking down at his jeans and black button-down shirt. He felt wildly underdressed for a darkened bar in the middle of a ghost town even though Walker wore jeans, a t-shirt, a flannel, and beat-up work boots.
“Aww,” Tris cooed. “Look at him. He’s so cute. Tiny. Look at his big eyes. He looks like a—”
“Mouse, he can hear you,” Cade reminded, a smirk playing at his full lips. He looked at Kota. “My husband means well, but he has no filter. None. He’s never met an intrusive thought he didn’t voice. Brace yourself.”
Tris pulled the lollypop from between his lips with a lewd pop, then stuck his tongue out at his husband. It was the same blue as his lollypop. Kota wasn’t entirely convinced the blue tongue wasn’t permanent since it fit the other guy.
Tris pulled another lollypop from his pocket, offering it to him. “It’s cherry. Consider it a peace offering.” He side-eyed his husband, sarcasm leaching into his voice as he added, “Since I’ll probably say something wildly offensive.”
Kota looked at Walker, who shrugged. That wasn’t remotely reassuring.
Was it weird that he wanted Walker to just tell him what to do in this foreign situation?
He sighed internally, taking the candy and unwrapping it, then popping it in his mouth.
The tart taste was far better than he expected, hitting the pleasure centers of his brain like a sour bomb.
“Oh, it’s good,” Kota said, followed by, “You can’t offend me, by the way. I prefer when people just say what they’re thinking. Most people are fake as fuck.”
Walker made a noise beside him that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.
Tris’s eyes lit up, eerie in the reddish purple of the bar lights, a bright smile splitting his beautiful face. “Right? That’s how I feel, too. I’d rather people just say what they’re thinking.”
Kota smiled with relief. He really liked Tris.
“You drive?” Cade asked Walker.
Walker shook his head. “Nah, you know what a bitch it is trying to park my rig in this dinky ass parking lot.”
Cade gave a single nod, then looked in the direction of the bar, gesturing to the large bald man behind the counter.
A moment later, a different man arrived with four tall glasses and a bottle of Champagne.
Walker’s brow twitched upwards. “What is this? Why am I here? What are we celebrating?”
For the first time since Kota had met him, Walker looked genuinely confused.
Tris gave Walker an exasperated look. “Seriously? You don’t know why you’re here?”
Walker shook his head. “Should I? Are you trying to get me to beta some new feature on the game? I’m not the guy for th—”
“It’s your birthday!” Tris cried.
Walker stiffened beside Kota. Actually stiffened. Like he’d just been informed someone had died.
Kota turned on him. “It’s your birthday?” he cried, unable to disguise the betrayal in his voice.
Walker sighed, hitting the button on his phone, lighting up the screen, checking the date.
“Yep, I guess it is.” He sounded about as excited as someone remembering he’d scheduled a root canal.
He looked at Tris. “Do I even want to know how you know this?”
“We’re friends,” Tris said, making eye contact with Cade then nodding towards the Champagne.
“We’re not friends,” Walker told Kota.
“We’re totally friends,” Tris told Kota. “Right, babe?”
“Mm,” Cade said vaguely, reaching for the Champagne bottle.