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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.
