Page 91 of Breaking the Sinner

Charity’s expression turned perplexed, much like Hope’s.

“‘Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God?’” Abigail crossed her arms. She’d quoted First Corinthians. Gen sighed.

“If any of you have questions about them, or why he did it, I’m sure he would love to talk about it,” Gen encouraged. Here it was. The whole damn point of this. Initiating the conversation. Being a model for…something. She didn’t even know anymore. “And if you have any questions forme, I’d also be more than willing to talk about it.”

The jab was directed at Abigail specifically, but her older sister remained icy. She’d always been the willing participant in their father’s prejudices and sermonizing. Charity and Hope had always been on the fence, caught somewhere between obedience and curiosity. The only one who would even remotely color outside the lines was Mary. So curious, so full of life, so open. Even now, she fidgeted on the couch, as if she was bursting with questions.

“We really missed you,” Charity said in a soft voice, sad eyes raking over Gen. And there it was. The punch in the gut. The one she’d felt every day since leaving, but now it was amplified. Hearing it from her sister’s mouth. Surrounded by the warmth of her childhood home, where back in the day, velvet voices and caring touches and a total lack of questions reigned.

There was a certainty in limiting her world.

An unshakeable knowing that the answers could be found on the bookshelf or in prayer or through divine revelation.

That certainty had always gnawed at her, sharp teeth against the restraints of her upbringing.

But now, encased in the smooth embrace of home, she wondered if there wasn’t something sacred in that closed off comfort.

“I missed you too, sisters,” Gen said, struggling to keep her voice level.

Now that she’d come back, could she really walk away again?

Chapter 36

Religious robots. It was the only way Cobra could make sense of them.

They practically followed lines on the floor. Gen had told him it was part of their hospitality, the conduct expected around guests. Attentiveness. Presence. Humility.

But, to him, it seemed a lot more like attentive judgment. Humble superiority. It made him itch.

Once ten o’clock rolled around and everyone was tucked into their perfect little Jesus coffins upstairs, Cobra was ready to slip outside and smoke up.

They’d given him a couch in the living room, the same one all of Gen’s sisters sat perched on like taxidermy birds. The whole thing was covered in plastic, for some unfathomable reason. Every move he made crinkled beneath him.

What the fuck are you doing here?

The question rolled through his mind no less than once every ten minutes. And though the answer was plain—he was here to support Gen, because Gen had asked him, because Gen Gen Gen Gen—the kneejerk part of him still wanted to bolt. Wanted to ditch because he didn’t help people out like this. Wanted to get in his car and slip away in the night because even if he liked Gen a lot, like a whole fucking lot, nobody got the privilege of boxing him in like this.

Cobra paced the back wall of the living room where a sliding glass door overlooked a small wooden deck. Industrial-grade locks shone on the door. One of many details about this place that made Cobra wonder if Mr. Gingham had an arsenal of military-grade weapons buried in the backyard or some crazy shit like that. Maybe he was ready for the zombies. Maybe he was just worried that the city folks with tattoos were coming for his daughters.

Too late on that one, Mr. Gingham.

He smirked, but it fell fast. This was gonna be a long night. He raked a hand through his hair, his feet padding softly on the wood floor. A creak from the staircase sent his skin prickling. Soft footsteps a moment later.

And then there was Gen.

Relief flooded him, and he swooped toward her, wrapping her in his arms. Even though she wore a floor-length flannel nightgown that was the opposite of sexy, the weight of her against him acted like a balm he hadn’t realized he needed. She cinched her arms around his waist.

“I’m sorry if this is weird,” she whispered.

Cobra laughed in spite of himself. “Yeah. It’s pretty fucking weird.”

“I need to go back up. In case anyone heard me sneak downstairs.”

“I’m gonna go outside,” he murmured into the side of her head, relishing the floral scent of her shampoo. “I need to smoke up.”

She nibbled on her lip, shaking her head. “You can’t.”

He blinked. “What?”

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