Page 18 of Bitten By Zombie

Hell, he didn’t know himself. He’d only known her a day, so who was he to say if anything could ever or would ever exist between them?

If he had his way, there would be a lot between them. As crazy as it sounded, he would go all in if she wanted him to. That was a problem for the light of day.

They were in the here and now, and that’s where he focused. Her tortured tone flattened out, and her words died off, and a disconnected sniffle followed.

A few moments later, her body changed in his arms. She’d come through the other side and…came awake. She didn’t attempt to untangle herself.

It shocked him, to say the least, when one of her hands landed on top of his that was currently holding her just underneath her breasts.

“Stan had always been the best brother anyone could hope for.”

Something scratched at the back of his brain, but he couldn’t quite itch it, so he channeled all his energy on listening to her.

The same Stan she wanted to assault with a chainsaw, the one who put her in that trunk to be crushed, was her brother?

A seething rage the likes of which Zombie couldn’t remember ever feeling took over every cell in his body. The first question that hit him was why? The second was how could she say he was the best brother.

Maybe…

“Is he mentally ill?” He didn’t mean to interrupt her, but he had to know. It would explain a lot. He forgave his mom, so how could he fault Heidi if she extended the same?

“No. Well, maybe. I mean, no, not in the way you think.”

She halted her words, and Zombie took advantage of the silence. “Then how are you so forgiving and call him the best brother?”

Heidi was still turned away from him, but there was no missing the anger in his voice. She rubbed her hand along his, up his arm and back again.

She was soothing him. It wasn’t something he was used to but desperately wanted. He buried his nose in her hair. “Sorry, babe, just got carried away. Won’t happen again, continue.”

Somehow, he felt her smile.

“As I was saying, hewasthe best brother. Was being the operative word. My parents were, um, are, I mean…my dad passed, but my mom is a member of Ezekiel’s Children.”

Now the itch was more a clawing, and it hit him. Heidi Müller. Stan. Stan fucking Müller. The new prophet of Ezekiel’s Children. Holy fuck. He tightened his hold on her in an effort not to rage and scream and call his brothers to arms. He refused to interrupt her, but it was damn near impossible with the hatred seething from him. Instead of focusing on that rage, he focused on her words.

“When I was just a kid, the prophet said I was to be his gift wife. His fourteenth underagegiftwife. He was sixty-seven at the time. My dad never told my mom no, so even though I wanted him to stand up for me, he didn’t. Stan was the only one disgusted by it enough to stop it. Or at least I thought so at the time.”

“Gift wife.” He hadn’t meant to growl the word aloud.

“Yeah, the men of the order have their legal wives, and then what are known as gift wives, as in a gift from God. A reward of sorts for their faithful service and a way to increase the numbers. You know, go forth and be fruitful.”

He let her explain even though he didn’t need it. He knew all about the old prophet and his gift wives.

They’d gotten on out of The Children’s compound not long ago. That was also when they learned who Stan Müller was. At the time, he was just a deacon or disciple or whatever they were called.

“I don’t know dick about the big guy in the sky, but I am pretty sure that’s not what he meant by that passage.” Zombie was about to lose his shit. “Sorry, continue.”

“Stan was just nineteen at the time, but he got me away from them and raised me on his own. Even managed to send me to college.”

The love she’d had for that version of her brother came through in her tone, and he could also hear the sting of his recent betrayal. Zombie knew the story was about to take a turn. He wanted to know so bad so he could make the punishments fit the crimes, but he also wanted to preserve the few moments of happiness she’d managed to grab.

“What did you major in?”

“Agricultural engineering. It was Stan’s idea. I wanted to go to trade school and learn welding. Stan made me a deal; get my degree first, then he’d begrudgingly let me learn welding. Now I have a four-year degree collecting dust and my own welding art studio. Okay, studio isn’t exactly correct. I rent a bay from Johnny’s Auto. I take any welding jobs that come his way, help out around the shop, and I get to make and sell my art.”

Zombie was in awe, not just at how smart and badass she was, but also at how utterly contented she sounded when talking about welding.

“Damn, Rabbit. Color me impressed.”

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