“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 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 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 answered.
“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?
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.
