Page 7

“Fuck.” Bishop tried again. Locked.

“Are you crazy?” Kensley asked. “We should have stayed and done what they wanted. It was obviously a robbery.”

And hopefully nothing worse, but Bishop wasn’t about to take that chance.

In the fourteen years since he’d been tasked with keeping a distant eye on this cathedral, it had not once been the target of an armed robbery, and especially not during a fundraiser.

But a robbery happened the first night Bishop was directly involved?

The first open-to-the-public fundraiser after he and King became aware of a possible threat to Kensley’s life?

Not a fucking coincidence.

“We don’t know what this is,” Bishop hissed. He hit the door once more, but they were not getting out this way. “Is there another exit?”

Kensley shook his head, fear glinting in his eyes in the dim light. “Only back the way we came. Why are you protecting me?”

“It’s my job. Come on.”

He took Kensley’s wrist and tugged him to the first door, no marking.

Locked. The next one opened, though, and he went inside.

A flash of dimness showed shelves, a mop bucket, and cleaning supplies.

Janitorial closet. He shoved the door shut, brain whirring with his next move.

He could probably find weapons in this closet, but nothing that would stand up to gunfire.

And his “pen” only had one small bullet, which wouldn’t help him against five aggressors.

Not if what he suspected was true: those armed men were here for Kensley.

It was the only sensible conclusion.

He felt all along the door and knob, but he didn’t find any locking mechanism.

And why should he? No one locked a janitorial closet from the inside.

He yanked off the cheap tie he’d purchased for tonight, pulled the door open just enough to hang the tie off the exterior knob, and then shut it again.

“Take off your clothes,” he snapped at Kensley.

He could barely see Kensley in the dim light but heard the affronted squawk. “Excuse me?”

“Look, if my hunch is right, and those men are looking for you, then they’re looking for a celibate omega priest, not a gay guy into closet hookups. If you want to live, then strip.”

“You’re insane.”

“No, I’m not, and if you trust me and we get out of this, then I promise I will answer all of your questions as honestly as I can. But I can’t do that if I’m dead and you’re captured.”

Kensley looked all around the near-dark room before glaring at Bishop. “What are you going to do?”

“As little as I can to get us out of this safely. I promise. Please.”

Something in that soft, firm “Please” convinced Kensley.

He’d thoroughly enjoyed his evening, conversing with familiar parishioners and a few new-to-him faces, talking up the needs of the orphanage to anyone who’d listen.

Kensley craved these precious hours, when he could half-pretend he was a normal man at a gathering of friends, and he’d looked forward to another chance to speak privately with Drew sometime tonight.

Until the moment armed and masked men chose to crash the fundraiser, and Kensley had frozen, no idea what to do other than comply.

His first instinct was to protect his fellow priests and parishioners, but Drew had yanked him away from danger like a man perfectly in-charge of the situation.

But now Drew was asking him to take his clothes off? To blindly trust him?

He shouldn’t do either but he did. And he had no idea why.

In the near-dark of the janitorial closet, Kensley shed his public frock, which was a step closer to normal clothing than his regular robe, and it left him in only his linen shorts and sleeveless shirt.

He shivered in the cool room, unused to being so exposed in front of another person not his doctor.

He’d certainly never been completely naked with an adult male in his life—not for lack of wanting, but purely for lack of chance.

Now, he stood in a closet, clad in only his undergarments, vulnerable to anyone’s attack, and a dagger of fear slid into his gut. “Please, don’t hurt me,” Kensley whispered.

“Never. I’m here to protect you.”

“Why?”

Drew raised his hand, fingers hovering by Kensley’s cheek without touching. Kensley wanted to lean in, for those fingers to touch. For someone to touch. He also feared the same.

Something banged distantly, not a gunshot (he prayed), probably a door slamming.

With a new jolt of fear chilling him to the bone, Kensley yanked the shirt off over his head, gave it a frantic toss, and then pulled at his shorts.

He didn’t understand why, but he trusted Drew.

He was far less afraid of being naked with Drew, than of whoever was banging their way toward them.

