Chapter 3 #2
Walker didn’t look like the type to spend a lot of time on social media. Where had he heard of the term “fin-dom” before? Did he pay people to be mean to him online? Was Walker being a killer the least interesting thing about him? Did he kidnap guys all the time and make them be mean to him?
Kota shook the thought away. All the time seemed a bit much.
Still, the more he learned about Walker, the less he felt like he understood him.
He took a sip of his water, wincing at the chemical taste. “Have you ever done this before?”
He realized after he said it that he had started the conversation in his head.
Walker tipped his head like a confused canine. “Done what?”
Kota bit his lip hard enough to taste copper before clarifying, “Kidnapped someone.”
“Actually, you’re my first,” Walker said, amused.
“I’m flattered,” Kota retorted with a roll of his eyes.
He shifted in his seat, causing his foot to press against Walker’s, who raised a brow, bumping his booted foot harder against Kota’s.
The contact lingered. Neither of them moved away. Was this…flirting? Were they playing footsie?
“You should be,” Walker murmured just as Kota picked up his glass, catching his straw between his lips. “I would have just killed anyone else.”
Kota began choking violently at Walker’s casual statement. “What?”
“I’m kidding,” Walker said, his tone suggesting he wasn’t kidding at all.
Kota slouched in his seat, kicking his own foot up onto Walker’s bench.
At some point, the foot thing had become a game and he wasn’t entirely sure who had started it.
“Are you gonna kill me? Like, is this all part of some elaborate plot to get me to let my guard down? I won’t even be mad, I just have a few requests. ”
Walker blinked at him stupidly. Kota would have almost found it comical if not for the whole murder thing. After a minute, the corner of Walker’s mouth twitched like he was trying—and failing—not to smile.
He studied Kota carefully, like he was genuinely considering the request instead of dismissing it as ridiculous. “I’m not going to kill you, but I have to admit, I’m curious about your requests. Lay ‘em on me.”
Kota sat up straighter, like they were suddenly negotiating.
“Okay. Yeah. Let’s do this,” he said, trying to psych himself up for the morbid conversation.
“Don’t set me on fire. Not even if I’m already dead.
” He shuddered at the thought. “Nobody is gonna come look for me, but if someone happens upon my body, I’d like them to have some ability to identify me. Like, to put on a grave or something.”
Walker snorted out a laugh, then composed himself. “Sorry, no fire. Noted.”
“No drowning me either or, like, strangling me. I definitely did not like that,” he said, absently rubbing at the red handprints on his throat. Even now, the bruises felt too fresh. “I used to think I’d like the whole autoerotic asphyxiation thing, but I’m definitely second-guessing that now.”
Walker nodded, his lips twitching again, like he was desperately fighting back a laugh.
“Getting choked during sex and fighting for your life aren’t quite the same thing, but I see your point. Is that it?”
“No,” Kota said. “I don’t want it to hurt, and I’d also prefer not to see it coming. I’d like it to be a ‘just look at the flowers’ situation.”
Walker snorted. “A what now?”
“You never watched The Walking Dead before?” Kota asked, voice dripping with judgment.
“I don’t have a lot of time for television,” Walker pointed out.
Kota frowned. “How do you entertain yourself while driving?”
“Podcasts mostly,” Walker said.
“True crime?” It seemed the obvious answer.
Walker huffed out a laugh. “History, mostly.”
“Oh, I get it,” Kota said. “I guess I wouldn’t want to listen to a podcast about my co-workers sucking at their jobs either.”
Walker shook his head. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but…I suppose you’re not wrong.”
His smile lingered longer than it should have, softening the harsh lines of his face.
Kota drained his glass, slurping the dregs of his soda, before he asked in a quiet voice, “Did you decide to be a truck driver before or after you decided to be a contract killer?”
Walker grinned, revealing perfect teeth. God, that should not have been attractive. He looked unfairly sexy for a man in an old t-shirt and a backwards trucker hat. “After. I realized killing was something that came naturally to me. Being on the road all the time was a built-in alibi.”
Came naturally to him? Like breathing? Like being a piano prodigy? How did someone come to that conclusion, unless…
“How old were you when you realized it came naturally, exactly?” Kota asked.
Walker met Kota’s gaze, almost like he wanted to gauge his reaction. Like this answer mattered. Like Kota’s opinion mattered. “Fifteen.”
