Killer Love - Kiss. Kill. Repeat. #2 - ch. 8 (Patreon)

Unbeta'd/Unedited

Walker

Kota was quiet beside him. Suspiciously so. Walker wasn’t sure why he was so upset. Was he regretting getting involved with Walker? He hoped not. For both their sakes. Walker had decided he would keep Kota; he’d take care of him. He would do all the things that good partners did. He could do that for Kota.

He had a list now. Not a written one, because that seemed excessive even for him, but a mental one. Feed him. Let him sleep. Reassure him. Keep him safe. Don’t make him feel like a burden. So if Kota didn’t want this, didn’t want Walker, things were going to get awkward really fast.

Kota sat in the passenger seat, legs criss-crossed, Cake comfy in the cradle of his lap. He wore Walker’s gray sweatpants and a hoodie, one of Walker’s hats on his head. He had Walker’s phone so he could control the music, but he was just staring out the window, stroking Cake’s soft fur and watching the world fly by.

He looked swallowed up by Walker’s clothes, small and soft and far too quiet.

“You okay?” Walker finally asked, the question feeling foreign on his tongue.

Kota glanced in his direction, giving a tight smile. “I’m fine. How long until we get to Washington?”

Walker tried to keep his face expressionless. “We have to stop at The Morgue tonight and deal with my…handler, but we should be there by tomorrow afternoon.”

“Oh,” he said, disappointment seeping into his tone.

Was he pouting…again? Did he want to be rid of Walker already? 

He frowned. His skin felt too tight, this discomfort creeping in on him, making the back of his neck feel hot. Not a single other person on the planet had ever made Walker so…aware of their feelings. No, not just aware, but concerned. He didn’t want Kota unhappy or upset in any way. The feeling was irritatingly inconvenient. Like an alarm going off somewhere inside him with no obvious way to turn it off.

He’d spent the whole way to the black site listening to podcasts on what being a good partner meant. What people wanted, what they needed to be content. He didn’t feel things like other people but he was very good at mimicking that behavior. He could be that for Kota.

He wanted to be that for Kota.

That was the part he still didn’t know what to do with.

Before he could ask him what was on his mind, Kota sat up straighter, a tiny exhalation escaping from his lips. “Walker.”

The fear behind his name sent an icy finger up his spine. “What’s wrong?”

Kota’s voice was strained. “Are we getting pulled over?”

Walker glanced in the rearview mirror. “Shit.”

Behind him, a trooper had lights on. When Walker downshifted, the cop flipped on his siren.

The sound cut through the cab, sharp and ugly, making Cake lift her head with an offended chirp.

“Don’t panic,” Walker said. The look on Kota’s face said he was definitely panicking. “Let me do the talking. If he asks you anything, just answer honestly. You don’t have a record, do you?”

“Uh-uh,” he said, skin chalky and a thin sheen of sweat appearing at his hairline.

“It’s going to be okay.”

This was it. This would be the thing that determined whether Kota stayed or went. It might be the thing that determined whether the officer behind him got to keep breathing if this went sideways.

Walker’s mind went cold and clear, sorting possibilities with brutal efficiency. Pull over. Stay calm. Hands visible. Papers ready. Watch the officer. Watch Kota. Watch everything.

“You trust me, right?” Walker asked.

Kota gave a stilted nod. “Yeah. It’s me I don’t trust. I’m not good in high pressure situations.”

Walker reached over, squeezing the back of Kota’s neck once, firm and grounding.

“Then look at me if you need to,” he said. “I’m calm enough for both of us.”

The truck came to a stop, Walker shifting into park but not shutting down the engine. The cop pulled up behind him, rolling to a stop and turning off that godforsaken siren. He took his time before he finally exited the vehicle.

Walker watched him in the mirror the entire time.

He was an older man with a paunch over his utility belt and buttons straining on his uniform shirt. He had a wide brim hat and a mustache that hadn’t been popular in fifty years.

