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 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.
“35...34...33...”
I stared blindly around at the metal-walled room. Who would want to kill us? It didn’t make any sense. None of this made any sense.
Rogan swore so loudly it hurt my ears over the alarm and countdown.
“Fine!” he yelled. “Take it! You go first.”
He threw his key at me, and it landed by my feet. Without thinking twice I grabbed it and worked it into my lock. The shackles popped open and I scrambled to stand up.
Just as my bindings unlocked, a door to my left swung open into more darkness. I eyed it before I took a step toward it.
“Wait—” Rogan held a hand out to me. “What about our deal?”
I hesitated. He was a murderer bound for maximum security prison the second he turned eighteen. I should leave him here, wherever here was.
“19...18...17...”
“Forget it. Leave me. Whatever.” He slumped against the wall and looked away, his chest heaving with each labored breath. He wasn’t going to beg.
He’d given up just like that?
He thought he was going to die—honestly, truly die—when the countdown ended. I’d seen it in his eyes. You couldn’t fake that. Whether it was true or not didn’t matter. He believed it.
I swore under my breath and ran back to grab my key off the ground. I sank down beside him and worked the key into his lock. It snapped open. I quickly got to my feet and turned to go, glancing over my shoulder at him. He was struggling to get to his feet. It was the shoulder wound—it slowed him down. He could barely walk.
“10...9...8...”
I turned back and grabbed him around the waist, practically pulling him through the room with me. He leaned heavily against me.
“4...3...2...1.”
We were through the door on the last count and it slammed shut behind us with a deafening, metallic crunch that shook the ground.
Rogan groaned and collapsed to his knees. I frowned and reached toward him to touch his shoulder to find it was knotted with tension.
“You’re seriously hurt.”
He
