Killer Love - Kiss. Kill. Repeat #2 - ch. 3 (Patreon)

Unbeta'd/Unedited. This has NOT been through edits. So ignore any messes. My editor will fix it.

Kota

The moment their rig—no, the rig—rolled into the massive truck stop, Kota’s stomach growled loudly, making him grimace. The smell of diesel, hot asphalt, and fried food drifted in through the vents, making his hunger sharpen into something almost painful.

Walker snickered at the rumble. “There’s a diner here. We’ll grab something to eat before we bed down for the night. Okay?”

Kota wanted to weep at the idea of a meal of any kind. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Probably not that long ago but it felt like decades. Like his entire life before climbing into this truck had happened to someone else.

“Can I shower afterwards?” Kota asked, eyes locking on the shower sign lit up beside the large building. “Does it cost a lot?”

“I got credits,” Walker said. “We’ll shower after we get some food in you.”

Kota felt a flash of guilt over having no money to contribute. He had only a couple days worth of clothes, an empty wallet and flip phone that had likely been dead for hours. Everything he owned could fit into a backpack. It was a depressing realization.

“What time is it, anyway?” Kota asked around a yawn.

“Early,” Walker said vaguely. “Or late, I guess. Depending on your point of view.”

It had been dark when he’d left with that Early guy. It was still dark outside. It was starting to feel like some kind of endless night in a horror movie.

Walker donned a backwards baseball cap and grinned at Kota a moment before he opened his door and hopped down from the truck, his boots scraping on asphalt. Kota could still hear the low hum of a motor. He must leave it on for Cake, so she doesn’t get too hot or too cold.

The thought made something warm unfurl in his chest. A professional killer who remembered to keep his cat comfortable. The contradiction should have been alarming. Instead, it was weirdly endearing.

Kota didn’t realize he’d just been sitting there until his door popped open and he almost tumbled out. Walker caught him easily, setting him on his feet with no effort.

One second he was falling, the next he was wrapped in solid muscle and steady hands.

“I could’ve done it myself,” Kota mumbled.

Walker smirked at him. “Given your earlier exit from Early’s vehicle, I wasn’t taking any chances. You’re not exactly graceful.”

Kota flushed until his ears burned. “You’re hilarious,” he snarked.

Walker didn’t retort, just started whistling a jaunty tune. Only then did Kota have time to read the words on the cap he had on.

My Cat Thinks I’m Cool.

Liar.

Kota barely knew Walker or Carrot Cake but he could say with confidence that the fat orange cat merely tolerated Walker’s presence, which was a miracle in itself given Walker’s personality. Though Kota wasn’t really one to talk. Nobody had ever thought he was cool, whether they walked on four legs or two.

Walker held the clear glass door of the large building for him, arm perched high, forcing Kota to walk beneath it, like he was trying to reinforce to Kota just how small he was in comparison. Kota glowered at him as he passed, earning another smirk and a cheeky wink that Kota couldn’t help but think was him playing to their audience. 

Still, when they brushed against each other, Kota’s whole body tingled. His skin felt overly aware of Walker’s presence, every accidental touch lingering longer than it should. Kota had never been so instantly attracted or…entranced by another person before. Walker was like…like gravity, keeping Kota tethered to him.

They stopped at the counter and requested to use the showers, then booked a time slot for an hour later. Kota couldn’t help but note that Walker only booked one. Maybe he hadn’t planned on showering? Or maybe he wanted them to shower together?

The thought hit him so suddenly he nearly choked on absolutely nothing. His face immediately started heating.

Walker glanced at him. “You okay?”

“Yep.”

“You look like you’re having a stroke.”

“I’m fine,” Kota lied.

Walker’s mouth twitched suspiciously.

Kota glanced around, noting that the diner was pretty busy despite the early morning hours. There was a group of men sitting around a large table towards the back. Some had plates with piles of food, while some just nursed beverages. The air smelled like burnt coffee, fryer grease, and syrup, all of it layered over the faint diesel stink clinging to everyone who came through the door.

There were a few solitary truckers, staring into their cups like the black sludge within was a scrying mirror and not three-day-old coffee. Kota noticed a plump older lady in a t-shirt and jeans, her long gray tresses caught up in a bedazzled pearl encrusted hair clip sitting beside a man of similar age and build. They were in a deep discussion about a girl named Kinsey, who was apparently their granddaughter.

