Page 45 of Property of Zombie

19

LUCY

By the time Monday rolls around, I’ve completely put Michael out of my mind, and the abrasions from punching Star are scabbed over. My hand is still sore, but I can handle pain.

I spend the morning checking on Mali and her cubs as well as Tuxedo. They’re all doing well and are cooperative when I administer their meds. The tiger babies aren’t fans of getting vaccines, but that’s to be expected. Tuxedo, on the other hand, loves his antibiotics. Of course, that’s likely because I injected the medicine into his morning herring.

At lunch time, I realize that I left my cell in my truck, so I head out to the parking lot to retrieve it. When I reach my vehicle, I freeze, and my blood boils with rage. Scratched into the black paint are the words ‘U R MINE’.

Once my feet come unglued from the pavement, I yank open the door and snatch my phone off the seat, fully prepared to rip someone a new asshole. I tap the screen to wake it up and see several notifications of texts. I open the app and read through them.

Lion’s Den Fuck: Have a great day, babydoll

Michael Martin: Dinner with me this week?

I roll my eyes. He really doesn’t know how to take a hint. Rather than ignore him, I reply.

Me: No. Please don’t contact me again.

I return to the text thread from Zombie.

Me: Were you at the zoo?

His reply is immediate.

Lion’s Den Fuck: No. Still working on club shit. Why?

I hate that my first thought when seeing the damage to my vehicle was that Zombie did it, but in my defense, he’s continuously told me that exact thing: You’re mine.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I snap a picture of my door and send it to him. Then I follow it up with another text.

Me: That’s why

I jump when my phone rings, but then I see ‘Lion’s Den Fuck’ scroll across the screen and answer the call.

“Hey.”

“What the fuck, Lucy?”

“What?” I ask, my hackles rising.

“Who did that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You thought it was me.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re always telling me that I’m yours, so…”

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just insult me,” he snaps.

“I said I was sorry.”

Zombie heaves a sigh. “You did, and I’m sorry. But fuck, babydoll. I’d never do that, not to you.”

“I know, I know.” And I do know. “I think it might’ve been Michael,” I tell him. “He text me again, asking me to go to dinner.”

“Motherfucker!” he shouts, and I have to pull my cell away from my ear.