How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (37 page)

Andrew sucked in a breath then coughed. His eyes flew open, and he gasped in more air only to expel it in an unintelligible sound. I sagged in relief and fatigue. With Pierce's help, I shifted to sit against the wall of the van and gathered Andrew close, cradled his head against my shoulder. He trembled in my arms, eyes not really focusing on anything yet.

Pierce set a chunk of brain in my hand—unchewed—and I held it to Andrew's lips. “Time to eat.”

He recoiled, but even as one instinct pulled him away, a newer, stronger one had him leaning in to take the chunk from my fingers. He opened his mouth for more, and this time Pierce guided my hand to a container beside me that held chunks of brain, bite-sized and ready for feeding.

I fed Andrew another chunk and gave Pierce a weary smile of thanks. He gave my shoulder a light squeeze then exited out the back of the van and shut the doors behind him.

Andrew ate for several more minutes, eyes half-closed as he took the chunks from my hand and swallowed them. The wounds on his torso healed to smooth, unblemished skin beneath the blood and remnants of gore, and a hint of color returned to his face. He didn't look a hundred percent healthy yet, by any stretch, but he no longer resembled a day-old corpse either.

When he didn't open his mouth for another bite I knew his own parasite had enough fuel for the moment. “You need to sleep now,” I said. While he slept the parasite would do its thing to make a permanent home in Andrewville.

His eyes struggled open. “Wh-what am I going to . . . do?”

“Sleep,” I told him firmly. “We'll figure out the rest later.”

He tried hard to form words, but at this point he didn't stand a chance against what his body and his new tenants needed. He mumbled, then his eyes closed, and he relaxed against me. Fatigue rolled over me, and I shifted him to a somewhat more comfortable position for both of us while still holding him close.

The back door creaked open, and Philip peered in, concern on his face. His eyes met mine, questioning, and I knew he was there for me but would have no problem withdrawing if that's what I needed. My hand felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, but I managed to lift it enough to gesture him over. He climbed in and closed the door, then sat beside me and slipped an arm around my shoulders—not in a cuddly way, but more in a
You're a tired zombie
way. I gratefully leaned against him while Andrew's head lay tucked in the crook of my arm between us. I wanted to make a silly crack about how we were the weirdest zombie family ever, but instead I rested my head against Philip's shoulder, closed my eyes, and went right to sleep.

A lavender teddy bear wrapped its arms around me. Shifted. Squeezed. Bled purple.

I jerked awake, and it took me a couple of seconds to figure out why a blood-covered Andrew Saber was sprawled across my lap.

His eyes darted around, confused and wild. “Hungry,” he rasped, swallowing noisily as he struggled to sit up.

“Hey, careful.” I tightened my arm around him and groped for the container of brains with the other. “Here,” I said, shoving a couple of pieces at his mouth. “Eat this.”

Distress chased away the confusion in his face, but he sucked down the brain chunks and took the others I fed him as well. Philip gently removed his arm from around my shoulders. “I'll be nearby,” he murmured to me, then slipped out the back of the van.

I shot him a grateful smile as he left, then focused on Andrew. Someone had left a couple of baggies of pureed brains beside me, and as soon as Andrew finished the chunks I handed him an opened bag. He ate all of one, but then shook his head when I reached for the second.

He lifted his hands, brought them to his face. “What have I done?” he whispered.

“I gave you a medical condition that saved your life,” I told him.

He shifted off my lap and crouched a couple of feet from me, shock and uncertainty swimming in his eyes. “I have to go back. To the office.” His gaze dropped to the bloody ruin of his shirt. He touched one of the rips, slid his hand in to feel for the wounds that weren't there. “How . . . how can I go back now?” Distress laced his voice, but then he lowered his hand and clenched it. “Or does this mean I'm going to stay your prisoner?”

“No, you're not our prisoner,” I said firmly, then reached out and took hold of his fist. “Andrew, you need to chill. We won't let you starve. We'll help you. But you really need to sit and talk with me and Pierce.”

He yanked his hand away from mine. “Gentry.” His voice dripped with hatred, which I could understand since he thought Gentry was a traitor and spy. And it probably didn't help that the real Gentry had been fucking his mom as well. “I can't deal with
him
right now.” His lip curled. “Gentry cost us, cost Saberton
everything
.”

“
He
cost you?” I sneered in derision. “Give me a fucking break, Andrew. That's like the car thief getting all pissed at the undercover cop when his comfy life of crime gets fucked up. Except that instead of cars being chopped up, it's people.” I glared at him. “Don't forget, you're one of those people now. But hey, if you want to change your mind, it's not too late. It's not impossible to kill a zombie. Ask Chris Peterson.”

Andrew scowled, but it was clear I'd made a solid point. “I'm not changing my mind. I don't want to be
dead.
” He narrowed his eyes at me in suspicion. “Why would you let me go back?”

