Breaking The Sinner (The Breaking Series Book 4) Page 22

  He jerked his head into a nod.

  “Yeah, well, that’s kinda what Gen is for me.”

  Cobra’s brows lifted higher than she’d ever seen. She got the sense that she’d surprised him, maybe more than anyone else had. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Yeah.” She licked dry lips. “I picked the name Genevieve when I moved out. I mean, I always loved the name. I always wanted it to be my name.”

  Cobra’s gaze shifted toward the house. “Fair enough. So what will they be calling you?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. “Prudence.”

  Cobra shook with silent laughter. “Oh, man. You really were a prude before.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Very funny.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t go to public school with that name. Prudie.”

  “Okay, that’s enough.” She shoved his shoulder, and he captured her hand between his. He brought her knuckles up to his lips.

  “You’ll always be Gen to me.” He pressed a kiss to the knuckle of her index finger. “And Genny.” A kiss to her middle finger. “And Red.” A kiss to her ring finger. “Most of all Red.” His lips landed on the knuckle of her pinky finger.

  A grin blossomed across her face. How could she ever step away from this man when he doted on her like this? “Don’t tell anyone at work. You ready?”

  Cobra nodded, and she didn’t waste any more time avoiding the inevitable. She led the way toward the front door, feet crunching over gravel, balling her fists in determination. Even though anxiety churned through her, every inch of her was excited at the same time. How could such conflicting emotions be present at the same time?

  Before they reached the wooden wraparound porch, American flag–painted stars hung on the railing, the front door flew open. Mary stood there, her strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a simple ponytail, eyes wider than dinner plates.

  “It’s Prudence!” she screeched into the house, and then Mary leapt forward, barefoot as always, bolting for Gen with her arms outstretched.

  Happiness overcame her, and then tears arrived next. Sweet, innocent Mary. Whose simple, pale pink blouse hung too large on her gangly frame, the khaki skirt always falling too short against her long runner’s legs. Her sister’s arms cinched around her, which felt a lot like a lightning bolt from the heavens, zapping her to this spot, allowing all the memories and the grief and the repressed longing for home to come springing out. Gen buried her face in Mary’s hair, trying not to cry but failing.

  “I missed you so, so, so, so much,” Mary said, rocking back and forth as they hugged. “You’re going to stay now, right?”

  A few tears slipped out. She pulled back, smiling wide at Mary. Best not to get into that right now. “Mare-Bear, I brought a friend I’d like you to meet.”

  Gen sniffled, turning back to look at Cobra. He shrank back into the shadows of the night, as if he’d rather disappear into them altogether. A sliver of the moon overhead and the golden light spilling from the porch lights glinted off him. Mary clutched Gen’s waist, stiffening against her.

  “Hi,” Mary said in a very small voice.

  “Hi, Mary. I’m Cobra.”

  Gen could almost feel the name traveling through Mary’s synapses as she sought to understand it. “Cobra?”

  “Yep.”

  “He’s my very best friend,” Gen said, squeezing her sister. “I wanted him to meet all of you. Show him where I come from. What our life is like.”

  “You’re really gonna like it here,” Mary said, relaxing a little. Her gaze drifted down Gen’s body, and she jolted. “You’re wearing shorts?”

  Gen rolled her lips inward. A sign of the comments to come. “Let’s go inside, Mare-Bear.”

  When she turned, the rest of the family had assembled on the front porch. Silent and in formation, they created a stoic, expressionless human wall blockading the house. Gen slowed, her heart rising into her throat.

  Her father and mother stood closest to the steps. Her mother wore what she wore most days: a featureless, conservative top in any shade of blue, pink or green and a dark khaki skirt that nearly reached her ankles. The entire family, minus their father, dressed this way, since the Ginghams had tried for nearly a decade to have a son but instead had produced five girls. Each Gingham girl dressed the same as their mother. Gen now stood out worse than a sore thumb—totally busted and bleeding.

  “My Prudence.” Her mother cracked first. She rushed forward, pulling her into her arms tightly. Her mother’s familiar, soft body against hers only provoked more tears.

