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They pulled up to a church twenty minutes and a much emptier bottle later. Even though he had kicked off his heels and decided to face the rest of the night in bare feet, Cole stumbled out of the car so badly that he actually put his hands on James Barta to keep his balance. This was his death march anyway, so what did it matter if he offended the devil incarnate? Mr. Barta just good-naturedly helped him steady his feet. He liked to play the part of a gentleman apparently, manners mild to cover up the rotten core beneath.

Above them rose the steeple of a church illuminated by floor lights. It towered over the long brick building. A set of steps led up to the front doors, from which hung two wreathes made from plain branches woven with purple cloth. The church sign advertised normal services as well as special Ash Wednesday services.

Cole took a moment to squint at the sign and feel grateful that it was not Sunday morning. He would offend all the little church ladies in their hats and sensible dresses with his glittery shorts that did not even cover his entire ass. The little strip of fabric also did nothing against the cold night air. Goosebumps pimpled every inch of his skin. His teeth chattered violently as a gust of wind whipped up the sidewalk.

“Can we even get married this late at night?”

“Sure.” Mr. Barta grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the church doors. “You boys will just have to go down to the courthouse tomorrow to make it all legal.”

“Yeah, but, like, is there even a priest willing to stay up this late?” Cole slurred. He fumbled around so much on the steps that Mr. Barta had to practically lift him up each one, cursing under his breath, probably regretting letting Cole touch the bottle.

Then Cole put his foot down and leaned all his weight away to stop their forward momentum. Mr. Barta swore louder and grabbed both of Cole’s arms before he careened back down the steps.

“Will a priest even let me,” Cole gestured to his tiny shorts and nothing else, “into the church?”

“Yes, he will,” James assured him.

He decided Cole was too much trouble to handle personally and foisted him off on one of the security guards who hauled him up the final steps, through the doors, and into the entryway where they keep the little bowls of holy water. The security guard let him go and went to stand with his buddy. Cole pointed to their sunglasses and giggled. He wondered if bodyguards all came factory-ready, looking like that.

Then, he wandered towards one of the bowls of holy water. He was not Catholic or any type of religion, really, although his mom used to take him to some kind of orthodox church on Christmas and Easter when he was little. But he decided he needed all the blessing he could get at this point and dipped his fingers into the cool water.

James returned with the priest, who looked shockingly unphased by the sight of Cole leaning up against the wall, scooping holy water up in his hands and pouring it over his head. This was probably the same priest who did the final rights for guys as they bled out from gunshot wounds while the crime scene was being cleaned up around him before the cops arrived. He probably baptized all their babies. He was on the payroll, which was why James was so sure he would not have a problem marrying a sloshed gay hooker. It suddenly felt a little like Vegas.

Cole stopped pouring water over his head, shivering at the way it soaked into his hair, trickled across his neck, and dripped down his torso. “Did we drive all the way to Vegas?” he asked suspiciously.

The priest raised his eyebrows at Mr. Barta, but before anyone could answer Cole, the doors flung open. Security Guards One and Two reared back and pulled their guns out of their jackets. The man who stalked through the doors paid them no mind, heading straight for Mr. Barta with a murderous expression on his familiar face. Cole leaned more heavily into the wall and rubbed his eyes because he looked exactly like Gideon, the Valentine’s Day client.

“What the ever-loving fuck is this, James,” Gideon hollered, waving his phone all over the place. “I get a text that…”

“Shut up,” James barked back. “Ignore the text. I just needed to get you here. I’ve got a surprise for you, kid. Tonight is your wedding night, and over there is your bride.”

Cole hardly thought he looked the part of a bride, huddled against the wall, mostly naked, dripping with holy water like maybe it would save him from the Barta demons. Gideon whirled around, the sight of which was enough to make the walls around Cole spin. In fact, he felt dizzy enough that he wondered if someone might have slipped him something at the club, and now he was hallucinating the entire thing. That would make the most sense because there was no way Gideon was one of the Bartas who crawled straight out of hell.

“Nikki?” Gideon asked in a lower but no less dangerous voice. Cole gave a little wave.

Gideon looked between Cole and James a few times, then turned and started marching toward Cole. This was very intimidating. Gideon was a large man, more muscular than Cole by a mile, and Cole knew from experience that it did not take much effort for this guy to simply pick him up and manhandle him around. His face was twisted by white-hot fury, eyes dark, wild, and unreadable, so different from the measured and amused expressions Cole had seen him wear before. He shrunk back against the wall.

Then Gideon pulled up short, not doing any of the terrible things Cole imagined he might do. Instead, he pointed at Cole and laughed. It was cruel and sharp. “Let me get this fucking straight.” He glanced over his shoulder at James. “Marry this…You want me to marry this fucking…”

He paused mid-sentence when a splash of water hit the side of his face. Cole dipped his hand in the bowl of holy water again, cupping water in his palm at the ready. “You have a potty mouth, mister. Should be ashamed of speaking in front of a priest like that.”  

