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

Unbeta'd/Unedited

Kota

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, his amusement evident.

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 somehow 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 he’d 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. Just enough for Kota to notice.

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 crockpot 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 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, he looked at Kota with wide eyes. “Is this him? Is this your swan?”

“Shut up,” Walker grunted.

“His what?” Kota mumbled, frowning.

“Nevermind,” the man said, waving a dismissive hand.

The dismissive hand somehow 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 drag 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. It fit the other guy somehow. 

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 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 gate. 

“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. 

Walker snorted. Kota made a noise of displeasure, giving Walker a stern look before whacking his arm. “Don’t be rude. They’re doing this for you. It’s sweet.”

The fact that somebody had remembered Walker's birthday at all made something ache unexpectedly inside him.

A tight smile formed on Walker’s face. “Thank you,” he said begrudgingly.

The words looked physically painful. Cade peeled the foil from the bottle, before popping the cork, once more turning heads. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he just didn’t care. He filled the four glasses, handing one to each of them.

“To old friends,” Cade said with a smirk on his face.

“And new,” Tris cried, clinking his glass with Kota’s first.

Kota found himself smiling, snuggling closer to Walker as he took a sip.

Walker immediately shifted his arm around him without looking, like it was instinct now.

After a minute, Kota leaned in asking, “Why do people keep staring at us?”

“I’m the gamemaster,” Tris said smugly. “I’m the man behind the curtain. People are dazzled when they see me in the wild.”

“Or,” Cade said dryly, “they're wondering why you're wearing a soccer jersey that appears to have lost a fight with a pair of scissors.”

Tris gasped.“It’s fashion. You should try it some time.”

Cade scoffed. “It was a crime.”

Tris’s smile turned almost cat-like. “That’s not what you said when you were licking salt off my abs on the pool table twenty minutes ago.”

Kota snorted into his champagne. 

“Touche’” Cade said, admitting defeat. 

“So…the gamemaster?” Kota asked Tris.

Cade’s hand landed on the back of Tris’s head, ruffling his hair fondly. “My mouse runs all of it. The whole game. He’s the one who turned the message board into an actual game.”

“Oh,” Kota said. “You must be really smart.”

Tris immediately sat up straighter.

“He is,” Cade bragged with a grin.

The pride in his voice was impossible to miss. Tris practically glowed beneath it.

“Wanna see how it works?” Tris asked.

Kota’s eyes went wide with surprise. “Am I allowed?”

“Well, since you’re here, I’m gonna assume you’re inner circle now, yes?” Tris asked.

He wasn’t looking at Kota but at Walker. The smile slipped just enough for Kota to realize this wasn't really a question about the app. It was like a standoff of some kind.

“That’s up to you, squirrel. How far down the rabbit hole do you want to go?” Walker asked.

Kota bit his lower lip, studying Walker’s face. Walker gave him a small nod. Not impatient. Not reluctant. Reassuring. Like he was telling Kota that this was his choice. That he was allowed to know. Allowed to stay. Allowed to be part of this strange, dangerous little corner of Walker’s life.

Warmth spread through his chest.

He smiled at Walker, then immediately turned toward Tris, scooting closer until their shoulders touched.

“Show me everything.”

Tris looked delighted.

Cade and Walker talked, switching from champagne to something stronger as Tris walked Kota through the app. The targets. The point system. The badges. The rankings. The money. The safe houses. The bizarre sense of community that somehow existed among people who made their living killing other people.

By the time he finished, Kota’s head was spinning.

He pulled the lollypop from between his lips and gestured toward the screen.

“This is amazing.”

“Thanks,” Tris said proudly. “Maybe you can convince grumpypants over there to accept the badges I’ve bestowed upon him.”

“Like...?” Kota asked.

“Tris,” Walker warned.

Tris’s laugh was downright diabolical. “The first was Employee of the Month. He refused, even though it came with a cash bonus. That was for taking out three targets in one month. Then there was Best Use of a Truck for Un-Truck-Like Purposes. Again, ignored. I even tried Best Long Haul Homicide Logistics. Still refused.”

Kota barked out a laugh. “That is absolutely something you should have accepted.”

Walker rolled his eyes. “I am not putting a murder trophy on my shelf.”

“You don't even have a shelf,” Kota reminded him.

