Page 8

THREE

Theoretically, Kensley knew that spelunking involved caves, sometimes climbing, and often tight, enclosed spaces, but it was an activity in which he had never partaken. The last time he’d climbed anything bigger than an eight-foot ladder while cleaning the abbey’s dining room, was when he was nine.

He’d been living with his mom in a small apartment on the outskirts of the city, where families still had yards, and it was safe for children to wander their neighborhoods until dark.

In one yard near their apartment building, a house had burned down before Kensley was even born, and while no one had rebuilt that lot, a huge oak tree had continued to grow in one corner.

The lot and its tree had become an enticing meeting ground for neighborhood kids, Kensley included.

He’d loved climbing that tree, as high as he could go before the branches creaked precariously.

Until the day an older boy went too high, the branch cracked, and he plummeted to the ground. He’d lived, but spent the summer with his left leg in a cast, and it had turned Kensley off unnecessary climbing.

Getting a boost up by the ass from Bishop, into the vents overhead, was way too close to tree climbing for Kensley’s liking, but he didn’t have a choice.

He believed that armed men had stormed his fundraiser to find and take Kensley as retaliation against his older brother King, who was a powerful mafia boss.

It was bizarre and movie-worthy, and too insane to be a lie.

So he climbed.

The vents were not as spacious as in movies, but he could crawl on his belly and elbows and the tips of his toes.

He didn’t know how Bishop would fit, but he did, and with harshly whispered directions to go this way or that way, Kensley moved through the ventilation system.

He wasn’t sure where in the building he was, but he eventually dead-ended at an exterior vent.

With no idea what else to do, he pushed.

The vent cover bent slightly, but didn’t pop off as easily as he wanted it to.

“What now?” he asked.

Bishop tugged on his ankle. “Reach back for this tool. Use it at the four corners. Should loosen the screws.”

“I hope so.” As bizarre as his life had become in the last fifteen minutes, Kensley reached backward, using his own leg as a guide, until his fingers brushed something that felt like a flat-head screwdriver.

He didn’t waste time investigating the tool.

He did as Bishop instructed, sliding the flat end between the grate and the wall.

He yanked and tugged, and something popped free.

“That’s good,” Bishop said, his voice soft and tinny. “Keep going, we’re almost out.”

“Where are we?”

“Exterior abbey wall, Marshall Street. Where that long boxwood hedge is. No one should see us.”

“Okay.”

Kensley wasn’t sure when he’d become a fugitive from his own life, but there he was, on his belly, hoping to escape his own home with a man he’d thought dead these last two years.

He still needed an explanation, and he trusted Bishop to give it to him, but first he had to get this dang vent cover— POP .

He shoved harder and the entire vent fell forward and into the mulch.

Cold air smacked Kensley in the face, and he did the next-most-bizarre thing in his life by falling face-first out of a ventilation shaft and onto the ground.

He rolled sideways, half-expecting to hit a bush, his frock tangling around his legs.

Bishop hit the ground much more gracefully, came up on both feet, and gently pulled Kensley upright. “We’re half a block from Paisley Street. We’re going to walk slowly to the intersection and then go left. If I say run, you run and don’t stop. Otherwise, walk with me and follow my lead.”

Kensley nodded. “We aren’t going to end up in a gunfight, are we?”

“Unlikely, but obey if I give an order.”

“I will.”

“Then let’s walk.”

Late on a Saturday evening was an odd time to pretend he was taking a casual stroll up a city street, but Kensley did his best. His body still thrummed with arousal, and his underwear was uncomfortably sticky, but both were tempered by the imminent threat from his brother’s business.

Threats that could easily end in the loss of life. His own life, in particular.

At the end of the block, they made the turn.

Kensley listened for sirens but heard nothing.

Were those five armed men still terrorizing his guests?

Had they moved on because Kensley was nowhere to be found?

The last thing he wanted was for an innocent person to get hurt because of him. Or his brother.

And how on earth was Bishop still alive?

More than two years ago, Kensley had gotten word that Bishop’s condo had exploded, supposedly because of a bad gas connection, and that Bishop had been home.

