Reign A Romance Anthology - Nina Levine Page 0,342

night to roll around in the sheets with me...” He pauses. “You never returned.”

“Yet, here I am.” Is this guy altogether in the head?

“You are. You are also missing some of your memory.”

“Okaay. I admit I feel like I have a bad hangover.”

“In a way, you do. Can you remember anything at all from when you left me in the bedroom to now?”

I search my mind, feeling the tug of memory, but I can’t grasp a hold of it. “I got dressed and came downstairs. Everybody had left…” I shut my eyes and work hard to bring into focus my memories of coming downstairs. “Trash bags!” I shout.

“Yes, you were delivering trash bags to the dumpster in the alleyway, which I would have done for you if I had known.” Well, that’s a nice thought. “Do you remember what happens next?” Now I feel like he’s talking to a child with that careful tone.

I bring my knees up to my chest, resting my forehead on them, hugging my legs while I think, and then it comes to me. “Trash bags… three trips to the dumpster,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes tight in an attempt to pull the memory out of the black hole. “Back and forth, lobbing bags over the edge into the dumpster.”

“Anything else? Take your time.”

As hard as I try, I can’t get past a barricade that has gone up in my mind. The harder I try, the more my head hurts. “Ahhh, my head is pounding.”

“Here, take these.” Bradford hands me two pills and a glass of water that was on the bedside table. “These should help your headache.”

“Thanks.” I swallow the pills, rest my head against the headboard, close my eyes, and wait for the throbbing to get to a more manageable level.

After a few minutes, the pain subsides. I open my eyes. “That was intense.”

“How are you feeling now?” The look of concern on his face makes me feel strange. I feel like he genuinely cares, even though we have just met.

“I’m better. Seriously, you don’t need to stay and babysit me. I can look after myself. We had sex; you don’t owe me any more of your time.”

“Queenie, two thugs cowardly attacked you last night, roughing you up, then drugging you. They left you in the alleyway. When I found you you told me your name is Queenie.”

I jump up off the bed, stumbling about again on unseaworthy legs—Bradford is at my side to steady me. “What the hell? I would remember something like that.” Wouldn’t I? From the grave look, Bradford aims at me; I believe he is telling me the truth. “I didn’t have any money on me. Did they rob Queenie’s?” I worry I failed my stepfather. It’s the first time he’s ever gone away and trusted me with the tavern.

“No. It wasn’t a robbery.”

“Then why? I haven’t wronged anybody, and I don’t have any enemies. It must have been a mistake. Wrong place and the wrong time.” I badly want to believe my words, but I’m starting to feel sick that this is worse than I can imagine.

I turn away from Bradford, unable to think straight while he’s standing there in only tight boxers. Everything he is saying feels surreal. I catch my reflection in the mirror on the dresser.

Horrified, my hands fly to the top of my head, feeling the rough surface.

Bradford leans down, watching me over my shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Queenie, we had to shave your hea—”

Our eyes meet in the mirror. “You did this?” What sick game is he playing?

“Well, not exactly—”

“What did you do to me?” I whisper, warm tears slipping over my cheekbones. “My hair…” I can barely talk.

I spin around, taking a step back, punching him in the face as hard as I can, forcing him to stumble backward. “I’m bald”—and then in a louder voice, I demand—“why am I bald?” Deep down, I know it’s not going to be his fault, but the shock has me lashing out. All my hair is gone, leaving me with a halo of stubby growth.

I swipe at my waterfall of tears, angry at myself for letting my guard down in front of Bradford. I’m feeling lost, confused, and anxious.

“Christ! Woman! Fucking magic right hook, but damn… if you will let me explain before you assume the worst of me.” He stands at his full height, rubbing his cheek while I pretend my hand isn’t smarting from his hard head.

“I’m bald.” I can’t help my voice cracking.