Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,332

climbing over the edge just as Hemsworth gets enough light inside for us to see—“Daisy! Jesus—”

3

Queenie

I come to in complete darkness, feeling like my brain is mush.

Am I dead?

The thought makes me giggle because I’ve got pain in my shoulders, and there is an unpleasant stink surrounding me.

Am I in Hell?

I try moving, but all I do is fall sideways at an angle against something crunchy. This new position does not help the pain in my shoulders or the headache creeping up inside my head to let me know I am alive as my eyeballs start to throb from the ache.

I try to open my mouth to talk and realize it is bound tight.

My motion is sluggish, but I manage to feel around with my feet until I hit a metal side. Am I in the dumpster?

Inhaling through my nose, the stinky air and plastic rustling against my body make me think I am inside the dumpster.

I want to giggle because, ya know, I am in a dumpster.

Not that it is funny—yet it is. Hilarious even.

I’m coughing and giggling, trying to get myself under control before I choke to death.

I have Kingdom of Wigs to run. Wigs to sell to all the beautiful balding heads, keeping them warm and pretty. I am a wig soldier.

Insert soft belly giggle.

“Daisy!”

My giggling stops.

That’s my name. I’m Daisy Duke, and this stinky dumpster is my kingdom.

There’s my name again, but this time the voice sounds disappointed.

Blake?

A shiver runs right down my spine, making me shake myself a little more awake, but my mind doesn’t want to play nice.

A car door shuts.

I bang my heeled boots against the side once. The loud echo makes me groan from the piercing pain in my head.

I hear a car running. I need to get out of here.

Mustering all the strength I can find, I bang my heels as many times as I have the power to do against the metal.

And then I scream for King and country, tearing my throat up, without a clue how appropriate that thought is in this moment.

And then I giggle.

4

King

I land in a crouch beside Daisy, crushing a bag of garbage underneath me. Something sharp tears through the leg of my jeans; the metallic odor is winning out against the stench of rubbish.

My blood or Daisy’s?

I curse under my breath.

Daisy is lying at an awkward angle with her arms wrenched behind her back. Her top lip’s split, and she’s missing more hair than is left on her head. Long strands of silver hair dust the inside of the dumpster, her shoulder, and chest, as though deliberately scattered around like a sick form of artistry, leaving a few longer strands intact.

Her head is wobbling back and forth, and she’s giggling incoherently—make that snorting.

“Daisy, it’s Blake.” I gently touch her leg. I can feel Hemsworth glaring at me from the top of the dumpster.” Not now, Hemsworth,” I grind out, unable to take my eyes off the helpless bartender. “I’m going to take the blindfold off you and then remove the bandana tied around your mouth. I won’t hurt you.” She nods her head slowly, a soft, throaty giggle escaping her.

Is she drugged?

I gently work my way around her body once I have removed the blindfold and gag. “Hemsworth, I need something to cut through the zip-tie binding her wrists.”

“One moment, sir.” He leaves, taking the light with him.

“Whoops… lights out.” Daisy giggles. She’s not in a good way.

“Hang on a sec, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Your safe with me.” I get my phone out, switching on the torch app.

“He-looow, Blakey…” Her voice is husky from screaming. She drags in a deep breath. “Pree-ty Blakey. Blakey with the biiiig willy. Who gave me the best orgasm… ever.”

“The one and only, sweetheart. I’ve also brought along my trusty sidekick, Hemsworth. You can trust both of us to take care of you.” I’m careful not to touch her in a way that will cause her any further distress, although everything seems amusing to her at present.

“Poowhahh… you stink.” Daisy screws her face up. She’s behaving like she’s stoned. What the hell did her attacker give her? “Guuud… kiss-er. Round ass. Nice ass.” Daisy’s slurring her words while giving me a lazy, wasted grin, her eyes hooded like she is having trouble keeping them open. She needs a doctor.

“Here, sir.” Hemsworth has returned, handing a switchblade down to me, and he’s had the foresight to bring my tailored jacket.

I arch an eyebrow at the switchblade. “And your first