  “Hi, Mother.” Gen tilted her head up. The soft lines of her mother’s face seem to have deepened since she was gone. Now she looked older in a way she didn’t remember from before. Maybe Gen’s leaving had provoked it. Guilt crashed through her, following its familiar trails inside her. “I’m home.” She wiped away some tears. “I brought a friend.”

  “Blessed be,” her mother crooned, gathering Gen against her once more. When they broke apart, Gen turned to Cobra, sweeping her arm out toward him.

  “Blessed family,” Gen said, the words finding her tongue as though no time had passed at all. “I’d like you to meet Cobra. My friend from Los Angeles.”

  A thick silence filled the air. Her father straightened, and though nobody said anything, Gen could sense her sisters shrinking. As though simply looking at Cobra was a sin.

  “Welcome,” her mother said at long last, lowering her head as a greeting. Cobra had his hands shoved deep in his pockets, something between a grimace and a smile on his face. Then he jolted, lowering his hoodie, as if he’d forgotten about it.

  “Hey, guys.”

  Gen forced a smile, looking at the rest of her family. This was an important first step. But the path leading inside already felt like a struggle.

  “Come inside,” Mary said, reaching for Cobra’s hand.

  “Mary Elizabeth,” her father barked, and Mary dropped Cobra’s hand immediately.

  Gen’s stomach pitched to her feet, but she struggled not to show defeat. Approaching the porch, she said, “Hi, Father. Hi, Abigail. Hi, Charity. Hi, Hope.” Her family had arranged themselves in descending order, oldest to youngest. Except for the rebels—Mary and Mother.

  A low chorus of “hellos” sounded. Probably the best she’d get from them.

  Gen hung back as her father led the way inside. Once most everyone had gone inside, she smiled over at Cobra, but it fell quickly.

  He lowered his head. “What. The. Fuck?”

  “What?”

  His nostrils flared. “Gen. Have your sisters even seen tattoos before?”

  His question made her falter. He brought up a good point.

  “They were staring like they thought I’d knife them.”

  “That’s part of the point of you being here,” she said, looping her arm through his to urge him toward the house. “You are a new specimen. But they’ll see soon enough how sweet you are. How lovely.”

  Cobra huffed. “I’m not—”

  “Don’t even argue with me.” She stopped, placing her hands on the tops of his shoulders. She had to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. “When are you going to learn that I can see into your heart? No matter how much you try to close it off?”

  Cobra snapped his mouth shut, something strange passing over him. Something a lot like tenderness.

  “God dammit, Genny,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. She smiled, allowing the touch for only a brief second before stepping away, glancing toward the house.

  “Remember. No language like that inside. Ready?”

  His jaw flexed as he nodded.

  Gen led the way in, pushing at the heavy steel door. The house bore down with a quiet, sepulchral power. Her footsteps creaked over the wood floor, a sound that sent nostalgia washing through her. Even though she’d been imagining leaving this house, this community, for practically the past ten years, this first return trip felt monumental.

  Like she’d been away for years.<
br />
  Like she’d become an entirely different person.

  It was hard not to see the familiar trappings of home with entirely new eyes. The white curtains that lined the kitchen windows, tiny apples stitched into them, held back with yellow ribbon. The impressive, hand-built bookcases lining the hallways, stuffed to the brim with Bibles and homeschooling materials and every manner of textbook regarding farming. Of all the books Gen had devoured over the past few months, not a single one would have been permitted inside the walls of this house. Just a fraction of the world’s available publications.

  She hadn’t even been able to fathom their existence.

  She’d forgotten about the silence. Not only around the property, buried in the woods, but the silence of their home. The way they stayed isolated from the outside world, but also isolated inside the home. Each member was their own, quiet island.

  Her family had gathered in the living room. Each one of her sisters had squeezed onto the long couch, sitting hip to hip, hands folded in their laps. Father stood by the fireplace, his hand squeezing the brick mantle. Mother wrung her hands by the doorframe.

  “Come in,” Mother said softly, gesturing for Cobra to sit in the arm chair. “We don’t receive guests very often. This is a blessed surprise.”