Walker gestured as if Kota was making his point. “Exactly.”

Tris pointed aggressively. “See? This is why we need an intervention.”

Kota giggled, looking over at Walker. The laughter died in his throat. Walker was already looking at him. Not at the app. Not at Tris. Not at Cade. Just him. Something hot unfurled low in Kota’s stomach.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist without warning, dragging him back to his side until their bodies were touching from shoulder to knee.

His breath caught. The large hand settled high on his thigh. Possessive. Comfortable. Like it belonged there. 

Kota shot him a startled look.“What are you doing?”

Walker bent toward him, his mouth brushing the shell of his ear. “Can’t I touch you?”

The deep rumble of his voice sent a shiver down Kota’s spine. “Yes,” he admitted breathlessly. “You can do whatever you want with me.” 

Walker hummed. “That’s a dangerous power to give someone like me, squirrel.”

“But I like when you take what you want,” he admitted just loud enough for Walker to hear it.

Walker’s response was predatory. “That’s what I thought.”

Across the booth, Tris whistled low. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What?” Kota asked, dazed from the blood rushing south. 

“He wants to eat you alive,” Tris said, practically salivating like he was about to watch some kind of blood sport. 

Walker got to his feet, pulling Kota upright with him. The room tilted slightly from the rush of champagne and the way Walker was looking at him.

To Tris and Cade, Walker said, “We’ll be back.”

“Oh, we know,” Tris called.

His cackle followed them across the bar. Walker led him toward the back hallway without slowing. Kota barely noticed where they were going. All he could focus on was the warmth of Walker’s hand around his wrist. The certainty of it. The way Walker never seemed to hesitate when it came to him.

By the time they reached the single bathroom at the end of the hall, Kota’s pulse was hammering. Walker pushed the door open, guided him inside, then locked it behind them. The click sounded impossibly loud. Kota looked up just as Walker crowded into his space.

And then he kissed him, long and deep. Kota sucked the taste of whiskey from his tongue whining into his mouth. 

“Is it my turn to go down on you in the bathroom?” Kota asked, already sinking to his knees.

Walker pulled him back up, then spun him around to face the mirror, hands already on Kota’s button. “No,” Walker growled. “I wanna be inside you. I’m gonna fill you up and you’re going to spend the rest of the night feeling my come leak out of you.”

Kota whined. “Please.” 

He tried to help get his clothes out of the way, but Walker slapped his hands away, bending him over the sink and roughly shoving his jeans and underwear to his ankles. 

His mouth found Kota’s throat, kissing the purple finger shaped bruises there and sucking tiny marks of his own. 

Kota sucked in a sharp breath as two slick fingers pressed against his rim, finding a tiny bit of resistance before slipping inside. “Oh, fuck.” he gasped. “Did you sneak lube in here?” 

“Technically, it's Vaseline, but it will do in a pinch,” Walker said, distracted. 

Kota laughed but his cock was already painfully hard, trapped between the cold marble counter and the heat of his own belly. 

The clink of Walker’s belt buckle sent a shock of desperation through him. He was undressing with one hand, his other still working Kota open. 

“Hurry up,” he begged. “I need it inside me.” 

Walker’s fingers disappeared, only to be replaced moments later by a blunt pressure that stole the air from his lungs. “Yes. Yes. Yes,” Kota chanted quietly, pressing his hips back to encourage Walker. 

“You need it, huh?” Walker growled against his ear. “Two nights ago you weren’t even sure it would fit.” 

Kota reached back behind him, grabbing Walker’s hair and smashing their mouths together in a sloppy kiss before saying,  “But it did fit. Stop teasing and put it in already.” 

“Okay,” Walker purred. “Whatever you want, baby.” 

Kota screamed as Walker buried himself, bottoming out in one hard thrust. “Oh, fucking fuck.” 

“You got such a dirty fucking mouth, squirrel,” he said, thrusting slowly as he curled his tongue around the shell of his ear. “This what you needed, squirrel?” 

“God, yes. You’re so fucking huge,” Kota said, eyes rolling behind his lids. “It always feels like you’re in my throat. Fuck me hard.” 

Walker chuckled. “So bossy.” 

He settled one hand on Kota’s shoulder, using the other to shove his shirt out of the way.  He pulled almost all the way out before snapping his hips back sharply, bringing Kota up on his toes. He moaned long and low when he looked in the mirror and saw Walker watching himself fuck into him. 

