MOST DAYS, PRIEST loved his job. It kept him busy enough that he had no time to think of anything else unless he ordered himself to. But today, he resented it. He hated that it had dragged him away from his men, when all he’d wanted was to spend it close by and make sure they were okay.

He was working off the assumption right now that they were, since he hadn’t heard from either one of them. But that still didn’t make him feel any better, because while Robbie had been in a good mood when he’d left, Priest knew what he would’ve encountered with Julien afterward, and that was going to be a new one for Mr. Bianchi. Julien was hard enough for Priest to recognize when he got like this, but for Robbie? It was going to be eye-opening over the next two weeks, that was for sure.

We did warn him, Priest told himself, as he entered his office and headed straight to his desk. But that still didn’t take away the niggling feeling he’d had all day that they’d somehow misled Robbie by not disclosing how fucked up they were before he’d become involved with them—but it was too late now.

All day he’d been tied up in court, and each time he’d emerged, Priest had expected to see a text saying that this new relationship of theirs was over and that Robbie was moving out.

But again, there were no missed calls and no texts. So maybe he’d underestimated Robbie. It wouldn’t be the first time. Robert Bianchi was surprising him at every turn. Including his little impromptu performance this morning. That, and the entire exchange yesterday in the closet after work, had been on Priest’s mind today.

Who would’ve thought it? Their princess loved to serve.

And seeing Robbie so at home in the kitchen with Julien last night, and then having Robbie undress him at Robbie’s own request? It was more than either of them could’ve ever hoped for, and Priest was becoming more and more beguiled by Robbie the more he was around.

Priest glanced at the clock to see it was just closing in on four, and realized all he’d managed to grab today was a quick cup of coffee down at the courthouse—he was starving.

Placing his briefcase down, he pulled out his chair and took a seat. On his desk was a pile of envelopes and a small, rectangular box waiting to be opened, and Priest knew exactly what it was without even picking it up—his new cell phone.

He removed his old one from his pocket and quickly scrolled through several missed calls, emails, and texts—none of which were from Julien or Robbie—and once he’d decided they were issues that could wait an hour or so, he reached for the box and began opening the packaging.

Fucking Jimmy, Priest thought, as he tore into the plastic to get to the box beneath. He’s the gift that just keeps on fucking giving.

Once he had the box open and the new phone in hand, he grabbed the cord and plugged it all in. He’d have to call for the new number when he was ready to switch, but that shouldn’t be too much of a hassle.

He placed the phone on his desk to let it charge, and then powered up his laptop, and once it was up and online, he typed in a search he hadn’t allowed himself to look at in years. As the results appeared, Priest scanned the titles flooding his page and felt sick to his stomach. God, this was the last thing they needed to be dealing with right now.

He stared at page after page of Jimmy’s transgressions as though he were looking down the barrel of a gun, and he couldn’t help but wonder who, and what, was going to be responsible for pulling the trigger.

He scrolled down the first page, past the articles detailing Jimmy’s arrest, trial, and incarceration, until he reached the reasons why all that had happened. It was four stories down on the first page: Notorious underboss and killer of 19 confesses his crimes.

What a lovely way to phrase it, Priest thought, as he shut his eyes and brought his hands up to his face to press his fingers to his forehead. It was times like this—the quiet times—that he loathed more than anything else because that was when his mind went there. To the places no man should ever go.

New Orleans.

The heat. The humidity.

The broken-down shack by the bayou.

And the blood.

All. That. Blood.

Stop, Priest ordered himself as he opened his eyes and hit print on the article. Fucking stop. But even as he tried to shove the memories back into the cracks they’d crawled out of like roaches, he could hear his father’s voice in his head as though he was standing right in front of him: “Boy, there’s only two things in life that you should fear—me and God. And no matter how far you run or how well you hide, we’ll always find you, and when we do, you better hope one of us is in a forgivin’ kind of mood.”

“Priest?” Logan’s voice, and knock on his door, was like a whip cracking with the way it made Priest jerk in his chair. “You in here?”

Priest looked over to where Logan now filled the doorway and didn’t miss the flash of confusion that crossed his face.

“Hey?” Logan said as he wandered in. “You okay?”

Priest sat forward in his chair and clasped his hands on the desk to keep from balling them into fists. Keep it cool, he told himself. Don’t act fucking weird. Mitchell is too smart not to notice.

“Yes,” Priest said, as Logan came to a stop opposite him and looked down at the new phone charging on his desk. “Everything’s fine. Is there something I can help you with?”

