How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (White Trash Zombie 4)

“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He remained silent for a long moment, then he shook his head as if finally discarding an outdated idea.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.”