“You’re staring," Walker said, amusement evident. 

“Her hair clip is so fancy.”

Walker laughed again, shaking his head like he found Kota hilarious. He led them to a booth far in the back, close to the windows, away from the various groups dotted around the large space. 

Of course he did. 

A professional killer probably didn’t like having his back to a room. If the diner had a name other than the truck stop itself, Kota hadn’t noticed it, but as they sat, he couldn’t help but note the mustard yellow and rust color scheme that made him feel a bit queasy. Or maybe that was just the murder-adjacent road trip catching up with him. 

Hard to say.

Before he could ponder it for long, a woman breezed up to the table in a pair of black pants and a polo shirt that bore the same nauseating colors. She smiled at Walker when she saw him, revealing a crooked yellow front tooth. “Well, hey there, Tex,” she said, her thick accent making Kota wonder where exactly they were on the map. “Haven’t seen you here in a dog’s age. I thought you died.”

He’d never heard someone turn the word died into two syllables before.

“Hey, there, Gem. I’m still alive. Barely. How ya been?” Walker asked, with a casual laziness Kota had yet to witness in his short time with the older man. It was strange seeing him like this—relaxed, familiar, almost charming. Like there were versions of Walker other people got that Kota hadn’t known existed yet.

“Same shit, different day,” she fired back, plopping down two comically large menus covered in sticky laminate. “Who’s this youngin’?”

“This is Kota,” Walker said. “I’m giving him a ride to the West Coast.”

“LA?” she asked. “You look like one of those pretty-boy Hollywood types.”

Kota snorted in disbelief. “Me? Hardly. I can barely remember my own social security number, much less a whole script.”

She gave a dry cackle that had all eyes on them for an exaggerated moment. Kota sank a little lower in the booth, heat crawling up his neck. “Fair enough, Hollywood. What can I getcha all to drink?”

“Can I just get water?” Kota asked timidly.

Walker raised a brow at him. “Do you actually want water?”

“Yeah?” he said like it was a question.

“Order something else, too,” Walker said, seeing through his obvious lie.

Kota shook his head. “It’s alright.”

Walker sighed, giving him an irritated look. “I told you I’d take care of you until we reached our final destination. Order something else or I’m gonna order you chocolate milk in a sippy cup.”

Kota choked on his own indignant squawk, face turning pink. The worst part was, based on Walker’s expression, he absolutely would. “Diet coke, please.”

“You got it, Hollywood,” she said. “And for you, sexy?”

Walker gave her a flirty look that instantly set Kota’s teeth on edge. The reaction startled him—sharp, ugly, and completely unreasonable. He had known this man for less than a day. He did not get to feel possessive. “You know what I want, Gem.”

“Coffee so strong you can stand a spoon up in it?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“One diet coke, one Satan’s special, comin’ up,” she said, then disappeared.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Kota leaned forward across the table. “Is-Is her accent real?”

“Not sure,” Walker admitted with a shrug. “Seems rude to ask.”

That somehow made Kota laugh. A professional killer drawing the line at being impolite.

Outside, trucks were lined up, exhaust making the air outside seem smoky. There was a heaviness to it. Like the weather was about to turn. Kota could feel it.

Gem returned with their drinks and took their orders. Walker ordered an omelette the size of Kota’s forearm and Kota ordered french toast that was honestly far too good for the cost.

The smell alone had his mouth watering. Warm cinnamon, butter, maple syrup. His stomach cramped painfully, reminding him just how long it had been since he’d had a proper meal.

When they were finally alone, they ate in silence, one of Walker’s boots pressing against Kota’s sneakered foot beneath the table, the other propped beside Kota’s thigh on the booth. It felt oddly intimate given that they were strangers.

Not strangers, exactly. But certainly not friends. Trauma bonded maybe.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Walker said.

“Like…” Kota hedged.

“Anything. Dazzle me,” Walker teased.

“There’s nothing dazzling about me. I’m a high school dropout with too much anxiety and not enough Lexapro. You?”

“I’m a trucker who has a…unique side hustle,” Walker said.

“A unique side hustle is selling feet pics or being mean to losers on the internet for money,” Kota said. “I’m pretty sure the trucker part is your side hustle and the…other thing…is your real job.”

Walker chuckled. “What do you know about feet pics and fin dom?”

“Apparently not as much as you,” Kota said, feeling out of sorts suddenly.

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? 