“Why wouldn't we? It's not like we want a pet zombie hanging around.” I shrugged. “Besides, I really don't see you telling your mother—or anyone else at Saberton—that you're one of those filthy monsters now.”

He gave a scoffing snort. “No, I won't be sending out a memo.” He made an utterly doomed attempt to brush some of the drying blood off his shirt, then glowered and headed to the back doors of the van.

“There's a washer and dryer in the house,” I said being all helpful and shit 'cause that's how I rolled. “And if you put some meat tenderizer on that blood and then scrub it in cold water, most of it'll come right out.” The rips were another issue, but I figured I'd offered enough awesome advice for the moment.

A bleak expression passed over his face, and for an instant I had a glimpse of how very lost he felt. He exhaled, controlling it, then gave me a slight nod. That was probably as close to a thank you as I was going to get—and not only for the advice about blood stains.

He exited the van and closed the door. I dropped my head back against the metal wall, let myself have a couple of minutes of quiet, then headed in after him. I needed to take some of my own blood stain advice, since I was a horror show mess. Plenty of blood all over me from Andrew, but there was probably a fair amount from the guards I'd killed, as well as from my own wounds and dealing with Marcus and Kyle.

The burn of anger over how those two had been treated helped keep down the simmering guilt over the guards.

Andrew wasn't in any of the main living areas, so I figured he'd gone to “his” room to clean up. Someone had collected our stuff from the hotel room, and I dug clothes out of my bag, surprised and pleased to find my dirty stuff laundered, which was damn nice.

A long, hot shower and clean clothes did a lot to restore my get-up-and-go and clear my head. As much as I wanted to check on Marcus, I had other business I needed to take care of first. I went in search of Pierce and found him sitting in the recliner in his bedroom, an iPad on his lap.

“Hey, you got a few minutes?” I asked. “I need to talk to you.”

He set the tablet aside. “Of course, Angel.”

I closed the door behind me and then sat on the bed, facing him. “I need to know who gets to know about,” I waved my hands at him, “the new you.”

Weariness filled his eyes. “Those who know it now, of course,” he said. “And I will also tell Kyle Griffin.”

“What about Marcus?”

The weariness seemed to deepen, and for a moment he looked far older than the mid-thirties he was supposed to be now. “I'm seeking a way to keep him out of this. Completely out of it.”

“I get that.” I shifted to sit cross-legged. “But I don't get
why,
and I'm not keen on telling him his uncle's dead when he's not.” I leveled a frown at him. “It really eats at him that he's not part of your inner circle. Did he fuck up somehow or do something to piss you off?”

“No.” Exhaling, Pierce dropped his head back and closed his eyes. “I made a promise to Pietro Ivanov to keep his family ignorant and far from the dealings of our kind. I violated that trust once already by turning Marcus.”

I mulled that over. “The original Pietro asked for that promise because he wanted to keep his family safe and happy, right?”

He lifted his head and opened his eyes. He knew where I was going with this. “Yes, and every day I debate my loyalty to a dead man versus my loyalty to Marcus—not only as part of the Ivanov family, but as my own kin.” He gestured to himself, and I knew he meant zombie-kin. I also knew that none of this was cut and dried, black and white.

“Being shut out hurts him more than he ever lets you see,” I said after a moment of thought. “Maybe you could look at the spirit of that promise to Pietro Ivanov and think about whether you're really doing right by it, especially since you already turned Marcus, and he doesn't have a choice except to live as a zombie.”

He remained silent for a long moment, then he shook his head as if finally discarding an outdated idea. “I agree. It's time to readapt my priorities.”

A smile spread across my face, both at his decision and at the fact that he saw me as a real person with valid ideas. “I'm really glad to hear that.”

His eyes found mine. “Angel, it was easy to lie to him about being his Uncle Pietro. I was the only one he ever knew. This is not easy.”

“You
are
his uncle in all the ways that matter,” I told him firmly.

A light smile touched his mouth. “I'll talk to Ari. And Marcus will be told.” But then the smile faded. “The best scenario for the Tribe is to have Marcus assume my former position.”

An uneasy knot found its way into my chest. “But what about law school?”

True distress filled his eyes. “Do you see why this is so difficult?”

“I do. I promise.” I unfolded my legs and leaned forward. “But Marcus is tough
and
he's really damn loyal to you. To
you
, not the name Pietro.” I peered at him. “What will you tell everyone else? Have you figured out how Pietro ‘died?'”

“No. There's so much to consider, and I'm not yet as clear as I could be.”

“And what about Jane?” I asked, brow creased.

Stark pain and uncertainty swept across his face. “I don't know yet, Angel.”