“On your knees,” Drew said. “If they open the door, follow my lead.”

“Okay.” Kensley dropped to his knees, a familiar position of prayer, but he’d never once done it while clad in his birthday suit.

His only consolation was that Drew was watching the door, not Kensley.

Kensley gazed up, scared and confused, and he didn’t realize right away what Drew was doing with his hands.

Not even when the front panels of Drew’s pants parted and he withdrew his bare penis.

A squawk of protest strangled in Kensley’s throat at the same time as the door knob rattled.

Drew’s hand grabbed the back of his head and held his face shockingly close to Drew’s crotch.

Musk and sweat met his nose, and Kensley couldn’t help but stare at the shadowy flesh directly in front of his eyes.

Flesh that should not be tempting enough for him to lick his lips.

What on earth is happening?

“Security,” a strange male voice snapped as the door squealed open. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Getting my money’s worth,” Drew said in a haughty tone. “You mind?”

Kensley flinched away from the glare of what was probably a flashlight and grabbed the leg of Drew’s pants.

He couldn’t think straight with a bare dick this close to his mouth, less than two minutes after armed men stormed his fundraiser.

His entire world had turned completely upside down.

He didn’t quite understand what his role was, only that he needed to follow Drew’s lead, so he kept his head low and didn’t speak.

“Yeah, I mind,” the stranger said. “How long have you been in here? We had a report of a pickpocketing during tonight’s fundraiser.”

A what? Liar!

“Been about ten minutes,” Drew replied. “Not my first round with the help tonight, and I think the kid is having a little trouble with his technique. If he had any idea how to pick a pocket, I’d have it up and be balls deep in his ass right now.”

The crude words telegraphed an equally crude image into Kensley’s brain, which sent a zing of bizarre energy up Kensley’s spine.

And it wasn’t disgust. It was…interest? His hole clenched and his balls tightened, and blood began rushing to his own crotch.

Thickening his dick at the most inappropriate time possible—followed by his omega body’s greatest betrayal: he got wet.

Sure, Kensley got hard like all other people with dicks, but as an omega male, he also exuded wetness from his anus when excited.

Wetness that made it easier for another man to mount him, to fuck him, to fill him with his seed: all evil acts of evil men, according to the priests who’d taught Kensley from puberty onward.

An omega’s arousal could turn otherwise pious men lustful and provoke them to violence, or so said the Holy Scriptures Addendum Twelve.

Therefore, men found to be omega should be restricted to the priesthood for their safety, and so as not to tempt the uncontrollable desires of others. Blah, blah, blah.

None of the priests, male or female, were permitted to masturbate, so it had been a long time since Kensley had gotten hard, much less wet, and never once while in a tiny room with two other men.

One of whom Kensley knew for sure meant to do him harm.

And it had certainly never happened while up-dick-and-personal with another man he trusted implicitly.

“Okay, well,” the stranger said, “we’re searching the premises, so I’d stay put for at least the next fifteen minutes. An officer will come get you when it’s clear.”

“Sure thing, sir,” Drew replied. “We will maintain current positions.”

“All right.” The door shut, and Kensley shivered, as much from relief as the closet’s chill.

Drew released a harsh breath. “That went a lot better than I expected. At least the idiot bought our lie.”

“He isn’t one of our local police officers,” Kensley told Drew’s penis, which was definitely not as flaccid as before. Beat cops regularly checked in at the cathedral, so the priests were aware of their presence in the neighborhood. “I didn’t recognize his voice.”

“He was probably one of the gunmen.” Drew wrapped gentle hands around Kensley’s upper arms and helped him stand, and Kensley nearly combusted with embarrassment as his growing erection brushed Drew’s.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to put you in this position, Kens. It was the first thing I thought of.”

“Kens.” He fumbled at the wall by the door and found the light switch.

No sense in being clandestine now that the bad guys knew where they were.

An arm’s reach apart and in glaring light, he stared at Drew.

They’d never stood this close together, never been near enough for Kensley to feel Drew’s breath on his cheeks.