He 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 said with a roll of his eyes.

He shifted in his seat, causing his foot to press hard 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 seat. 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 hand prints 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 is not 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 said.

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 coworkers sucking at their jobs either.”

Walker shook his head. “I’ve never thought of it that way but…I suppose you’re not wrong.”

The 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 said.

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 Kota’s 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 said, 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 time 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 just 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 minute, 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. “Jokes 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.

Kota nodded, not sure at all why he was trauma dumping on this stranger. Maybe because Walker listened in a way most people didn’t. Or maybe it was almost being murdered mere hours ago. “Crazy, right? I guess its a testament to how stupid I really am. Two kidnappers, two murderers. Though I guess Early kidnapped me too. God, maybe my mother was right.” 

“How old were you the first time?” Walker asked. 

“Four…maybe five? It’s weird how time all blurs together the older I get. I wasn’t even in kindergarten, yet.”

“That’s…well, shit,” Walker said, shaking his head, seemingly at a loss for words. “I don’t know exactly what that is other than awful.”

Something about seeing Walker speechless was oddly validating.

“He only kept me for a few days,” Kota said, unable to stop himself from talking. “Was weirdly…polite about it all…for a child predator, I mean. He made me do things to him but he didn’t—” He dropped his voice to a barely there whisper. “—fuck me or anything so that’s something, I guess.”

Kota blinked rapidly, eyes feeling almost sticky, probably from a lack of any real sleep for days. Or maybe because saying it out loud still made something ugly twist inside him.

Did it sound like he was defending the man’s actions? He wasn’t. He just needed Walker to understand that it could have been worse, that he wasn’t a perpetual victim. That he knew others had it way worse than him.

He’d heard it his whole life growing up. He wasn’t special. Other people had it worse. Other people had suffered more. Other people deserved sympathy more than he did.

He didn’t want to think too hard about why Walker’s opinion mattered.

“Maybe that’s why it fucked me up for so many years. If he had physically hurt me more, scarred me, ruined me in any way people could see, that they could quantify, maybe I would have felt less guilty about turning him in.” Walker’s booted foot against his thigh was comforting at that moment. Solid. Heavy. Dangerous, but safe in a way Kota didn’t fully understand. “When I saw him in court, he looked…hurt, like he couldn’t believe I had betrayed him. Crazy, right?”

Even now, part of him hated admitting that out loud. Like there was something fundamentally wrong with him for feeling guilty.

“He sounds like he got what he deserved,” Walker said diplomatically.

His tone stayed even, but something colder flickered beneath it for just a second. The expression vanished so quickly Kota almost thought he imagined it. Almost.

“I don’t know why he was so upset about getting caught,” Kota mumbled. “It was his fourth offense and he did less than six months.”

Walker’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly once more.

For a second, Kota got the distinct impression Walker was imagining exactly what he would have done in that situation.

“People suck,” Walker said with a shrug. “The courts suck worse.”

“Do you—” Kota cut himself off, trying to gather his thoughts. His pulse had sped up again. This felt like dangerous territory, but then again, everything about Walker felt dangerous. “Do you kill people because you like it or because you, like…need to kill people? Is—Is it—what do they call it?—a compulsion?”

Walker held his gaze for a long moment, and for the first time since they’d sat down, Kota couldn’t quite read what was going on behind his eyes.

“Are you asking if I’m a serial killer?” Walker asked, tone once more laced with amusement, like Kota was funny without even trying.

Kota sighed heavily. “Yeah…I guess I am.”

His mouth went dry when Walker leaned in, propping his chin on his palm to look at him. The movement was lazy, almost catlike, but there was something intensely focused in the way his eyes settled on Kota. Like the rest of the diner had faded into the background and Kota was the only thing worth paying attention to. “Still worried I’m going to kill you?”

“Probably not as much as I should be,” Kota admitted, mirroring his pose. “But I would feel better if you had a…code or something. Like you don’t kill women and children. You know, Dexterish.”

“Dexter killed women. And so do I,” Walker said, studying Kota’s face in a way that made him feel like his insides were sweating. “But I don’t kill innocent people and I certainly wouldn’t kill a child.”

“Because you have a moral compass?” Kota asked hopefully.

“No. Because there’s no thrill in killing innocent people,” Walker volunteered, moving away from him enough for Kota to suck in a much needed breath.

The extra space should have made him feel better. Instead, he found himself irrationally disappointed.