Walker pulled his license from his wallet on the console and the necessary paperwork, rolling down the window as the officer approached.

“How’s it going?” Walker asked.

“Pretty good. I’m Officer Petty. May I see your license, registration, insurance and bill of lading.”

Walker handed him the information requested.

“Trailer’s empty. Just heading back home.”

The deputy frowned but nodded, looking over the papers in his hand.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Kota muttered approximately two seconds before he wrenched his door open and dry heaved onto the grass below.

“Who’s that with you?” the officer asked.

“My…friend,” Walker said, distracted by both Cake escaping to the back of the rig and Kota groaning as he continued to lose the meager contents of his stomach.

The sound was miserable. Walker had heard people die with less drama.

“Friend?” Officer Petty asked, tone implying he wasn’t happy with that answer. “Can you both please exit the vehicle? Tell your friend I need some identification.”

Walker rubbed his hand over Kota’s back. The fabric of his hoodie was damp enough to cling to his skin.

“You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Kota whispered.

The apology made something ugly twist in Walker's chest.

“It’s alright,” Walker said, less concerned about the man with the badge and the gun than the boy currently puking beside him. “Where’s your ID?”

“In my backpack,” Kota said, looking a little green.

Walker looked at the officer. “I’m just going to get his backpack for him. He’s not feeling well. It's just behind his seat.”

The officer’s hand floated to rest over his weapon. “Slowly.”

Walker nodded as Kota chanted. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

He grabbed Kota’s bag, rifling through pants and shirts, finding his beat up wallet with the velcro closure at the very bottom. The thing looked like it had survived several natural disasters.

He handed it to Kota before opening the door and exiting the truck.

He hopped down, then turned. As suspected, Kota just climbed over Walker’s seat instead of walking around.

Walker helped him down from the truck, then sat him on the step beneath the door. Kota immediately put his head between his knees like he was preparing for impact. Walker waited for Kota to hand him his ID but when he didn’t, Walker took the wallet back and handed it to the officer.

The officer studied Kota closely, taking in his disheveled appearance, his oversized clothes and his now corpse-like pallor. His gaze lingered on the hoodie. The sweatpants. The fact that nothing Kota was wearing actually fit him.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Kota…Dakota King,” he mumbled, looking up, beads of sweat clinging to his temples.

The cop flicked his gaze to the license in his hand.

“Date of birth?”

Kota’s eyelids fell shut and for a moment. Walker thought he might have passed out.

Finally, he said, “February 7th, 2004.”

Officer Petty frowned.

“How long have you two known each other?”

“Two days,” Walker said.

“Two days?” he echoed. “That’s not a long time. How’d you two meet?”

Kota giggled, tossing his head back.

Walker immediately knew whatever came next was going to be a problem.

“He kidnapped me.”

Officer Petty stood up straighter, cutting his gaze to Walker. “Come again.”

Walker chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Not the time for jokes, squirrel.”

That’s when the officer’s gaze dropped, very deliberately, to the exposed skin of Kota’s throat, taking in the fingerprint shaped bruises. The ones Walker had very deliberately not looked at too closely since the diner.

Shit.

For the first time since the lights came on behind him, Walker felt genuine concern. Not for himself. For Kota. Because Officer Petty had just stopped looking at Walker like a truck driver and started looking at him like a predator.

“What happened there?” he asked, using his chin to gesture in the vicinity of the bruises around his throat.

“Guy tried to kill me,” Kota blurted, his head thunking back against the truck, eyes rolling like he was considering passing out.

“What?” Petty asked, gaze jerking to Walker once more.

“Not him, the other guy,” Kota said, waving a hand, sounding somewhere between distraught and irritated. He pointed at Walker. “He saved me.”

Officer Petty was also starting to look irritated. “What…other guy?”

Kota didn’t answer, just looked at Walker with pleading eyes.

