Michelle Maddox - Countdown

There was a scar on his face, 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, but enough time hadn't passed to turn it to the whitish color of old scars. He wore faded jeans, also stained and dirty, and scuffed black boots that were untied. A silver shackle led from his right wrist to the chain to the wall behind him.

He looked like a murderer. Like trouble. Like nobody I wanted to be trapped in a room with now or anytime soon. I was almost sorry that the lights had come on.

"You're prettier than I expected," he said, keeping me locked in his oddly hypnotic gaze.

I swallowed. "Well, you have been in prison for four years."

He smiled. His teeth were white and straight, which struck me as odd from a hardened criminal. Though I suppose it was a bit of a cliche to expect him to have broken, rotting teeth.

"That is true. Sorry I look a bit of a mess." His smile widened. 'They didn't even let me have a shower before they knocked me out and dragged my ass here."

"Forget it."

His gaze slid slowly down to the rest of me, black tank top, khaki cargo pants, and my new red shoes. I felt my face warm at his blatant appraisal, until I saw his eyes move away from my body and toward my side. He frowned. I looked to the floor on my right and gasped.

There was a key lying right there, only an arm's reach away.

"Try it," Rogan prompted eagerly.

I was way ahead of him. I'd already grabbed the key and found the small keyhole on my shackle, my heart thrumming loud in my ears.

I frowned when it didn't fit. I tried again. Why the hell didn't it fit?

I looked over at Rogan, who stared at me with a deep frown creasing his brow.

"Shit," he said.

Something sparkled next to him and I pointed at it. It was another key. He grabbed it and tried his lock.

Nothing.

Then I heard a whirring and I looked up toward the sound. A small shutter at the top of the far wall to the left near the ceiling had opened, and what looked like a security camera-only modem, very sleek and silver-emerged.

"What the hell is that?" I asked.

He looked up at it grimly. "Must be showtime."

I clenched the key so tightly that I knew it would leave an impression in my fingertips. "Why would they be taping us?"

"Because they like to watch."

"Watch what?" I snapped. "Can you stop being so damn vague and just tell me what's going on?"

But he wasn't looking at me; he was looking at my key. "Now, if I used my great big brain and thought this through, I would have to guess that your key fits my lock and my key fits your lock."

I frowned. "How do you know that?"

"I didn't say I know. I said I guess." The murderer smirked at me. 'Try to pay attention to the class, would you?"

I gritted my teeth. "I don't like you."

"My heart is breaking. Now, why don't you be a good girl and throw that key over here so I can test my theory?"

"Screw you."

He shrugged, then grimaced, as if the wound on his shoulder caused him massive pain. "We can do that too if you like, sweetheart, but I'll need to be unchained first. Then again, we can bring the chains with us if you're into that sort of thing."

I gave him the look I gave to men who tried to pick me up. The losers and the freaks who thought sex was a sport and I was just somebody to score with. In the circles I'd hung out in lately, guys like that were the norm rather than the exception. All the good ones seemed to have left the city long ago. And you know what? With some of them, I played it as good as I could. I knew that I wasn't ugly-that despite living on the streets a little more than I'd like, I had a good body and a nice face and that men were attracted to me. I used it, I played them, and then I took their wallets when they weren't looking.

So sue me.

This guy didn't have a wallet as far as I could see. He had nothing I wanted. Nothing except that key.

I shifted my position into something a little more alluring. Boobs out. I sucked in my stomach. I raised an eyebrow and forced a smile to my lips. "Why don't you throw me your key first?"

He studied me and my sudden change in demeanor. I still wasn't letting him have what he wanted, but the vibe I was giving off was much more.. .friendly. I mean, the guy had been in prison for four years. He had to be a walking hard-on by now, right? I could work with that. A little estrogen thrown his way and he should be putty in my hands.

Dirty, murdering putty. With sexy eyes and a great smile. An unusual combination, to say the least.

He licked his lips and let out a long sigh. "Sweetheart, you're good. If I didn't feel like a pile of shit and that my arm was about to fall off, you might have me, but pain does help one to focus. Your key. Throw it to me. Then I'll throw you mine."

My fake smile slipped. "And when I throw you my key how do I know you'll do the same in return?"

"You'll just have to trust me."

"Give me one good reason why I should."

He stared at me and laughed that short, staccato, humorless laugh. "I'm coming up blank here."

'Then I guess we're both shit out of luck."

"I guess so." A smile twisted his mouth. Then he closed his eyes and pain shadowed his face.

Dammit. I didn't want to feel sympathy for this guy. He was a murderer, just like the bastard who had killed my family. But if that blood was any indication, he was seriously wounded.

Then again, how did I know for sure? Maybe it was just a ruse. Maybe he was acting like he was hurt. After all, that camera did just appear out of nowhere. What did he say a minute ago? Showtime?

The camera whirred again as it changed direction; it turned to point at Rogan.

He pried his eyes open and looked up at it.

Then he gave it the finger.

Suddenly the lights began to flash on and off and an alarm sounded, so loud that I instinctively clamped my hands over my ears. From complete silence to a maddening noise in a split second.

"What's happening?" I yelled.

Rogan's gaze darted frantically around the room.

And then I heard something else. A metallic, computer-generated voice could be heard from speakers I couldn't see, but seemed to come from every direction.

"Sixty …" it announced. "Fifty-nine …fifty-eight… fifty-seven …"

Rogan began struggling hard against his chain. "Shit. Shit! Kira, throw me that key. Right now! Do it!"

"Why? What's happening?"

"It's the countdown!"

Okay, I figured out that much all by myself. If I wasn't so scared out of my mind I'd take the time to roll my eyes at him.

"Which means what?"

His face looked wild. Panicked. He craned his neck to look around the empty room as the lights flashed on and off, plunging us quickly back and forth into darkness and bright 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. "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!"

"What do you mean? Die? How do you know that?"

"There's no time to explain. I know you don't trust me, but please. Just do what I say so we can live."

I stared at him. No. I couldn't do it. I couldn't trust him. If I threw him the key he'd unlock himself and leave me here. He was a murderer. He'd admitted it. He'd told me that there was no reason he could give me to trust him. And I didn't trust him. I didn't trust anyone but myself.

"Come on!" he yelled.

"Thirty-five … thirty-four… thirty-three…"