Michelle Rowen - Countdown

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

www.miraink.co.uk

Contents

Level One LEVEL ONE

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Level Two

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Level Three

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Level Four

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Level Five

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Level Six

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Endgame

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Acknowledgments

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 hand, trying to feel my way through the inky blackness. It was a metal cuff. Attached to a chain. Attached to the smooth, cold metal wall behind me.

What the hell is going on?

Had I been caught shoplifting? Was this prison? I wracked my brain to try to remember being arrested, but came up blank. No, I’d grabbed the shoes, shoved them under my coat, and left the store to go into the half-abandoned mall where I’d put them on and thrown my old ones in a garbage can. And then...then what happened?

I remembered wanting to grab some food. I’d had two bucks to my name, so I’d figured I could buy a small order of French fries at one of the few restaurants that were still open. That would last me a day before my stomach would start complaining again.

Had I even made it to the food court?

I couldn’t have. I was still hungry. Starving. My body felt as if it was eating itself, but that was a bit of an exaggeration, I guess. Yesterday I’d had an entire meal. Ordered off the menu even, and then tried to skip out before the bill came. The owner of the diner had caught me, reprimanded me, and I’d figured that that was it—he’d call the cops.

Instead, he’d taken pity on me and made me wash dishes. It was a humbling experience, but I’d had a lot of those since my family died.

In the end, I appreciated his kindness. Washing dishes was a whole lot better than getting arrested.

Okay, breathe, Kira, I told myself. And I did. I took a deep breath in through my nose and let it out through my mouth. My heart thudded hard in my ears.

Why couldn’t I remember what had happened after I’d taken the shoes? Damn it. And where was I?

I seriously had to calm down. This wasn’t helping.

I took another breath in and out and forced myself to listen. For anything. There had to be something other than this total silence that told me absolutely nothing helpful.

And then I heard...something. I pushed my fears out of the way as best I could and strained my ears.

Breathing. I could hear soft breathing.

Someone else is in the room.

This realization did not ease my mind. Just the opposite. The thought that somebody was in the darkness with me scared me enough that I almost started to cry.

But I was tough now. At least that’s what I tried to tell myself every morning when I woke up to face another day. This shouldn’t be any different.

“H-h-hello?” Stuttering does not help the situation, I thought. “Who’s there?”

The breathing hitched. I heard something heavy shift against the floor about fifteen feet away.

Then the something spoke. “Wh...what the hell?”

A guy’s voice. His words were gruff and raspy as if he’d just woken from a deep sleep.

“Who are you?” I ventured again.

Why did I sound so weak? I hated that.

He cleared his throat and groaned. “Shit.”

Well, he did seem to have a fine command of the English language.

I strained to see something, but there was only black. “Tell me who you are.”

There was a pause, and then another groan. It actually sounded like a moan of pain as I heard him shift position again.

I frowned. “Hey, are you okay?”

He snorted. “Fantastic. I’m just fantastic, thanks for asking. And you?”

Sarcasm. Yeah, I recognized that.

“I’ve been better, actually.”

Chains rattled. Not mine, so that meant that this guy was also restrained. But why?

“I’m Rogan,” he said after a moment. “So pleased to meet you.”

“Where are we?”

“I tell you my name and you don’t reciprocate? Didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”

“My mother’s dead.”

That shut him up. Momentarily. “Sorry to hear that.”