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

An uneven smile flickered. “Get the fuck out of here.”

With a low chuckle, I did so, then found Dr. Nikas and told him Kyle was ready for a sedative. With that mission accomplished, I found the couch and once again introduced my face to its welcoming cushiness.

Chapter 35

After a few hours of sleep, two mugs of coffee, and another nice long shower, I once again found myself summoned to Pierce’s room.

Brian was there as well, and I barely had time for a quick nod to him before Pierce asked, “How would you like to be the voice of the Tribe?” without any sort of intro like, Hello, Angel, I hope you’re doing well or Are you ready for me to lay some more weird shit on you?

I gave him a blank look. “Voice of the Tribe? What, like a radio show?”

Amusement flashed across his face, but to his credit he didn’t laugh out loud. “No,” he said, allowing himself a slight smile. “As in speaking with authority, for us to Andrew.”

My mouth dropped open. “Me?” I spluttered. Dream. Had to be. Obviously I was still drooling on the couch. Best to play along, though, just in case. “Why not Brian?”

Pierce glanced over at the implacable head of security. “Despite all of his qualities above and beyond his official role, Saber will only see him as muscle, with no real authority. Same for Philip but with even less respect.”

“And how do you expect him to see me?” I retorted. “I’m a high school dropout, and a former felon and drug addict.”

“You have street savvy, Angel, and you’re clever under pressure. It has nothing to do with what you were, it’s about who you are.” Pierce lifted his chin toward Brian. “You already established yourself during the info gathering session, and we’ll help with general effect. Brian will be at your shoulder just as he would be with me—if I was still who I was.” A faint grimace crossed his face. “Angel, I need you to do this.”

The voice of the Tribe. I sucked in a soft breath. All those years of being forced to watch The Godfather because, according to my dad, it was the Best Movie Ever, were about to pay off. “You want me to be your consigliere!”

Pierce looked down, and this time I knew he was holding back a laugh. After a moment, he cleared his throat and lifted his head again. “In a manner of speaking, yes. At least for this.”

“Okay, I’ll do it.” I gave a cheeky grin. “Hell, I’m his zombie mama now, so that should hold some weight.”

Now he did laugh, but it was with and not at me. “Very well, let’s review what needs to be said.”

Once again, thanks to Naomi, I looked nothing at all like me. Black tailored jacket with matching slim skirt, white silk blouse, shoes with red soles which were apparently some sort of Big Deal, makeup that made me look mature and professional instead of the “slutty” I’d’ve managed on my own, and hair pinned up in an impossibly sleek style. I looked totally badass in an entirely different way.

Brian stood back and raked an assessing gaze over me, then stepped forward to adjust the drape of the fine gold chain at my throat. “Nervous?” he asked with a smile as he brushed a speck of invisible lint off the shoulder of my jacket.

“Should I be?” I asked nervously.

He chuckled. “I’m going to be right behind you, looking like this.” He stood straight in his perfect dark suit, folded his arms over his chest, and put on his best Terminator face.

I burst out laughing. “Uh, yes,” I cleared my throat, “quite terrifying.”

He dropped his arms, lips twitching. “It is to everyone but you.”

“Oh, all right, I guess I can see it.”

Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of cherry ChapStick. “Do I need to use this?”

Laughing, I held up my hands in surrender. Many months ago I’d made a silly challenge that had ended up with Brian planting a ChapStick-laden smooch on me. “Anything but that! Fine, let’s get this over with.”

With a dramatic sigh of regret, Brian replaced the lip balm in his pocket. “Do you want to ambush him in his room or call him in somewhere?” he asked. “There are merits to both.”

“Call him to us,” I replied without hesitation. “We’ll be set and ready, and that gives us the power position. It’ll be like calling him onto the carpet.” I paused. “Not that I know what that feels like.”

“Of course not,” he agreed with a totally straight face. “The parlor will work.”

“There’s a parlor?”

“That would be the room with the sofa you drooled on,” he explained. “I’ll get you settled, then go get him.”

Awake and coherent, I saw it really was a parlor. Or a living room. Either way, it was perfect for what we had in mind. Simply furnished: Sofa, coffee table, wingback chair.