Countdown. Michelle Rowen
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3 seconds left to live.
Once the countdown starts, it cannot be stopped.
2 pawns thrown into a brutal underground reality game.
Kira Jordan survived her family’s murder and months on plague-devastated city streets with hard-won savvy and a low-level psi ability. She figures she can handle anything. Until she wakes up in a barren room, chained next to the notorious Rogan Ellis.
1 reason Kira will never, ever trust Rogan. Even though both their lives depend on it.
Their every move is controlled and televised for a vicious exclusive audience. And as Kira’s psi skill unexpectedly grows and Rogan’s secrets prove ever more deadly, Kira’s only chance of survival is to risk trusting him as much as her instincts. Even if that means running head-on into the one trap she can’t escape.
GAME 0VER
The lights began to flash and an alarm sounded, so loud that I instinctively clamped my hands over my ears.
“What’s happening?” I yelled.
Rogan’s gaze darted around the room.
And then I heard something else. A metallic, computer-generated voice that seemed to come from every direction.
“Sixty...” it announced. “Fifty-nine...fifty-eight...fifty-seven...”
Rogan began struggling hard against his chain. “Kira, throw me that key. Right now! Do it!”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“It’s the countdown!”
Okay, I’d figured out that much all by myself. If I hadn’t been scared out of my mind, I’d have taken the time to roll my eyes at him.
“Which means what?”
He craned his neck to look wildly around the empty room as the lights continued to flash, plunging us into darkness and light like a strobe light in a dance club. “We’ve wasted too much time.”
“Fifty-two...fifty-one...fifty...”
“What happens when it gets to zero?”
He stared across the room at me, his gaze panicked. “When it gets to zero, we die. Do you understand? If you don’t throw me that key, in less than fifty seconds we’re both going to die!”
Countdown
Michelle Rowen
Contents
LEVEL ONE
Chapter 1
IT’S CALLED NYCTOPHOBIA. I looked it up once. It’s the official term for an abnormal and persistent fear of the dark. I’ve had it ever since my parents and sister were murdered during an in-home burglary while I hid under my bed.
In the dark I couldn’t see anything; all I could hear was the screaming.
And then the silence.
So, yeah. I’ve been scared like hell of the dark ever since. Go figure.
Unfortunately, that’s where I found myself when I opened my eyes. Frankly, I didn’t remember closing them. I’d been in the mall, I remembered that much. I’d just lifted a new pair of shoes—my old pair was worn out since all I do is walk everywhere in the city, day in and day out. This pair was nice. Red. With strong laces that, if necessary, could double as a weapon.
The streets were tough sometimes. Especially at night. Especially in the dark.
Like right now.
But this wasn’t the street, I knew that much. I was inside.
Somewhere.
Choking panic began to flood my body. I knew freaking out wouldn’t help, but sometimes you can’t stop yourself—or reason with yourself—when you’re in the process of freaking out.
I felt a pinch at my right wrist and reached over with my other