Shit. I had zero doubt Pietro loved Jane, and I'd seen for myself how much she loved him right back. No way would he blow her off and leave her wondering what happened. But how the hell do you tell the woman you love that you're someone else now? “I haven't even looked at my phone yet,” I said, “but I'd be shocked if she hasn't blown it up with calls and messages.” I grimaced. “Is there anything I could say to, I dunno, hold her off until we figure shit out?”

He rubbed the back of his neck in a very uncharacteristic show of distress and tension. “She needs to be comforted. Reassured.” He thought for a moment then exhaled softly. “Tell her I'm out of Saberton and safe, but I've been taken away for zombie . . . stasis recovery.” A humorless smile twisted his mouth. “Not much of a lie, as I do need significant down time to recover.”

The “and figure out what the hell to say to her” went unspoken.

“She won't be happy until she sees you,” I told him, “but since I'm not telling her you're dead or anything, I think I can keep her from freaking out.” I stood, then decided I needed to shift the heavy mood. “Does the Tribe know we're okay and that there's no insider?”

He nodded, looking relieved at the subject change. “Dr. Nikas called Rachel. He's the only one here with credibility.”

The only one Rachel would believe, that was for sure. “I'm going to see Marcus now. What do you want me to tell him if he asks where his uncle is?”

Pierce's hazel-eyed gaze stayed on me for a long moment before he spoke. “Tell him the truth if it feels right,” he said. “If not, tell him that information is still coming in. I'll talk to him later, in that case.”

With that I left him and went in search of Marcus. I found him in a little upstairs study, lying on a futon with one foot on the floor and an arm thrown over his eyes.

“Hey.” I said it softly but I still managed to startle him out of his light doze.

“Angel!” He sat up, ran a hand through his hair. The rot was all gone, but he still looked totally wiped out. “Angel,” he repeated, pairing it with a smile. “When I saw you I couldn't believe you came to get me.”

I started to say something flip and funny, but instead found myself moving forward to throw my arms around him, complete with full-blown bursting into tears.

He wrapped arms around me, breath shuddering. “Oh, babe.”

“I didn't even know they'd taken you,” I said as soon as I had enough control to speak coherently. “I called to tell you about your uncle, and it went to voicemail, so I texted and,” I sniffled, “I thought everything was fine, but they must have texted me back using your phone.”

He wiped away a few tears with his thumb, then seemed to realize there was no way he'd be able to keep up with my weepy flood. “It was right after I got home,” he said, voice tight with lingering stress. “Never had a chance. I didn't even know
where
they'd taken me.”

I put a hand to his cheek and drank in the sight of him. Even if we didn't get back together, there was no doubt in my mind that he was and would always be very special to me. “When I saw what they did to you—” My throat tightened, and I couldn't finish. I doubted he'd ever been that brain-starved before, and to have that shift into
monster
be paired with torture . . .

A shudder crawled through him. “I'm sorry you had to see it,” he said, eyes haunted. “I remember them giving me an injection in the gut, then breaking my arms. I remember the rot and starting to lose control, and then nothing until coming back out of it while eating brains from a baggie.” His throat worked. “It was horrific.”

I reached for his hand. “I'm so damn glad you're here and safe now.”

“I'd do everything in my power to see that none of us ever have to go through that again.” Fierce determination backed his words. Maybe Pierce wasn't wrong at all in considering Marcus for the head position of the Tribe.

“Has there been any news about Uncle Pietro?” he asked.

Damn. It was one thing to tell Pierce I was cool telling Marcus the truth, but actually doing so was a whole other bucket of crawfish. “He's safe.”

“Safe?” He sat straighter and looked past me as if expecting his uncle to stride into the room. “Where is he?”

I kept his hand in mine. Stuck a smile onto my face. “Okay, Marcus. Here's where it gets weird.”

It took a while, and there were a couple of moments of almost-freakout, but Marcus finally seemed to accept what I told him about Pierce and Pietro, though by the end his jaw was clenched so tightly I thought I heard bone cracking.

“He loves you,” I told Marcus. “And I think it's time for the two of you to talk things out. He's in the master bedroom, downstairs.”

He leaned in to kiss me, remembering in the last instant to shift it to a kiss on the cheek. I returned the cheek kiss and watched him go, then sternly told my tired self that it didn't matter if I felt wrung out because there was still a bunch of shit to take care of.

My tired self told me to fuck the hell off, but at least allowed me to use my legs to walk out of the room.

Naomi leaned on her crutches at the bottom of the stairs, a scowl on her face, and very obviously waiting for me. My brain was too exhausted to even try to figure out why I might deserve a scowl from her.

“Hey, what's up?” I asked.

Her scowl twisted into a snarl. “I can't believe you
did
that.”

“Did?” My brain finally clicked into gear. Andrew. Excuses and defensive explanations leapt into my head.
Naomi, I didn't know what else to do. He was dying, bleeding internally, and I swear I asked him if it was okay, I swear!