My Life as a White Trash Zombie (White Trash Zombie 1)

I struggled to my feet. “I’m okay,” I croaked. Yeah, I sure sounded okay. I fumbled at the lock and then pulled the door open. In front of me was a broad, uniformed chest. I didn’t want to look up, but I didn’t have to. Not with the nametag “M. Ivanov” at my eye level. I felt like I shrank a few inches. Yeah, let me remind him how much of a loser I am.

He turned his head and called over his shoulder to a deputy I couldn’t see. “Gordon. Ten-fifteen.” I didn’t know what that meant, but I heard my dad make a low, whining protest. Ivanov looked back to me. “I’ll need to take pictures of your injuries,” he said, voice calm and even. “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Hunh?” Then I shook my head. “I’m not hurt. It . . . it’s okay.” I just wanted this whole thing to be over with. A dull throb of hunger poked at me, but I pushed it aside. I couldn’t worry about that right now. I was only hungry because I was a little banged up.

He gave a low snort. “Angel, you look like hell.”

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror on my dresser, chest tightening at the sight of the split lip, puffiness around my left eye, and bruises already forming on my cheek and collarbone. It would probably hurt a lot more if I wasn’t a zombie. Great, my pain tolerance was high enough for me to take a beating. I swallowed. “You gonna arrest me?”

“No. We’re arresting your dad though.”

I jerked my head up to look into his face. “You don’t need to do that. He’s drunk. That’s all.” I didn’t want him to go to jail. I didn’t.

So why did I feel a weird relief at the thought? God, I was a shit daughter.

His expression tightened briefly and a wash of shame went through me. He’d probably heard this sort of thing a million times before. Wife or girlfriend gets the crap beat out of them, but they can’t stand to see their loved one go to jail. Yeah, I was being that victim. “I’m sorry,” I tried. “It’s just—”

“Angel, I have to arrest him,” he said in low, firm voice. “And since this is a domestic violence case, he’ll most likely be held for at least twenty-four hours before he can post bail. I know this is hard, but I really need you to be strong for this. You don’t deserve to get smacked around.”

“I know that.” I did, right?

“I need to get a statement from you,” he continued. “Can you do that for me?”

I made myself nod. Hunger nudged at me again, almost tentatively, and I tightened my hands into fists. If I’d eaten as soon as I’d locked myself in my room I wouldn’t have any bruises. There’d be no reason to arrest my dad.

Or maybe I would have been the one arrested, I realized with a cold chill. Right now it was pretty obvious that I’d been the loser in this fight. I swallowed hard. Maybe it was a good thing that my fridge was empty. The one jar of brains I had was still out in my lunchbox in the car. “Yeah. I can do that.”

Something that might have been relief lit his eyes briefly. “That’s good.” He paused. “Angel, you look like you’re getting your life under control. I’m really glad to see it.”

I bit back a laugh. This was control? Yeah, I wasn’t doing drugs anymore, but that sure as hell wasn’t due to any personal strength of character or anything like that. And the only reason I still had the job was because my life depended on it.

But I managed to give him a small nod. “Thanks.” Too bad I had that whole zombie thing going on as well.

His gaze raked the living room, a look of distaste naked on his face. “You should think about moving out. You can do better than this.” He looked back to me. “You’re better than this. Don’t let your family hold you back.”

I was so shocked by his statement I literally couldn’t form words for several seconds. “That’s bullshit,” I finally managed, anger flaring at his presumption. “You . . . you have no idea what it’s like. You think it’s that easy? You think that all I have to do is walk out and everything will be peachy fucking keen?” I knew I was treading on thin ice going off on a cop like this, but I was too upset and off-balance to censor myself.

Chagrin swept over his face. “No, look, I know it won’t be easy, but—”

“You think we’re just white trash scum, right? So, yeah, I’m already a loser, so why not be more of a loser and abandon my dad.”>Apparently, neither did Zeke. With a final glare, he turned and then headed off in a jerky run.

As soon as he was out of sight I let out an unsteady breath, then almost jumped in surprise when Nick laid a hand on my arm.

“You really okay?” he asked, and I was shocked once again to see real concern in his eyes. At my nod he dropped his hand. “That guy’s a complete weirdo. Always asking how many bodies we have in the cooler. Kooky stuff like that.”

That was as good an excuse as any. “Yeah, that was weird.” I gave him a tentative smile. “Thanks. Dunno what would have happened if you hadn’t come out right then, but . . . thanks.”

The smile he gave me was the most genuine one I’d ever seen from him, and he actually puffed up a bit with pride. It probably wasn’t often that he could be the knight in shining armor. “Yeah, well, no prob. I got your back.”

Neither of us seemed to know what to do next and an awkward silence descended. “I, uh, should probably get back inside in case Riverwood calls,” I said with a jerk of my head.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” he replied, seemingly as grateful as I was that the moment was over. “Don’t forget to clean the van out before you give me the keys. There were donut crumbs all over the seat last time.”

I masked a grin and headed to the van, strangely relieved that this Nice Nick wasn’t going to be the new norm.

Chapter 17

My decent mood lasted until I pulled up to the house and saw my dad sitting on the porch. He had a beer in his hand, and a pile of empties scattered beside his chair. I silently counted the cans, then closed my eyes and breathed a curse. Well over a dozen.