Logan brought his eyes back up to meet Priest’s. “No. I was actually coming to let you know that Judge Walsh cancelled his docket for tomorrow. Something about food poisoning? You’ll be emailed your new date and time for the Bateman hearing.”

“Okay,” Priest said, and when Logan just stood there, he added, “Was there something else?”

“New phone?”

Priest looked down at the packaging on his desk. “Yes. I’ll get you my new number as soon as I have it.”

“Okay.” Logan’s eyes then shifted to the article now sitting on the printer, and he walked over and picked it up to hand to Priest. “This is an interesting case to be reading about. Are you taking on a crime boss that I don’t know about?”

Priest reached for the paper and placed it on the desk facedown. “No. I just find it…fascinating.”

“That it is,” Logan said as he unbuttoned his jacket and took a seat, and Priest had to fight every instinct he had not to ask him to get the hell out. “I remember going over his trial in law school.”

Shit. That was the last thing Priest wanted to hear, and most definitely the last thing he wanted to talk about. After all, it wasn’t like he could say, I remember living it.

When Priest remained tight-lipped and offered up nothing in way of a verbal or physical response, Logan frowned and said the one thing that Priest had hoped he wouldn’t.

“Didn’t he have kids? Hell, I can’t remember all the details now, but I’m positive he had kids. What a waste of a human being. To go out and do his hits, and then come home for fucking dinner like everything was normal.” Logan shook his head. “I swear, some people shouldn’t be locked up, they should just be put down. He’s one of those people.”

“Agreed,” Priest finally said, his eyes pinned firmly on Logan, searching for any lights going off or any kind of recognition happening, but all he saw was agreement as Logan nodded. Because the one thing that the entire world and Priest agreed on was that his father was a monster.

“So why are you reading about the gruesome underworld of New Orleans? Bored? Robbie not enough to keep you busy?”

“Not bored, no,” Priest said, and racked his brain for a feasible reason to be checking out Jimmy’s old files. Then, picking up on Logan’s original inquiry, he said, “This case was what made me want to go into criminal law. I saw a documentary on it recently and wanted to take another look at it.” That wasn’t a complete lie. Jimmy was the reason he’d dedicated his life to putting the bad guys away, just not for the reasons Logan thought.

To be sure he steered them away from that particular topic, though, Priest also picked up Logan’s other comment and ran with it. “As for Robert, he’s keeping Julien and me extremely busy. Especially now that he’s moved in.” And it worked like a charm.

“Moved in?” Logan said, his eyebrows practically hitting his hairline, and then he caught himself. “I, ah, didn’t know things were that serious.”

“They are,” Priest said, and he could tell by the tic in Logan’s jaw that his two-word answer irritated the shit out of the other lawyer. But it wasn’t like his avoidance of anything personal was something new, and his personal life now involving Robbie didn’t mean that would change.

“That’s…” When Logan didn’t continue, Priest steepled his hands over his chest and waited, letting Logan’s brain catch up on what he’d just found out. “That’s great.”

Priest inclined his head. “It is. He’s settling in very well.”

“I’ve got to say, you have shocked the shit out of me twice now. And that’s not easy.”

“I know,” Priest said.

“Proud of yourself?”

“I am, yes. Some might say it’s just as shocking that you, the confirmed bachelor, wound up married.”

“Touché,” Logan said, and then chuckled. “Fate has it all worked out, I suppose.”

“Maybe so.”

“And as long as Robbie’s happy—”

“He is.”

Logan snorted. “Awfully confident.”

“I am.”

“Right,” Logan said, and glanced at the papers on Priest’s desk. “Then I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Appreciate it,” Priest said, but what he appreciated more than anything else was Logan leaving and shutting the door behind him.

When he was certain he was alone, Priest picked up the article on his desk and once again read the title. But his eyes kept coming back to: Killer of 19… Killer of 19… And his heart started to race. As sweat broke out on his brow, he crumpled the paper up into a ball and tossed it in the trash can behind him.

Fuck you, Jimmy, he thought, as he squeezed his eyes shut, more determined than ever to banish his father from his mind.

Logan was right—some people should be put down, and the monster that was Priest’s father was one of them. If he were smart, he’d go to the news and tell them what he knew and let someone else take care of it.

After all, Jimmy had never had any qualms about ending one’s life or using Priest to do it in the past. How would him being the middle man now be any different?