  Cobra eased into the arm chair, a smile flashing across his face. “Thanks. Nice to meet you guys. You’ve got a nice house.”

  Father nodded long and slow, his foot starting a slow tap against the floor.

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate your compliment. Labor is discipline, and discipline is the trait of all believers. Cleanliness is next to godliness.” Gen’s mother smiled at Cobra, but it seemed strained. Her gaze swept toward Gen. “Prudence, your bed is ready for you upstairs, just as you left it.”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Gen gnawed on the inside of her lip, gaze skating over her family. Almost nobody would look at her. Not except for Mary and her mother. “Is Thanksgiving dinner on as planned tomorrow?”

  Her mother nodded, her red hair glinting in the low light of the living room. “And we’ll have your favorite. Green bean casserole.”

  Her father cleared his throat loudly. His continued silence wasn’t abnormal, but the thick tension clogging the air was. He turned abruptly to Cobra.

  “You are a friend from that Los Angeles?” He pronounced it like “Angel-eez.”

  Cobra’s shadowy gaze darted between Gen and her father. “I am, sir.”

  Her father nodded more, never stopping, his toe tapping a loud rhythm. And then he left the room, his dress shoes landing hard against the floor, hands shoved into his pockets. Gen rubbed at her forehead. She’d known he wouldn’t take her surprise visitor extremely well, but his reaction hid a deep well of disappointment. It was only a matter of time before he revealed it.

  “Prudence, dear,” her mother tittered, turning her way again. “Would you or your guest like a beverage?”

  Gen looked over at Cobra, who was the focus of attention for all four of her sisters. “Cobra?”

  “Um,” he said, wetting his bottom lip, “water?”

  “Me too,” Gen said. Her mother nodded and hurried toward the kitchen without another word.

  Gen offered a smile to her sisters on the couch. Seated from eldest to youngest, they also formed a natural continuum of most to least upset with Gen’s decision. Abigail, the eldest sister, wouldn’t even look at her. Charity and Hope, the two sisters directly below Gen, were miffed but curious. Only Mary seemed excited to see her.

  “Hey, sisters,” Gen said softly once her mother swished out of the living room. “It’s good to see you all again.”

  “Why did you come back?” Hope asked, her sharp green eyes slicing over to Gen.

  “Because I missed you all.”

  A heavy silence filled the room. Then Mary spoke up, “Prudence, why are you wearing those clothes?”

  Gen looked down at her outfit: jean shorts and a loose blouse. The most conservative of her current wardrobe still stood out here. “Because these are my clothes.”

  “But that’s not how you used to dress,” Mary said.

  “Shush, Mary,” Abigail snapped. “That’s how they dress where she’s from now.”

  “I’m from here,” Gen said, staring Abigail down. Her eldest sister refused to look her in the eye. “I’m from this home. I’m your sister.”

  “I know that,” Mary offered.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, Mary,” Gen said. Cobra leaned to one side, tapping his thumb against the arm rest. His haunted gaze jumped from her to her sisters and back to her again. She could practically hear the questions in his head already.

  “Are those tattoos?” Hope leaned forward a bit, straining to look at the exposed designs on Cobra’s arms. Her glossy red hair formed a picture-perfect braid down the center of her back. He nodded, holding a forearm out.

  “Yeah. I’ve got a lot of them.”

  Hope’s brows formed a hard ridge. She drew back into her seat, saying nothing more.

  “Do they wash off?” Charity ventured a moment later, her blue eyes wide and innocent.

  Cobra shook his head. “It’s permanent. It’s in the skin.”

  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 for me, 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 answ
er 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?”

  “The house is on lockdown. If you try to get out, it’ll set off an alarm.”

  His mouth parted. “You grew up in a prison?”

  Her gaze drifted off. Maybe it had never occurred to her before.

  “It’s fine,” he rushed to add. “I just thought it might help me pass the time down here. Your folks go to bed early.”

  “They get up early too.” She grimaced. “Welcome to my family. Do you need anything else?”