Countdown. Michelle RowenЧитать онлайн книгу.
beneath the grime, 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. It was exactly what I was thinking about him, too. “Well, you have been stuck in juvie for a while.”
He smiled. His teeth were white and straight, which struck me as odd for a confessed killer. Though, I suppose it was a bit of a cliché to expect him to have broken, rotting teeth—especially at his age.
“True. Sorry I look like hell.” 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 down the rest of me, black tank top, khaki cargo pants and my new red shoes. My face warmed 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 there, only an arm’s reach away.
Chapter 2
“TRY IT,” ROGAN prompted.
I was way ahead of him. I’d already grabbed the key and found the small keyhole on my shackle, my heart drumming loud in my ears.
I frowned when it didn’t fit. I tried again. Why didn’t it fit?
I looked over at Rogan, who stared at me with a deep frown.
Something sparkled next to him, and I pointed at it. Another key. He grabbed it and tried his lock.
Nothing.
I heard a whirring and looked up toward the sound. At the top of the far wall to the left near the ceiling, a small shutter had opened and what looked like a security camera—only more modern, very sleek and silver—emerged.
“What is that?” I asked.
He looked up at it grimly. “Must be show time.”
I clenched the key so tightly that I knew it would leave an impression on my fingertips. “Why would they be recording 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. “I’m going to take a guess here 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 nearly eighteen-year-old murderer smirked at me again. “Try to pay attention, 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 and then grimaced as if the wound on his shoulder caused him massive pain. “We can do that, too, if you like, 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 always gave to guys 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, boys 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’d developed a good body and a nice face that boys—and men—seemed to find attractive. I played them, and then I took their wallets when they weren’t looking.
So sue me. But not one of them had gotten in my pants yet.
This boy 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. Chest out. Stomach sucked in. I raised an eyebrow and forced a smile to my lips. “Why don’t you throw me your key first?”
Not too much. Let’s not be obvious here, okay?
He studied me. 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 a detention hall I’d heard was worse than anything I could imagine—and with his record, I doubted he’d been in a coed wing. He had to be horny as hell by now, right? I could work with that. He should be putty in my hands.
Dirty, murdering putty. With nice eyes and—I hated to admit it—a sexy smile. An unusual combination, to say the least.
He licked his lips. “Oh, you’re good. If I didn’t feel like my arm was about to fall off, you might have me, but pain does help me 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 give me mine?”
“You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Give me one good reason why I should.”
He stared at me and then laughed that short, humorless laugh. “I’m coming up blank here.”
“Then I guess we’re both out of luck.”
“I guess so.” An unpleasant smile twisted his mouth, then he closed his eyes, and pain shadowed his face.
Damn. 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 a trick. Maybe he was acting like he was hurt. After all, that camera had just appeared out of nowhere. What had he said a minute ago? Show time?
The camera whirred again as it changed direction 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, 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.
“60...” it announced. “59...58...57...”
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.”
“52...51...50...”
“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!”
My stomach dropped. “What do you mean, die? How do you know that?”
“There’s no time to explain. I know