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Robbie unlocked the back door of The Popped Cherry and stepped inside the small foyer that connected the bar with Logan and Tate’s loft above.

He glanced up the stairs and wondered if Logan would be heading there tonight after his day at work, and couldn’t help but smile at the idea that he was about to spend the afternoon working with Logan’s significant other, while Logan was across town working with his—well, one of his, anyway. Julien was downtown at his restaurant.

Robbie hadn’t done much of anything today after he’d made sure that Julien was all right. But he had gotten in touch with his ma to see how his nonna was doing. From everything she’d told him, it sounded as though Nonna Cheryl was in high spirits but somewhat frustrated by her current condition.

That sounded just like her. She’d always been such an independent, strong-willed lady. It was one of the reasons Robbie had ended up the way he was. All that feisty Italian blood running through their family’s veins, Robbie knew, would help her hip’s recovery.

He’d also gone and done something that he was kind of—okay, really—starting to regret. He’d invited his mother and sisters to the opening of JULIEN. He wasn’t sure how exactly it had come up. But five minutes into the conversation and he’d been talking about how much he missed Nonna’s cooking, and then the words just started flying out of his mouth.

My new roommate is an amazing cook.

You might’ve heard of him, Julien Thornton? He’s famous.

He’s opening a new restaurant next month.

Would you like to come?

Kill. Me. Now, Robbie thought. On the plus side, he hadn’t blurted out the fact that he was falling head over heels for Julien—and his husband.

With a sigh, he pushed open the door to The Popped Cherry and stepped inside. He scanned the empty high tops and booths, searching out his boss, and when he didn’t immediately see him, Robbie turned in the direction of the bar.

A full-on smile hit his lips when he spotted the familiar head of curls in The Popped Cherry uniform, as Tate Morrison wrote something down on the clipboard in front of him.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Morr—I’m sorry, Mr. Mitchell,” Robbie said, as he came up to the counter opposite Tate, who had now straightened to his full height. “Oh, that’s weird. Right?”

Tate chuckled as leaned up against the bar and twirled the pen around his fingers. “It’s weird, that’s for sure. But in a good way.”

“Duh,” Robbie said, and rolled his eyes. “Of course it’s in a good way. You married Logan. How could that be bad?”

“True,” Tate said, and grinned, his teeth nice and bright against the extra-tanned complexion he was currently sporting.

He had the same olive tone that Julien had, and that suddenly got Robbie wondering if this was the same shade Julien’s skin would turn if they spent a week or two on an island.

“But let’s not tell him that. His head’s big enough as it is.”

“Don’t I know it,” Robbie said, and unbuckled his coat. “Did he tell you that I saw him the other day?” Tate was about to answer when Robbie paused in shrugging out of one of his sleeves and said, “What am I talking about? Of course he told you. But did he also tell you what a gigantic douche he was?”

Tate rubbed a hand over the dark stubble covering his chin and laughed. “He didn’t quite put it like that. But he did mention you two had an interesting chat.”

“Interesting my ass. He was a jerk.” Robbie shook his head and laid his coat over the bar top as he took a seat on one of the stools. “I’ve never seen him lose his brain quite that spectacularly.”

Tate shrugged. “Maybe you should take it as a compliment? Logan only loses his brain if he cares.”

“Yeah, well, I worked that out afterward. But wow, I thought he was going to punch Priest in the face.”

Tate crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Robbie with a look that wasn’t judgmental in any way, more curious, and before he could speak, Robbie said, “I know what you’re thinking.”

“I bet you don’t,” Tate said. “But before we get into that, do you want anything to drink?”

“I assume you mean something without alcohol in it?”

“Very funny.”

“Okay. A Coke? Oh, and while we’re chatting, do you think I’d be able to swap my shift next weekend? I have to go out of town for something important and I’m scheduled,” Robbie said, and kept his eye on Tate as he moved around behind the bar, grabbed a glass with ice, and filled it with one of the soda guns.

After he slid it across the counter, Robbie popped a straw in the fizzing drink and took a sip. The sweet flavor hit his tongue and he swallowed it down, and then he pushed the glass aside to look at Tate, who was now standing silently, watching him.

“Yeah, we can switch your shifts. Maybe Bianca can pick it up, or Alex. Is everything all right?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I’m all right, but someone I know isn’t, and, uh, I want to be with them next weekend.”