He’d heard the authorities had pulled a body and positively identified it as Bishop Anders.

And now that dead man was walking beside him in a manner both hurried and nonchalant, and Kensley did not understand.

As they walked, another odd sensation settled over him.

A sensation he didn’t recognize and had no words for, but it wasn’t a negative one.

Apartment buildings and duplexes loomed high in the dark sky.

Streetlights lit the block every dozen feet.

Public benches, trash cans, parking spots, and the occasional bus stop lined the street.

It wasn’t until they made another turn onto another, almost identical block that the new sensation hit Kensley: freedom.

He was out and about in a city he hadn’t been free to explore in half his lifetime.

He gazed up at the sky, unable to see stars because of the city lights, but he could imagine them from childhood nights spent wishing upon them.

He imagined the constellations from his studies, their glorious patterns of light against midnight black.

The mystery of laying on a blanket in the backyard, gazing up at the sky with his mom, pointing out the shapes he saw, learning the shapes that were really there. The stories behind those shapes.

Kensley didn’t realize he’d stopped walking until Bishop grabbed his elbow and tugged him forward.

He went without complaint, a little drunk with the size of his newfound freedom and the blank canvas of his future spread out in front of him.

All he knew for sure was that he was with Bishop, and Bishop would protect him with his life. The rest was endless possibilities.

They walked for a while, and then Bishop was shoving him into a car with a terse, “Stay down, keep low.” Kensley curled onto the floorboards of the backseat, following directions without comment or complaint.

He was out. He was free. He’d do anything Bishop told him to do, up to and including strip and bend over, if it meant he never had to go back to the abbey.

His only regret was the small wooden box of personal possessions he’d been allowed to keep: a few childhood photographs, his birth certificate, his mom’s gold cross necklace, and the only snapshot he’d ever owned of himself and King together.

While his brother’s face was frequently in newspapers, it was often either an old mugshot or a picture of him scowling.

In the snapshot, King was a smiling adolescent boy, holding his baby brother. He looked happy.

Kensley might never see those belongings again, but he couldn’t grieve the loss right now. His brain was too full of his intense attraction to Bishop and the immense danger they were in right now. He had to live in the moment and do what Bishop told him to.

“We’re about five minutes from my place.” Bishop’s voice startled Kensley after such a long silence. “It’s got underground parking, but you can’t walk upstairs in that robe. It’s too recognizable, and there are security cameras in the elevators.”

“Don’t you think me walking to your apartment in my underwear will be a little suspicious?”

Bishop chuckled, a deep, rumbly sound Kensley had dearly missed. “Little bit. Listen, it’s going to be safer for you to stay in the car when we get there. The back windows are tinted, and it’s a secure building. No one is likely to peek into the backseat.”

Kensley disliked the idea of waiting in the car, but this was Bishop’s line of work and far beyond Kensley’s comfort zone. “For how long? You’re coming back, right?”

The car slowed, and Kensley heard the click of the turn signal. “Yes, I shouldn’t be gone longer than ten minutes. I need to call King, and I’ve got a bug-out bag ready to go in the closet. I just need to grab some sweats for you.”

“Sweats?”

“No offense, Elder Thorne, but you aren’t going to fit into my jeans without an extra-small belt to cinch around your skinny waist.”

Kensley laughed, and the sound felt inappropriate given their dire situation. “No doubt. So, we aren’t staying here?”

“No. My face might not be the same as it was when people called me Bishop, but folks at the church know Drew Burton’s face. As soon as the authorities get involved, they’ll come looking for me. You aren’t the only person who disappeared from the fundraiser tonight.”

“Good point. Okay, I’ll stay put and out of sight, I promise.”

“Thank you. Are you hungry? I didn’t see you eat anything tonight.”

His stomach answered that question by releasing an audible growl. “I didn’t eat, no.”

“All right, I’ll grab some protein bars and whatever else I’ve got in the cupboards. We can’t risk swinging by a drive-thru.”

“I understand. Anything you have is fine.” He nearly asked what was in a bug-out bag, but it seemed self-explanatory, and Kensley didn’t want to come across as sheltered as they both knew he was.

As if the sheltering is my own fault.