Page 11 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

Swallowing thickly, I give in and choke out, “Yeah. I’m decent.”

He lifts his gaze, steps into the bedroom, then searches the empty bathroom for a split second before his eyes land on me. My breath hitches as he scans me from head to toe. But it isn’t sexual. It’s as if he’s checking off boxes in his head to make sure I’m taken care of. But why? I don’t know how I feel about it––the fact that he acts like he cares.

“Sorry about the clothes,” he grunts as he finishes his inspection. “Matteo forgot to pick something up for you other than the hair dye, so you’re stuck with my stuff for now. I’m not comfortable with us going out, so I’m going to have someone drop some shit off. You ready to finish your makeover?”

My mouth twitches with another smile as the word makeover slips out of his mouth.

“Something funny?” he challenges, showcasing his amusement.

I shake my head.

Wagging the pair of scissors from earlier back and forth, he drops the subject and asks, “Do you want to do the honors, or do you want me to?”

Oh. Right.

My shoulders hunch, but I don’t answer him. It’s not like I actually have a choice in the matter, and I’ve been avoiding the mirror like the plague anyway.

“Q.” He exhales. I’ve pissed him off. Bracing myself for a fist, he surprises me by setting the scissors on the counter and lacing his fingers behind his head until his biceps are bulging. “I can’t imagine the shit you’ve been through, but you’re allowed to communicate with me. If you don’t want to cut it, we don’t have to. The color has already changed your appearance more than I expected. We’ll do whatever––”

“Cut it.”

He arches his brow. “You want me to do it?”

I nod while continuing to ignore my reflection in the mirror. I can’t look.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Do you care how short we do it?”

It’s almost down to my butt right now and has been for as long as I can remember. The idea of cutting it off is surreal.

“Q?”

“Whatever you want,” I tell him.

“This isn’t about me or what I want, Q. This is about you.”

A scoff slips out of me before I can stop it as I point out, “Nothing is about me.”

“This is,” he argues. “It’s your hair. You get to decide how short we go.”

“Fine.” Licking my lips, I cross my arms and answer, “Short.”

He studies me for a few seconds before deciding that’s the only answer he’s going to get. Stepping forward, my captor pushes all of my hair behind my shoulders until it hangs limply down my back.

Then he starts cutting. And with every snip of the scissors, a weight feels like it’s being lifted from my shoulders. The cool air kisses the back of my neck by the time he’s finished while the discarded hair tickles my bare feet as it lies on the marble tile around me.

A few minutes later, his gruff voice breaks the silence. “Finished.” With a satisfied nod, he examines his handy work then announces, “Damn, I’m good. Take a look.”

I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath, making sure to fill my lungs to full capacity before letting it all out in a slow exhale as I search for the courage to face the new me. The one who’s broken. The one who’s lost. The one who’s afraid of her own shadow and is terrified of her past. Her present. And her future.

I can’t do this.

“Q?” Diece prods with a gentle voice.

Unable to ignore it any longer, I open my eyes, turn to the mirror, and gasp. I don’t know who the girl in the mirror is, but her face is mottled with black and blue, and her hair is…well, it’s kind of badass and reaches just below her chin. Carefully, I run my fingers along my swollen cheekbone as I inspect the damage from Sei’s fists while almost forgetting that I have an audience.

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