“Thrill?” he asked, sounding strangled.

“There’s no sport in killing innocent people.”

“Sport?” Kota parroted, blinking at him owlishly.

Every answer somehow made Walker more terrifying but no less attractive. That probably said something deeply concerning about Kota but nothing dozens of people hadn’t said before.

“Yeah, to me, killing harmless people is like those rich guys who game hunt on preserves where the guides just drive them up to some poor animal and let them kill it so they can pose for a picture.”

“So you don’t kill innocent people because it’s no fun?” Kota clarified, again finding that both unnerving and irrationally fucking hot.

Nobody would ever come near Kota again with Walker around. The realization settled low and heavy in his chest, disturbingly comforting. It should have frightened him that the thought felt comforting at all.

Walker made a noise in the affirmative. “Let’s just say I find it…unsportsmanlike.”

“Unsportsmanlike,” Kota repeated, liking the way the large word felt on his tongue.

“Yeah, I’m not one for life on easy mode.” He met Kota’s gaze. “I like a challenge.”

The look he gave Kota made heat crawl up the back of his neck, Walker’s hand sliding surreptitiously across the table to brush his thumb across his knuckles.

Kota swallowed audibly, breath hitching at the feel of Walker’s skin on his own. “I think you’ll find I’m pretty easy.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, embarrassingly honest. For one horrifying second, he considered diving under the table and never coming back out.

Walker dipped his head, hand retreating. “Well, luckily, I don’t plan on killing you,” he said. “I already told you. I don’t kill innocent people.”

“Nobody would call me innocent,” Kota said softly. “Stupid, but not innocent.”

Walker chuckled warmly at that. “You’re so innocent I feel like I’m taking advantage of you just sitting here,” he admitted.

The words should have sounded insulting. Somehow they didn’t.

“What does that mean?” Kota asked, hating how timid he sounded.

Walker licked his lower lip, his gaze heavy as he looked him over from beneath hooded lids. The attention settled over Kota like a physical touch, making him hyperaware of every inch of his body. “There’s something prey-like about you, like a skittish little squirrel.” He leaned over the table. Kota did too without thought, holding his breath. The sounds of the diner faded beneath the rush of blood in his ears. “It makes me want to see how you taste when you’re afraid.”

Heat shot straight through Kota’s stomach at the words, equal parts alarm and attraction tangling together until he couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

That seemed to happen a lot around Walker.

“Oh,” Kota managed. “N-Not literally though, right? Please tell me you’re not a cannibal.”

Walker laughed softly, picking up a piece of the bacon he’d left on his plate and popping it in his mouth, chewing dramatically before saying, “Not the eating I was referring to. There’s a lot of ways to consume someone.”

The look he gave Kota made it very clear he wasn’t talking about food.

“I’m listening,” Kota said.

The speaker crackled overhead announcing that their shower was available. Walker threw cash on the table and stood, waiting for Kota to do the same before he took the lead guiding him to the shower entrance.

The moment was broken, but the tension followed them anyway, winding tight between them as they entered the area. There were a half dozen doors, each with a number overhead.

Walker led him to the one on their ticket, opening the door for him. It was large, clean, like a reasonably priced hotel bathroom. There were towels folded neatly on a rack, a toilet, a sink and a large shower stall.

The scent of bleach and clean linen hung in the air, oddly comforting after everything that had happened. 

“You take your time,” Walker said. “I’ll grab you some clean clothes from the truck.”

Kota grabbed his wrist, gazing up at him from beneath his lashes. The thought of Walker leaving made something anxious flutter in his chest. “Or…Or you could just stay.”

“Stay?”

“I…I don’t really want to be alone yet,” Kota admitted.

That was true. Well, partially true. He was fine being alone. But he didn’t want Walker to leave him just yet. Not when he’d just started getting used to the feeling of him nearby.

Walker crowded him against the door frame.

“Is that so?”

The low rumble of his voice sent another wave of heat through Kota. He gave a stilted nod. “Yes.”

For a second, Walker just looked at him.

The sounds of the truck stop faded into the background. The chatter from the nearby truckers. The rumble of engines. The distant hiss of air brakes. All of it seemed far away compared to the weight of Walker’s attention.

He took a step back, grabbing Walker’s shirt and pulling him inside the bathroom, then locking the door with a heavy thud.

The sound echoed through the small space, leaving them suddenly and completely alone.