Walker sighed. “The kid was looking for a ride to the West Coast. The first guy he approached didn’t take too kindly to his request,” Walker said with a grimace. “I offered to bring him with me since he clearly has the survival instincts of a lemon.” 

Kota gave another shrill giggle that sounded just this side of a breakdown. 

“That what happened, boy?” the officer asked.

Kota nodded, forcing his features into a serious look, but it lost its effect with the boy’s swollen, watery eyes. 

“You on any illicit substances, son?”

“Huh?” Kota asked, adorably baffled by the question. “No. I can barely tolerate baby aspirin. I’m just a little…car sick.”

The officer looked unconvinced. He glowered at Walker, like he was onto him, but he directed his question to Kota. “Are you with this man voluntarily? If not, tell me now. We’ll get you home safe.”

“Huh?” Kota asked again, looking between the two of them then seeming to regret it as his face lost what little color it had left.

“We got a lot of trafficking happening along this route. If he took you against your will or if someone else forced you to be here…”

Kota looked genuinely horrified at the prospect. “No, not at all. I want to be with him.”

The words came out so quickly there wasn't even a second of hesitation. Walker’s heart did something weird behind his ribs. Something sharp. Unexpected.

Kota’s declaration had so much heat behind it that even the officer seemed taken aback.

“I-okay. Well, I’m gonna run these licenses. If anything comes back fishy, we’re gonna have a much longer conversation and I’m gonna take a closer look at your rig.”

“Be my guest. All you’ll find is a messy bed and a judgmental feline,” Walker said with a shrug.

And a condom in the trash. But he kept that information to himself. They’d jump off that bridge when they came to it.

As soon as the officer returned to his car, Walker turned to Kota, dropping to his knees before him.

“Hey, you okay?”

Kota shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m—I’m just not feeling well.”

Walker frowned, pressing the back of his hand to Kota’s clammy forehead. “Are you really car sick?”

Kota shook his head, looking more miserable than he had ten minutes ago. His eyes were red. His lower lip trembled.

Had Walker triggered something from the attack. No. This looked different. This looked personal. “Then what’s wrong?”

Kota burst into tears.

Walker wasn’t sure which of them was more mortified by this turn of events. He glanced toward the cruiser. Officer Petty was pretending to look at his computer. Pretending. The old bastard was absolutely watching them.

He cut his gaze back to Kota. “Talk to me.” 

“We’re almost home,” Kota wailed. 

Home.

The word landed strangely. Walker didn't really have a home. He had a truck. A cat. A handful of safe houses. A house in the middle of nowhere that he stayed at a few weeks out of the year. A freezer full of problems. But somehow Kota had managed to call it home anyway.

“Okay?…” Walker prompted.

“We’re almost home and you’re just gonna dump me somewhere. I know I told you to do that but that was before and I don’t want to go,” he sobbed. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. I want to stay with you and Cake. I know I sound crazy but I don’t want to leave you. I like it here. I like being on the road with you. I don’t even care about the—”

Walker gently placed a hand over Kota’s mouth. “Shh,” he soothed.

The panic in Kota’s voice was unraveling something inside him. Walker had spent most of his life trying to avoid people getting attached to him. Now the one person he actually wanted around thought he was being left behind.

“I’m not dumping you anywhere.”

Kota froze.

“You’re not?” Kota asked, voice muffled against Walker’s hand, fat tears still rolling down his cheeks.

The hope in his eyes was almost painful to look at. Like he'd already prepared himself for the worst and couldn't quite believe he'd heard correctly.

“No,” Walker said, shaking his head and dropping his hand. “Even if you have the worst possible timing when it comes to confessing.”

“You promise you’re not going to leave me?” Kota asked.

Walker huffed out a laugh. The question shouldn't have hit him as hard as it did. Nobody had ever asked him to stay before. Most people spent their lives trying to get away from men like him.

