The man gave a sharp shake of his head. “No. No cops. Just get out of here. I’ll clean this up. Go.”
“Clean this up? Are we on some kind of prank show? Look at me? Look athim?” Kota demanded, voice raw. “What do you mean ‘clean this up’? Are you crazy? It was self-defense. You’ll be fine. The cops will understand. I’ll totally vouch for you. I’m sure his fucking handprints are still on my neck.”
The man rolled his eyes at him.
Kota huffed out an offended scoff. “Did you justroll your eyesat me?”
“Listen,” the man said, voice flat and sharp, “I’m sure this is really traumatic for you or whatever, but we’re not calling the cops.”
Kota made a sound that was less a noise of disgust and more like an offended chirp. “You might not call them, but I refuse to be an accessory after the fact because you decided to shoot a guy.”
Hot Guy snorted. “I saved your life, you ungrateful little shit.”
“How did you even know I was in there?” Kota asked curiously, temporarily forgetting about the man currently lying in a pool of blood, face smashed against the passenger seat. His stomach lurched when the image caught up to him again—teeth, glass, blood.
“Oh, God. I think I’m gonna puke,” Kota whispered.
The man pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”
Dakota groaned, sucking in breaths through his nose and out through his mouth. “Oh, God. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m definitely going to puke.”
“No, you’re not,” the man snapped, crouching down in front of him. “Look at me.” Kota’s gaze snapped to his. “Good. Deep breaths.”
Kota did as he was told, almost against his will, overwhelmed by the much larger man’s presence. This close, he looked much younger than Kota had originally thought. Maybe late twenties? Not far from Kota’s own twenty-two.
“That’s my rig,” he said, pointing to the truck idling nearby.
“Huh?” Kota managed, brows knitting together. Who cared?
“You asked me how I knew you were in there,” he reminded. “That’s my rig. I was parked beside him. I saw you get in the truck with him.”
Kota still wasn’t putting the pieces together. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. “And you were, what? Watching?”
“What does it matter?” the man asked, exasperated. “He was trying to kill you. Now, he’s dead. You’re welcome. Get out of here.”
Kota was shaking his head before Hot Guy finished, head throbbing and stomach still feeling sloshy. “No, my DNA is probably all over this crime scene, and nobody is gonna believe that, just as I was about to be brutally murdered in my prime, asecondfucking killer swooped in at the last minute and shot my attacker in the fucking face. Who would fucking believe that?”
Once more, the man rolled his eyes. “You’re being a little dramatic.”
Kota’s eyes felt like they were bugging out of his headLooney Tunesstyle. “Dramatic? Look at me. Look at my face.” He gestured wildly, smearing blood across his cheek. “I’m too pretty for prison. I’ll be holding someone’s pocket before lunch time. We can’t all look like Greek gods come to life. Why did you have to shoot him, dude? Why couldn’t you have just used all those muscles to, like, knock him out? He was built like my high school janitor. I think you could have subdued him.”
“You couldn’t,” he noted.
“Fuck you, dude. I was fighting for my life. I can’t help that I’m…”
“Tiny?” the guy countered, looking him over, like he was just noticing that Kota was on the smaller side.
He wasn’t pocket-sized, but anyone would look small next to this guy. “Sorry I’m not built like a sasquatch.”
The man’s mouth fell open as he stared at him. “A…sasquatch. Like…Bigfoot? You think I look like Bigfoot?”
“If the giant shoe fits…” Kota said, making a childish face at him.
Another fucking eye roll. This guy was going to sprain an eyeball if he kept this up. “Jesus, you talk a lot. Are you always this chatty?”
“Yeah. Are you always this murdery?” he shot back.
“Yeah,” the man said, “I am. That’s why you need to get out of here so I can clean this up.”