 Kota gripped the counter tighter, his blood sizzling as he watched Walker watch them. His hand tightened on Kota’s shoulder, picking up the pace until he was knocking these high breathy noises from Kota every time he sank deep. He couldn’t think, couldn’t speak, he could only hang on as Walker whispered filth in his ear, using him like his favorite toy.

“Can I come?” Kota asked. 

“No,” Walker rasped. “It's my birthday. You can come after I do.” 

He fisted a hand in Kota’s hair, pulling him back against him, wrapping an arm around his waist so he could fuck him impossibly deep. The change in angle had his vision whiting out every time he buried himself. 

“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I can’t…Can I…Walker, please…” Kota babbled.

Walker’s teeth sank into the side of Kota’s neck, his hips falling off rhythm as he came hard, his cock throbbing inside Kota as he filled him up. Before Kota could catch his breath, Walker’s hand wrapped around Kota’s own neglected length, stroking him hard and fast, the feeling so intense, Kota could barely keep his feet under him. 

“Can I? Can I?” Kota babbled, head falling back against Walker’s chest. 

“Yeah, come for me, squirrel. I want to watch.” 

This time Kota’s knees did give out when he came but Walker’s arm was a steel belt around him keeping him on his feet. 

Kota was dead weight as he came back down to Earth. When he could think again, Walker slipped free. Kota grimaced, that familiar wetness already trickling out. Kota couldn’t even bring himself to care. He let Walker dress him. When he spun him around and plucked him up onto the counter,he didn’t protest, just looked up at him, every emotion he had bleeding from him.  

“You okay, squirrel?” Walker asked.

Kota giggled. “I’m amazing,” he said honestly. “That was awesome.”

Walker laughed, kissing his forehead. “Do you want to head back to the hotel?”

Kota wrinkled his nose. “Do we have to? I want to hang out with Tris a little longer. Is that okay?”

“Really?” Walker asked, seeming genuinely confused by the decision.

Kota smiled. “Yeah. He’s weird.”

“He is,” Walker agreed. 

“And loud,” Kota mused. 

“Very.”

Kota sighed happily. “And kind of exhausting.”

Walker snorted. “Painfully.”

“But...” Kota shrugged. “I like him.”

Something softened in Walker’s expression.

“I’ve never had a friend before,” Kota admitted quietly.

For a moment, Walker just stared at him. Then he wrapped both arms around Kota, hugging him tight enough to make him grunt. “Sure, squirrel. We can stay,” he said gruffly. “Whatever you want.”

Kota smiled against his throat. “Is this how it’s always going to be?” he asked. “I ask for something and you just...do it?”

“Is that so bad?” Walker asked.

Kota tilted his head back so he could see his face. “Won’t you get tired of me?”

The question slipped out before he could stop it.

Walker snorted immediately. “No.” 

Not maybe. Not probably not. Just no. Something tight in Kota’s chest loosened. 

Walker shook his head. “No, I don’t see myself ever getting tired of you.”

His thumb brushed across Kota’s cheek. “There’s only two people in my life I’m genuinely happy to see.” Kota smiled. “You and Carrot Cake.”

“Which one are you happier to see?” Kota teased, unable to stop grinning.

Walker pretended to consider it. “Well, you let me snuggle you, so you win by default.” He bit Kota’s nose.

“Ow!” Kota cried, rubbing the red spot there.

“You asked.”

Kota laughed. “I’ll take it.”

Walker looked at him. The noise and music from the bar seemed far away suddenly. “I’ll take you.”

Something flashed across Walker’s face. Possessive. Certain. Happy?

“All yours,” he promised.

Not for tonight. Not for the trip. Not until Washington.

Just—

All yours.

Kota rested his head on Walker’s shoulder. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he finally said, “Walker?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy birthday.”

Walker chuckled, holding him even tighter. “Thanks, squirrel.”

Kota buried his face in Walker’s throat, breathing in the familiar scent of whiskey, soap, and whatever it was that made Walker smell like home. He didn’t know how long this would last. Maybe forever. Maybe not. But for the first time in his life, he found himself hoping for forever.

Walker was too important. This life—strange and messy and criminal—was too important.

This…whatever it was…was too important.

The End