On his lips. Drew’s eyes bore into his in a way that only made him harder, his hole wetter, his breaths shorter.

Those eyes.

Those eyes. His eyes.

“I know you,” Kensley said. Embarrassment over his arousal dimmed beneath shock at what he was seeing. “Only three people in my life ever called me Kens. One of them was my mother, who died when I was eleven.”

“I know.”

“And you’re not my brother.”

“No, I’m not.”

That voice. Oh, my word, this can’t be real. He’s dead.

Kensley should be reaching for his clothes and looking for the nearest phone so he could call the police.

He should be worried for the safety of his parishioners.

Instead, he was naked, in a closet, turned on by a ghost. The ghost of his childhood crush.

“The other person who called me Kens was my brother’s best friend. ”

Drew’s eyes softened, his always-attentive expression shifting into something kind and gentle. “Kens…”

“Oh, my word.” Kensley swayed, grateful for the firm grip keeping him from falling over. “Bishop.”

Drew smiled, and in that simple expression, Bishop Anders reappeared.

His face had changed, was thinner and more rugged, his nose slimmer, but it was Bishop.

His protector now had been his protector as a grieving boy and troubled teen, and Kensley had once thought Bishop would always be there for him.

And then Bishop had died, and Kensley’s heart had shattered.

“You’re alive.” Kensley breathed the words more than he spoke them.

“I am.”

Joy and grief hit him all at once, and he didn’t think.

With a sharp cry of relief, Kensley threw his arms around Bishop’s shoulders and hugged him.

Bishop’s muscled arms squeezed around his waist, the embrace mashing their erections together, and Kensley didn’t care.

His entire body buzzed with energy, more alive than he’d felt in his entire life.

Like true joy was just around the corner, and all he had to do was be brave enough to take a few steps forward.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Kensley said, then buried his nose in Bishop’s neck, fighting back the urge to sob all over the man.

He was too freaking turned on to actually cry.

He was naked, in a private space, with a man he’d desired for years, and everything inside him wanted to bend over and offer his slick ass to Bishop.

To finally do something he’d fantasized about for half his life, when he understood he was attracted to men.

And to one much-older man in particular.

Kensley had been filled with anger and resentment the day he made his celibacy vows, and he’d lied through his teeth about not having unclean thoughts during each monthly confession. He could break all his vows right here and now, and let Bishop whisk him away to a different life.

“We can’t stay here,” Bishop whispered. “The man who opened the door? I spotted a tattoo on his knuckles. I recognized it, so there’s a good chance those men came here looking for you, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Kensley raised his head but didn’t release his hold on Bishop. “Because of King?”

“Yes. I can’t explain it all right now, I need to get you someplace safe.” He released Kensley’s waist and rested both hands on his shoulders. His groin shifted against Kensley’s, and they both moaned. “You need to get dressed.”

“I don’t want to, not yet.” Kensley was slowly losing his mind in the very best way. Every base instinct he’d ignored, every desire he’d rejected, was screaming at him to act before he exploded. “I’ve never felt like this before. I’m so wet.”

Bishop growled, then ducked and twisted right out of their embrace, ending up a few feet away, attempting to tuck his erection back into his pants. “Get dressed, Kens, we need to leave before those men search this hallway again.”

Hurt from the rejection, but also smart enough to know Bishop was right, Kensley reached for his underwear. “Where are we going?”

“My apartment first. I need to check in with King, tell him what’s happening, and he’ll help us get to a long-term safe house.”

“Okay.” Kensley had all his clothes and shoes back on when it occurred to him to ask, “What about my personal belongings? They’re in my room.”

“We don’t have time to get anything, I’m sorry. Your safety is my top priority right now.”

“I know. You never lied to me before, Bishop.” The one time he’d accused Bishop of lying, he’d actually been telling the truth; Kensley hadn’t wanted to hear it. “I trust you.”

“Good, because this is going to sound a little crazy, but I’ve studied the floor plans, so I know how to get us out of here without doubling back to the banquet hall.”

“How?”

Bishop pointed at the air vent above their heads. “We’re going spelunking.”