Walker watched as Kota rolled onto his belly, rubbing his face on Walker’s pillow, like he was bedding down for the night. When Kota rolled onto his belly, Cake stepped onto his back, sinking her beefy body into the curve of the boy’s lower back. Walker tried not to stare at the generous swell of the kid’s—Kota’s—ass, but it was right there, encased in jeans that clung to him just right. He wore a white t-shirt, still dotted with hisattacker’s blood, and a flannel shirt that wasn’t thick enough to keep him warm.
Walker pulled the boy’s worn-out sneakers from his feet and grabbed the heavy blanket from the edge of the bed, draping it over him, securing the straps to the ceiling so he wouldn’t roll off the mattress as Walker drove.
Once he’d made him as comfortable as possible, he hopped into the driver’s seat then looked at Cake, patting the spot on the dash where he usually slept.
Cake stood, turned in a circle on the boy’s lower back, then settled, facing away from Walker just as the boy—Kota—had done.
He wasn’t very popular today, it seemed.
He’d been driving for two hours, a history podcast keeping him company, the steady drone barely registering, when he heard Kota stir. His gaze flicked to the rearview mirror that let him see into the back as the boy blinked in confusion, then sat up, looking at the straps that effectively caged him in before glancing in Walker’s direction. Their eyes met for half a second—long enough for Walker to register fear, then resignation.
He could see Kota calculating whether he was allowed to leave the bunk or not, but he stayed silent, testing the air, the rules, seeing what Walker would do. Finally, he heard the clips give and the straps fall. Kota swayed with the motion of the truck as he stood, looking around, then slid into the passenger seat.
“Seatbelt,” Walker said, the word coming out harsher than he meant it to, but Kota didn’t seem to notice, already reaching for it. Good instincts.
Walker had never really been much of a conversationalist. He found trying to make small talk tedious. Nobody ever wanted to talk about anything that mattered to him. Not that much did. Still, the kid’s silence was worrisome after he’d been so chatty earlier.
He glanced over at him, noting the finger-shaped bruises on his throat, the purple blooming on his temple, and the dark circles under his eyes. Evidence of violence layered over exhaustion. Despite all of that, he was still attractive. Distractingly so.
“Where are we going?” Kota asked after a while, staring out the window at the world flying by, voice raspy but steady.
“I’m going home. You?” Walker asked, wondering where he’d wanted to go before Early got a hold of him.
Kota fixed him with a flat stare. “You abducted me, remember? I’m kind of at your mercy. I’m going wherever you take me. Is this your first kidnapping or something?”
Walker snorted out something akin to a laugh. It surprised him how easily it came. “Yeah, something like that. I mean, where were you heading before that piece of shit attacked you?”
Kota’s shrug spoke volumes. “I was gonna try to find my aunt in LA. But it seems stupid now.” His mouth twisted, like he’d already lost the argument with himself. “She hasn’t seen me since I was a baby. I doubt she has any interest in meeting her jobless, homeless, deadbeat nephew. And I don’t know anything other than her name and her last location, which was more than ten years ago.” He paused, staring at nothing. “But I didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I figured it was worth a shot.”
The words landed heavier than Walker expected.
Kota didn’t say it like he was feeling sorry for himself. He said it like he couldn’t believe he’d thought a plan like that could work, like disappointment had already settled in.
“I can get you to LA. I live in Oregon. I’m already gonna be on the West Coast.”
It would be out of his way—far out of his way, really—but it meant more time to convince the boy not to call the cops. More time to assess, to contain the problem.
Kota pulled his knees to his chest, making him look much smaller than he was, folding in on himself, like he was trying to take up less space. “Just…take me wherever you’re going. I’ll figure something out from there.”
Walker just grunted in acknowledgement, eyes on the road even as his jaw tightened.
They sat in silence for a while—the kind that stretched, not awkward but heavy, full of things neither of them wanted to say. Cake jumped onto Kota’s lap, curling into a tight ball, and stared at Walker with an accusatory look.
“What’s his name?” Kota asked.
“Her name. Carrot Cake,” Walker answered. “I just call her Cake.”
Kota snorted at the name but began to stroke the cat’s soft fur, his fingers gentle, absent-minded, like he’d done this a thousand times before.
“What’s your name?” Kota asked, like it only just now occurred to him to ask. “Or is that against kidnapper protocol?”
Walker could hear the humor in his voice.
“Walker.”
“Like the Texas Ranger?” Kota asked.
Walker gave a heavy sigh. Yeah, he was never putting Tris and Kota in the same room together.