Tate’s eyes narrowed on the word them, and Robbie wanted to kick himself in the ass. Way to go, Bianchi, on shoving your foot in your mouth. First asking about one person and then saying them. Ugh, I have to get better at this. But just as Robbie suspected, Tate didn’t push for details.

Robbie twirled the straw around in his glass, making the ice clink against the sides, and then let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, whatever you’re thinking, just say it. The silence is almost worse than Logan’s rant.”

Tate picked up the pen that he’d put down on the clipboard and clicked the end of it. Once. Then twice. And then he said something that had Robbie close to falling off his stool.

“I’m happy for you.”

Robbie was convinced his jaw must’ve hit the counter, because holy shit, that was the last thing he’d expected to come out of Tate’s mouth.

Like, the very last.

“Wait…what?”

“I’m happy for you,” Tate said again, and this time his lips pulled into a smug smile and he added, “I’m also happy for me. You’re finally obsessed with someone other than Logan.”

Robbie poked his tongue out and automatically flipped Tate off, making him laugh, and the booming sound reverberated off the walls as Tate’s grin lit up the room.

“Seriously, though,” Tate said, once he got himself under control, “I’m really happy for you. Everyone knew that you had it bad for Priest and Julien, and while I’m not into the whole…you know…”

“Three-way?” Robbie said drolly. “Yeah, I know.”

“Right,” Tate said. “I know you aren’t bothered by it. So, I’m happy for you. It’s obvious you really care about them.”

Well, would you look at that, Robbie thought, as he sat there completely and utterly dumbstruck. Who would’ve ever thought that Tate would be the one to understand and offer a nonjudgmental point of view? Certainly not me. “Um, thanks?”

“Shocked?”

“‘Fucking floored’ is a more accurate term,” Robbie admitted. “Aren’t you going to give me a lecture about how they’re married and blah blah blah?”

“No.”

“That’s it?” Robbie said. “Just no?”

Tate shrugged and then slipped his hands into his pockets. “Do you want me to give you a lecture?”

“Hell no.”

“Then I’m not going to. Look,” Tate said as he ran a hand through his hair. “When I started dating Logan, everyone I knew had an opinion. And not very nice ones. They all tried to convince me that what I was feeling was wrong. Except for you.”

“That’s a little bit different,” Robbie pointed out, and Tate nodded.

“It is in some ways, but in others, not so much. Being gay was just as horrifying to the people I knew as an open relationship or marriage might be to others. But I soon learned that it doesn’t matter what others think. It matters what you and the person—or people, in this case—that you’re involved with think. Are you happy?”

Wow, Robbie thought, as he stared up at Tate and realized his face was starting to blur. “Yes. I’m very happy.”

“And there’s no weird jealousy? Logan said you seemed pretty adamant about that.”

Of course he did, Robbie thought, but nodded, finding it difficult to speak.

“Then I’m happy for you. Simple as that. You deserve to be happy, Robbie.”

Well, shit. There was no way Robbie was going to be able to stop the tears now, and as one escaped and fell down his cheek, he wiped it away and fanned his face. “Oh my God. You are totally making me ruin my eyeliner.”

Tate reached for one of the napkins on the bar and handed it over, and as Robbie dabbed at his cheeks, he said, “You know, it might’ve taken me a while, but I can so see why Logan loves you.”

“Gee, thanks. But for the record, I don’t tend to make him cry.”

“No,” Robbie said, shaking his head. “Not that. You’re a good man, Tate Mitchell. He told me that once.”

“Did he?”

Robbie took a sip of his drink and nodded. “The night you were training me here, he said, ‘Tate’s a good guy. The best I’ve ever met. He’s fair and honest, and if you ever fuck him over, you’ll have me to answer to.’” Tate’s eyes widened, and Robbie chuckled. “Hey, you’re right. He does lose his brain when he cares.”

“I guess he does.”

“But he’s right,” Robbie said as he hopped down off the stool. “I said the same thing to Julien just this morning. You’re one of the good ones.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you missed me,” Tate said as Robbie picked his coat up off the bar.

“Nah.” Robbie winked. “I’m just happy you gave me next weekend off.”

“Sure. But get your ass out the back and clock in. You don’t have tonight off. Logan’s going to be in later, and I want to leave a little early.”

“Fine, fine,” Robbie said, and headed in under the bar pass. “Give me five.”

“I’ll give you ten.”

“It’s good to have you back, boss,” Robbie said as he pushed through the back door and heard Tate call out behind him, “It’s good to be back.”