Countdown. Michelle Rowen
just the two of us.
I blinked against the darkness.
No, I was awake. Definitely awake.
Too bad.
“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” Rogan said. “Don’t want to talk anymore?”
“Not particularly.”
“Why not? Because you’re scared of me now?”
Pretty much, but I wasn’t going to let him know that if I could help it.
“No. Mostly because I’ve decided that you don’t know anything that can help me.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to be rude.”
“Rude?” I felt a flare of anger and then settled back, trying to remain calm. My ass hurt from sitting on the hard metal floor so I shifted to cross my legs. “Yeah, I’m so rude. Sorry about that. I guess you’ve been treated so nice at St. Augustine’s that my behavior’s a real shocker. Besides, sounds to me like you deserve rude. Or worse.”
He was silent so long that I felt even more uncomfortable than I had been to start with.
“And are you so innocent if you’re here with me right now?” His words were clipped, sounding as if I’d struck a nerve. “What did you say your name was...Kerry?”
“Kira,” I corrected. What a dick this guy was. “I’m not innocent, but I know I won’t end up at Saradone.”
“Don’t be so sure.”
I guess I could thank this jerk for keeping my mind off my fear of the dark. He was getting me angry enough that fear had moved a couple notches down the list.
I chewed my bottom lip. “I haven’t murdered anybody.”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They’ve got you now. They’ll make you do whatever they want you to do, and don’t kid yourself. You’ll do it.”
“They? Who are they?”
Rogan went silent.
My heart pounded in my ears. “You can’t just say something like that and not say anything else. Who are they?”
“The ones who put you here. Who put me here.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know who put you here?”
“I have an idea.”
“Want to share?”
“Maybe not. You’re not all that nice.” It sounded as if he was smiling now. Was he mocking me?
“I’m not all that nice?” I repeated.
“Is this a surprise to you? Do you normally charm the pants off the boys you meet? Because you’re failing big-time with me.”
“Who put us in here?” I said it flatly. I wanted him to realize I wasn’t joking around. If he didn’t tell me, then I was going to scream and keep screaming until they—whoever they were—dragged me out of there.
“They gave me a choice,” he said after a moment. “Go to prison for the rest of my life, or come with them and play their sick little game. At least here I might have a chance. A small one, but a chance. As soon as I agreed, they knocked me out. And then I woke up a few minutes ago to have this fascinating discussion with you. And...and I think they did something to me when I was unconscious. To my shoulder. I’m hurt pretty badly, but I’m not sure how. Or why. Probably to slow me down.” He snorted. “Playing fair isn’t exactly their style.”
“I didn’t agree to this.” I pulled at the chain until my wrist felt raw. “I want to leave.”
“I’m sure they’ll let you. Just like that. Sure.”
“You said they gave you a choice. Why didn’t they give me one?”
“I have no idea.” He paused. “You said your mother was dead?”
“Yeah.”
“And the rest of your family?”
“All dead.” My voice broke as I said it.
Silence again. “So you’re on your own.”
“When I have to be.” He didn’t deserve more of an answer than that.
I’d been on my own for the past two years, since I was fourteen. Before that, I was safe and relatively happy and free to do what I wanted with the love of my family to support me. But once they were gone, I had nothing.
The courts had wanted to put me into foster care, but I’d run instead. A friend of mine had gone into foster care a few years ago, and I never heard from her again. Not even an email.
“Why would they pick you,” Rogan said, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself than to me, “other than the fact that you have no family? What did you do?”
I hissed out a sigh of exasperation. “At the risk of sounding like I’m repeating myself, who are they?”
“You haven’t murdered before...so that’s out. Are you...” He paused and then laughed softly. “Of course. You’re a thief, aren’t you?”
I let the darkness answer the question for me.
“A female thief without a family. Perfect.” He let out a long, shuddery breath. “Well, thief-girl, I have to admit that I’m not feeling so great over here. Whatever they did to me...I don’t think they’ll have to worry about me finishing off my sentence. An eye for an eye and all that.”
I licked my dry lips. “You think you’re dying.”
“Feels like it.”
“Why do you sound so calm?”
“Because I’m not an idiot. There’s no escape. We’re both going to die.”
“Shut up. There’s a way out, I know there is.”
Just as I said it, light flooded the room, blinding me. Ironic. Didn’t these people believe in happy mediums?
I rubbed my eyes, which had started to water at the unexpected light. I blinked at the room as my vision slowly came into focus.
I sat against the wall in an entirely silver room. Floors, ceiling, walls, all made from smooth, cold metal. I’d never seen anything like it. The silver metal band that circled my wrist was attached to a silver chain secured to the wall. It was all very bland, very clinical, clean and pristine.
Almost all.
My gaze moved to the other side of the room and locked with that of the most dangerous-looking boy I’d ever seen in my life.
He stared back at me with a half smirk. His hair, plastered across his forehead, was dark and unkempt. He wore a shirt that might have once been white but was now torn and dirty.
A dark and angry red stain near his left shoulder stood out as the only color in the room. No, scratch that. His eyes. They were blue-green—the color of a tropical ocean and surprisingly jarring in their intensity.
There was a scar on his face that ran from the top of his left eye down to his cheek like an angry exclamation point. It was still reddish, as if it had healed recently. It didn’t do much to take away from his looks—which were incredible. Clean him up and I’d have to guess he’d be painfully handsome.
He wore faded jeans, also stained and dirty, and scuffed black boots with untied laces. A silver shackle led from his right wrist to the chain to the wall behind him.
Despite the good looks beneath the grime, he looked like a murderer. Like trouble. Like