“If I manage to keep us both out of prison, I promise I won’t leave you behind.”

Kota launched himself into Walker’s arms, almost knocking him over.

The force of it caught him off guard.

Like Kota had been holding himself together with duct tape and blind optimism and finally gave himself permission to let go.

Walker hid his laughter against Kota’s neck as he clung to him.

“I gotta say, this is not how I saw this going,” Walker admitted, pulling back and using his thumbs to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I thought I might have to actually kidnap you when we got to my place.”

“Really,” Kota asked, with a delight absolutely no other person would have had at that confession.

“Yes. Really. I’m not letting you go either. I’m sorry if I made you so upset you were throwing up over it,” Walker said. “If we’re gonna do this—make this work—you’re going to have to be very straightforward about what you need from me. I am never going to figure it out organically. If you’re mad, tell me. If you’re sad, tell me. I’ll try to fix it. Okay?”

The words felt strange coming out of his mouth. But he meant every single one of them.

Kota nodded. “This is crazy, right? I know that it's crazy to dump all this on you after two days.”

Walker shrugged. “Our meet-cute involved attempted murder and homicide and our limited courtship included you watching me dismember your attacker. I think we’re well past crazy.”

Kota giggled wetly, then wiped his face. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

Walker snorted. “Lets save that for after we lose the cops. He already thinks I’m using you for sex.”

“Would it help if I told him I was using you for sex?” Kota countered, finally smiling.

There he was. Walker liked this version of him. The one who cracked jokes at inappropriate times and smiled at the worst possible time. “Somehow I don’t think so.”

When the officer’s door thudded shut, Walker got to his feet, turning his attention back to the officer, placing himself between Kota and the man.

The officer looked back and forth between the two of them. “Your paperwork seems in order. No warrants. No other issues. I pulled you over for drifting over the line back there. I’m gonna let you off with a warning this time, but you need to stay alert. If you’re tired, pull over and take a nap. You could kill someone out there.”

Shit.

“Yes, sir,” Walker said.

To Kota, the officer said, “You should get those bruises looked at. Maybe file a report on the guy who did that to you.”

Kota shrugged, expression grim. “I could barely even tell you what he looked like. It was dark. It’s my own fault for hitchhiking.”

The officer looked like he wanted to argue, but he just shook his head. “Y’all be careful out there.”

“Thank you, officer,” Kota called, voice wobbly.

Walker helped Kota back in the truck, then waited for the officer to drive off before he pulled Kota in by his oversized hoodie, giving him a chaste kiss, well aware of Kota's previous bout of sickness.

When he pulled back, he glanced down at Kota’s disheveled appearance. “I saw more clothes in your backpack. Why have you been wearing mine?”

“Cause they smell like you,” Kota said with a shrug.

Walker felt something feral and possessive unfurl inside him. “You like smelling like me?”

“Yeah,” Kota admitted.

His cheeks pinked immediately, like he'd only realized how weird that sounded after saying it out loud. “It makes me feel—”

Walker’s gut clenched. He wanted to hear him say it. He cupped his face, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Feel like what?”

“Like I’m yours,” Kota admitted, refusing to make eye contact, his swollen face heating up beneath Walker’s palms.

For a second, Walker just stared at him. Most people would have run screaming if they'd known half the things Walker had done. Kota, apparently, wanted a matching hoodie and joint custody of the cat.

A low grunt of approval escaped before he dragged him in again. “You are mine. You said it. Remember that if you ever decide to run. I’ll find you. And I’ll bring you back.”

The words should have sounded threatening. Instead, they felt suspiciously close to a vow.

“Promise?” Kota asked.

There was no fear in his voice. Only hope.

“Promise.”

Kota's smile hit him square in the chest. Walker had never understood what it was that had people so obsessed with falling in love. Maybe this wasn’t love. Maybe this was obsession. Maybe it was madness. But for a killer and the guy who was the worst judge of character ever… maybe that was enough.