As if Cole knew or cared about how people acted in front of priests. But he imagined they didn’t show up in stripper outfits, and they didn’t go around cursing and shouting as they pleased. Even this priest, who was on the payroll of the most notorious criminal organization in the city and who had probably murdered people himself, deserved some respect in the house of God. Even if he was a hypocrite. Or so Cole hoped. Because otherwise it looked like Gideon might simply rip his head off.

Gideon turned to stare at him in utter disbelief, one hand coming up to feel the water on his cheek. He took a step toward Cole, so Cole flicked more water to keep him at bay. Gideon narrowed his eyes, maybe smelling the alcohol fumes wafting toward him, then took a step back. He looked at the water on his fingertips, shook his head, and glared at James.

“I am not marrying him. You think just because mom is gone, you can do whatever you want?” Gideon scoffed. “Well, I’m not playing into your little games.”

James snapped his fingers.

One second, Cole was clinging to the receptacle of holy water, and the next, an arm wrapped around his neck and cold steel pressed into his temple. He scrabbled at the arm and kicked his feet. “Let go of me!”

Gideon’s expression steeled further, and he crossed his arms, glaring silently at James.

“You don’t like him?” James tutted. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to find another. No use for him now. Go ahead.”

Both the priest and Gideon shouted, ‘James!’ at the same time, but Cole did not register it over the sound of the safety clicking off. He pulled at the man’s sleeve and kicked his feet against the smooth floor, true horror and fear welling up hot like acid in his throat and spilling out of his eyes as tears. Words spilled from his mouth, begging frantically, but so panicked they were probably unintelligible anyway. They trailed off into one shocked, gut-wrenching cry when the gun went off.

It was deafening next to his head, leaving his head ringing and a sharp pain lancing through his ear like someone had jammed a knife into it. But he could feel the pain. He could feel his knees and palms strike the floor as he crumpled out of the man’s hold. He could feel the wetness on his legs, not cool like the holy water had been, but scalding because he pissed himself when he thought there was a bullet going into his brain.

“That’s your only warning.” James’s voice cut through the ringing. “For both of you. Now get him up. I don’t have all night.”

Hands landed on Cole. His body shook too badly even to flinch away from them. Air would not enter his lungs, no matter how hard he gasped for it. He looked down to see if maybe he got shot there instead of the head, but it was just smooth skin and a big arm wrapped around him. He looked to the side and saw Gideon’s face very close. He smelled familiar, as if he were wearing the same musky cologne he wore on Valentine’s Day.

“Jesus, you are a mess,” Gideon grumbled, trying to get Cole up on his feet even though his whole body was acting like it no longer had any bones. His mind felt a little collapsed, too. He was confused and unable to fit all the pieces together, still halfway convinced this was all some terrible trip, a bad nightmare using the faces of people he had recently interacted with. Although he could remember where he might have met James Barta before.

“Nikki.” Gideon tried to get one of Cole’s arms around his shoulders. “Come on, kid. Work with me here.”

Cole could not do anything to help anyone, even himself. He had likely gone into shock. And he did not want to admit that this man was the same man that he had maybe sort of – curse Elijah and Alexis for putting the idea into his mind – begun to think of as a white knight in shining armor. His mind could not reconcile that man with this stranger, so he said, “How the fuck do you know my name?”

Gideon turned his head to look at him, and their noses brushed. This close, Cole could see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes despite the low lighting. And that was familiar, too. Maybe it was the same man because he could not imagine anyone else having eyes so beautiful.

“Looks like you’re the one with the potty mouth now.”

Cole was too shaken up to appreciate Gideon’s ill-timed humor, but he understood that maybe he was just trying to help him pull himself together because if Cole could not stand in front of that priest, James really would put a bullet through his brain. He took a deep breath and concentrated on the scent of Gideon’s cologne because it took him back to a safe place. 

“Okay,” he breathed.

“Okay,” Gideon nodded.

They stumbled into the room with all the pews—the sanctuary, his mind provided—and stood in front of the priest. Cole leaned against Gideon the whole time. Everything blended in a drone of the priest’s dull voice. Cole blinked blearily at him and wondered how exactly he ended up here. How any of them did.

No one expected him to say anything. There were no rings. Gideon did not even kiss him, even though James encouraged him too, enthusiastically. So enthusiastically that it came off as patronizing, which it probably was. For the first time, Cole wondered if James had some kind of problem with Gideon’s sexuality. If this was all some kind of elaborate hate crime.

But then it was all over, and they were apparently married in God’s eyes.

“Wait,” he muttered as Gideon hauled him back out of the sanctuary, “When did the Catholic church start being okay with gay marriage?”

“This is a Lutheran church,” Gideon told him, sounding far more exhausted than exasperated, although his eyes were filled with disbelief.

As soon as they were outside, Cole threw himself out of Gideon’s arms and across the railing of the stairs to hurl into the bushes. The last thing he remembered was something settling warm over his shoulders and a hand stroking his back in big, soothing circles.