Michelle Maddox - Countdown

A line of perspiration slid down my back.

"What were you in for?" I tried to make it sound very light and flippant, as if I were just making conversation about the weather.

"Murder," he answered simply.

"Oh." I cleared my throat.

"Not just murder, mind you, but first-degree." There was an edge of weariness to his deep voice. "Nine counts of first-degree murder. They locked me up in Saradone for… I believe the sentence was five hundred years. Kind of funny, if you ask me."

My throat felt thick. Just the thought that I was in the same room with a murderer made me feel like throwing up. I tried to push the memory of my family out of my mind. Why was he sharing this with me? I seriously didn't want to know these things. "What's so funny about it?"

"Five hundred years in prison? It's stupid. A man lives to what, eighty, maybe ninety years old, and that's not even when he's in maximum. In there, if you're not tough enough you're lucky to live to the end of the fucking week."

His sudden humorless laughter seemed to echo off the metal walls.

Okay. So I was trapped in a pitch-black room, chained to the wall, with a mass murderer who found a joke in long-term prison sentences.

Maybe I was dreaming. Yeah. Just having a really bad dream. Maybe I fell and hit my head in the mall and was passed out cold in front of the understaffed burger place in the food court. Maybe some nice, rich, and handsome man would come by and help me. He'd fall immediately in love with me and take me away from it all. Kiss me on the lips like Prince Charming did with Snow White, wake me up from my deep sleep, and we'd ride away into the sunset, away from my past, and into a bright, exciting future, just the two of us.

I blinked against the darkness.

No, I was awake. Definitely awake.

Shit.

"You're quiet all of a sudden," Rogan said. "Don't want to chat 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, you know."

"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, and I shifted position to cross my legs. "Yeah, I'm so rude. Sorry about that. I guess you've been treated so nice at Saradone the past little while that my behavior's a real shocker."

"Four years."

"What?"

'The past little while you spoke of? Four years. That's how long I was in there."

"No offense, but it sounds like you deserved it."

He was silent so long that I felt even more uncomfortable than I had been to start with.

"And are you so innocent?" 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 sure as hell won't end up at Saradone."

"Don't be so sure about that. You never know where you're going to end up."

I guess I could thank this asshole for keeping my mind off my fear of the dark. He was getting me angry enough that fear was the last thing on my mind.

I chewed my bottom lip. "I haven't murdered anybody."

"Not yet."

"Not ever."

"Yeah, we'll see about that."

"What the hell is 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.

I could feel my heart pounding in my ears now. "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." He sounded as if he were 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 men you meet in the dark? Because you're failing big-time with me."

"Who put us in here?" I said it flatly, with no humor or lightness implied. I wanted him to realize I was serious. I wasn't joking around. If he didn't tell me, then I was going to scream and keep screaming until they-whoever the hell they were-dragged me out of there.

"They gave me a choice," he said after a moment. "Stay in jail for as many of my five hundred years as I lived for, or come with them and play their sick little game. What choice did I have? 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 here just a few minutes ago to have this fascinating discussion with you. And … and 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." Another snort.

"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 a little as I said it.

Silence again. "So you're on your own."

"I have friends. Sometimes. But it's safer to be alone. I can move quicker that way if I have to."

"What did you do? Why would they pick you, other than the fact that you have no family?"

It sounded as if he was talking to himself.

I hissed out a sigh of exasperation. "At the risk of sounding like I'm repeating myself, who the hell are they?"

"You haven't murdered before… so that's out. Are you …" He paused and then laughed softly. "Of course. You must be 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, little thief, I have to admit that I'm not feeling so good over here. Whatever they did to me … I don't think they'll have to worry about me finishing off my five hundred years. An eye for an eye and all that."

I licked my dry lips. "You're dying."

"Sure as hell feels like it."

"Why do you sound so calm?"

"What else can I be? There's no escape. Sometimes it's best just to accept your fate."

"Bullshit. There's a way out of here, I know there is."

Just as I said it, the lights flooded on in the room, blinding me. Ironic that since the darkness blinded me the light would, too. Was there no such thing as a happy medium?

I rubbed my eyes, which had started to water at the unexpected light. When I'd gotten used to it, I blinked around 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 before. A silver metal band was around my wrist, and it 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 man I'd ever seen in my life.

He stared back at me with a half smile on his coarsely beard-stubbled face. His hair was dark and shaggy and unkempt, plastered across his forehead. He wore a shirt that may have once been white, but now was torn and dirty.

An angry red stain on his chest near his left shoulder stood out as the only bright 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.