“What’s on the paper?” The way she was holding it, I figured it had to do with what was going on.
“A poem,” she croaked.
I stilled. “A poem someone wrote for you?”
“Yes. He left it for me when I left my desk for a few minutes.”
I plucked the paper from her hand and unfolded it. It took me a second to wrap my head around what I was reading, then it made me equal parts amused and pissed off.
I hit the paper against my open palm. “Do you know what this is?”
“Bad poetry?”
I snorted a laugh. “If you consider Biggie Smalls a bad poet, then yeah.”
Her brow furrowed. “I don’t follow.”
“Whoever wrote this must be a fan of nineties’ rap. They reworded Notorious B.I.G.'s song, “Hypnotize.” It’s fucking awful, but no doubt that’s what they were going for. You have no idea who left this?”
Her teeth dug into her bottom lip. “I thought I knew, but now, I’m not so sure.”
Leaning closer, I gripped her chin, tilting her face back and forth. “This isn't the first.”
She shook her head. “No. But tonight...he was there. I heard him calling my name. That was when I ran away.”
“You said you thought you knew who left it. Tell me who.”
“Um…” she shoved a hand into the side of her hair, “I don’t know if you remember when I told you I had a stalker. I’m sure you don’t, but—”
“How could I forget that?” At that moment, I’d wanted to bend time, travel back to before Zadie met that kid and put a bullet in his brain so none of the bullshit he pulled on her had ever happened.
“Dragon slayer,” she whispered.
“Yeah.” Bracing my elbow on the console, I got in her face. “Are you saying he’s here? He’s leaving you bad poetry and not back in Oregon…I don’t know, chopping wood and shit?”
“I thought so.” She rubbed her lips together. “I’ve gotten a few. They’re all kind of innocuous. I wouldn’t have thought much about them, except Drew used to leave me poems all the time. His were typed on special homemade paper, though. And they were...well, they were sick but well written.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Zadie’s eyes widened with alarm. Given she’d been having a panic attack less than an hour ago, I probably should have gone easier on her, but she drove me out of my goddamn mind.
“No, I’m not.”
“You’reshittingme.”
“I’m not.” Her voice quivered.
“This guy has left you multiple notes and you haven’t told me?”
“Why would I tell you?”
She asked the question with so much sincerity, I knew she didn’t get it. She didn’t understand what being mine meant. Her situation was different, since it was a punishment, but that didn’t make her any less mine.
“Are you my pet?” I asked in a calm, steady tone.
“Yes.” No hesitation. At least she got that.
“Do I own you?”