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I'm hoping I can get some advice on this little piece I wrote. I'm a little worried that it's too dark. For the story that's in, it isn't exactly nessicary, but it really helps setting the characters peronallity and history.
For a little background, Bell and Royce work together as bounty hunters.

I stripped off my shirt and tossed it onto my bed, yawning. Kicking off my boots, I nudged them against the chest and undid my hair. With another yawn, I stretched my hands over my head, arching my back and hearing it pop.
Just then the door opened, and Royce walked into the room. He had his head down, reading something in his hand. I yelped and dropped my hands, grabbing the shirt to cover my front. “Haven’t you ever heard of knocking?” I demanded.
Royce didn’t bother looking up as he said, “Oh, Bell, calm down. It’s not like I’m going to catch you and a man…” Glancing up, he blinked. “Oh…”
“Get out!”
Royce rolled his eyes. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s not like I haven’t a naked woman before.
Blushing furiously, I snapped, “I don’t care! Get out!”
“If I do that, I’ll forget why I came in here. And besides, you’re wearing a breast-band; I’m not going to see anything.”
Seeing that any more argument would get me nowhere, I scowled at him and quickly shoved the shirt back over my head. “There. Now what is it?”
“Your shirt is all rumpled,” he pointed out, and walked forward. He gripped the hem of the shirt and tugged it straight, but suddenly he stopped, still holding onto my clothing.
“What the heck are you staring at?” I demanded, trying to push the shirt down, but he held it firmly in place, eyes fixed on my stomach. Now I was beginning to get embarrassed, he was so close…
Finally he looked up at me and asked, “How did you get this scar?”
“What sc—“ Immediately I stopped, my throat tightening. I felt as if someone had just punched me in the gut. Memories flooded into my mind, overwhelming me.
He didn’t notice and continued, “I don’t remember you getting this on one of our missions, I would have remembered. It’s so big you must have almost died.”
Swatting his hands away, I stepped back, glaring at him. “It’s none of your business. Get out.”
He must have been startled by my sudden harsh tone because he flinched, staring at me. “Bell? What—“
“Get out!”
He reacted to my hostility as he always did—he got aggressive. “No! Not until you tell me what the hell is your problem!”
I couldn’t tell which feeling was stronger—my anger, or my grieve. They tore at me, fighting to be heard. “Royce, it’s nothing that concerns you! Now out!”
“No!”
Fine, if he wasn’t going to leave, I was. I quickly walked past him, struggling to push away the overwhelming memories. Royce grabbed my arm and yanked me back so fast I nearly fell, but he steadied me. The second I regained my balance, I whipped my arm out of his grip, glaring at him. I cocked my hand back—
Royce saw it and grabbed both my hands, suddenly pushing me against the wall. He pinned me there as I struggled, but he was too strong. “Bell, what on earth has gotten into you? First you snap at me, then try to hit me? Just because of an innocent question?”
“Innocent?” I hissed. “You think I got that—scar—because of something innocent?” I could already feel my eyes starting to prickle with tears and bit my lip, hard.
Still not releasing his unyielding grip on me, he looked down at me with hard eyes. “Bell, I want to know what happened, and I’m not letting you free until you tell me.”
“Fine!” I yelled, my frustrations spurring me on. “You want to know what happened to me? Really want to know? Well, here it is! The only man I ever loved stabbed me and left me to die, years ago, when I was just a kid!”
“You’re lo—what?”
“I was pregnant.” I wasn’t yelling anymore, now my voice was deadly quite and filled with malice. “When he told me, he nearly beat me to death and topped it off with shoving his dagger into my stomach.” I spat it in his face, still not wanting to stop. “And you know what he did after that? He watched me and said that a b***h like me wasn’t worthy enough to even lick his boots, never mind bear his child. Then he spit on me, kicked me one last time, and left me, broken and dying in the mud!” Royce had loosened his grip enough to let me push past him as I hissed, “Happy now? Did you like my wonderful fairy tale?”
“Wh—of course not,” he stammered, staring at me. He groped for something to say and gasped, “I’m sorry, Bell, I didn’t—“
“Sorry does nothing,” I hissed, and stalked out of the room, hurried down the stairs, and stepped out into the street. It wasn’t until the inn was well out of sight that the tears began.

Thanks. I rarely ever get critism, and I need more of it. This is just a choppy, quickly written idea for the scene, and I plan to add more.