Page 39 of Property of Zombie

I tilt my head thoughtfully. “I think so. I remember this one time, when I was six or seven… I was at a friend’s house for a sleepover, and she had a goldfish that her dad had won her at the local fair.” I smile fondly at the memory. “Anyway, she kept the fishbowl on her dresser, and when we woke up in the morning, Goldie was floating. My friend started crying but not me. I was oddly calm and lifted the fish out of the bowl and brought it to my lips to give it mouth-to-mouth.” He laughs as I speak. “It wasn’t like I knew what I was doing, but it felt natural, ya know? My friend’s dad came in because he heard her crying, and he made me stop. I was so heartbroken. I think that’s when I made the decision that I was going to do everything in my power to help animals, keep them healthy so they couldn’t die.”

“I’m sorry Goldie couldn’t be saved,” he says sincerely.

I wave my hand dismissively. “It was a good lesson. Granted, at the time, I was devastated, but I think it helped me recognize that I can’t save every animal. Sometimes, it’s just their time.”

“Like people.”

“Yeah.” I eat the last bite of my slice. “Did you always want to be in an MC?”

“It wasn’t a matter of wanting it,” he says. “I grew up in the club. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

“Not even me?” I tease.

His expression hardens. “That’s the equivalent of asking me whether I want my heart or my lungs cut from my body. It’s an impossible ask because I need both to survive.”

Again, we grow silent. We both eat two more pieces of pizza, and it’s not until we’re done that we continue playing twenty questions. I don’t know how much time passes, but the room has grown darker with the sun setting.

I rise to my feet to turn on a lamp, and then I carry our paper plates to the kitchen to throw away. I’m grabbing another bottle of water out of the fridge when there’s a knock at my door.

“Damn, I’m popular today,” I quip.

“I’ll get it,” Zombie says.

He unlocks the deadbolt and opens the door. I can’t see who it is because Zombie is such a large man, but it takes less than a second to figure it out.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Michael seethes.

Oh, shit. It’s Saturday.

“Just finished dinner,” Zombie says casually, and I can tell based on his stance that he crosses his arms over his chest. “What are you doing here?” I rush across the room and try to shove Zombie aside, but he doesn’t budge. In fact, he keeps speaking. “I could’ve sworn you were busy with Morris Baker tonight.”