“I don’t suppose you made this realization after a long bout of meditation? Or maybe one of those career counseling questionnaires?”
“Nope. It was more of an on-the-job training situation,” Walker answered.
Kota sucked in a breath. “At fifteen, I was getting driving lessons from our legally blind neighbor in exchange for cutting her lawn. Who did you kill?”
“My father,” Walker said, still as casual as a weather report.
Kota’s pulse jackrabbitted in his throat. “You killed your dad?”
The words hung between them, absurdly at odds with the smell of coffee and syrup and the clatter of dishes around them.
Walker shrugged. “To be fair, he was trying to kill me first.” A small smile played at the corner of his lips, like he was remembering something fondly. “He just brought a knife to a gun fight. Literally. He was mean, but, God, was he also stupid. Killing him was almost too easy.”
Walker sounded disappointed, like he’d expected more from the man. Like the memory didn’t haunt him in the slightest. Kota couldn’t relate. He was still haunted by the memory of once answering a work call by saying “Can you help me?” instead of “May I help you?”
Kota didn’t understand how people could just live their lives without any anxiety.
Every error took permanent root in his psyche to be played back later whenever he needed to sleep soundly.
Usually, around three in the morning when his brain decided embarrassment from seven years ago was suddenly an emergency.
Walker clearly didn’t have the same issue.
They did have one thing in common, though. Shitty parents. Or at least a shitty parent.
“I wish I’d known you when I was a kid,” Kota said wistfully. “Maybe you could have killed my mom, too.”
The joke came out lighter than the truth underneath it.
Walker looked at him in surprise. “Is that why you said we should be killing more people earlier?”
Kota nodded. “People think I should have cut her more slack because she was an addict, but the amount of times I almost died due to her neglect had nothing to do with her being a junkie and everything to do with her loser boyfriend who didn’t want me around.”
He reached for his drink, suddenly fascinated by the melting ice rattling inside. His voice stayed light, but bitterness sat heavy underneath it, old and familiar.
Walker gave him a thorough once-over that had the blood in his head rushing south. “Hard to imagine anyone not wanting you around.”
The words hit harder than they should have. Nobody had ever said things like that to him before. At least, not without immediately wanting something in return.
“Only ‘cause you don’t know me,” Kota said. “Give it a minute. You’ll wanna get rid of me, too. I’m annoying.”
Walker side-eyed him. “Says who?”
“Everyone,” Kota answered, trying to sound unbothered. “I don’t blame them. I make dumb decisions. I’m gullible. I fall for stupid shit all the time. No matter how many times I get burned, I still believe people—even murderers, apparently.”
Including the ridiculously attractive one currently staring at him from across the table.
“Trusting people doesn’t sound like a bad thing,” Walker said softly.
Trusting people had gotten him burned more times than he could remember, but not trusting people hadn’t worked out any better.
Was it better to keep believing that eventually someone would mean it when they said they wanted to take care of him, or better to just believe that he was totally unlovable?
“I get taken advantage of a lot,” Kota admitted, cheeks flushing. “After the first few times, people stop being sympathetic and start thinking you either want to be taken advantage of or you deserve it for being such an easy mark.”
The confession felt ugly the second it left his mouth. Like he should have kept it to himself.
The muscle in Walker’s jaw ticked as he studied Kota. After a moment, he said, “The people who took advantage of that trust are the assholes, not you.”
There was no judgment in his voice. No pity either. If anything, he sounded angry. Not annoyed. Not inconvenienced. Angry on Kota’s behalf. Had anyone ever been angry on Kota’s behalf? Ever?
Somehow, that made it worse. Or maybe better. Kota couldn’t tell anymore. Because, for the first time in a very long time, someone was looking at him like the things that had happened to him weren’t his fault.
Kota’s laugh sounded bitter even to his own ears.
“My mother said I was born a sucker, that I would easily let a stranger lure me into a van with talk of kittens or puppies.” He sighed heavily.
“Joke’s on her, though. The guy who kidnapped me only had to offer to buy me donuts.
But in my defense, I hadn’t eaten in three days. ”
The joke landed flat between them, weighed down by everything hiding underneath it.
There was another long pause. He could feel the other man staring at him, probably trying to decide if it was a really dark joke.
“You’ve been kidnapped before?” Walker finally asked.