"Lies," Rogan hissed between clenched teeth.
I squeezed his arm.
"The day he was released, his parents picked him up from the hospital to bring him back to the Ellis mansion. Rogan was reportedly irate and acting erratically, and tried to take control of the car, which spun out of control and careened off the side of a cliff. His parents were killed instantly. Rogan's back was broken in three places, and he came very close to being a paraplegic from the accident."
My throat constricted, and I looked at him.
He blinked hard. "That's how they died. But it was a slippery road. They picked me up from private school that day." His eyes glimmered under the street lamp. "My father said the whole time that he should have just sent a driver, but my mother insisted they come and get me together." His Adam's apple jumped as he swallowed hard. 'Took me a year in the hospital to fully recover from that accident."
"After their deaths, Rogan became more despondent, and despite continuous help offered from his elder brother, he began a life that sank deeper into drugs and violence. Gareth Ellis is quoted as saying, 'Had I known what my brother would be capable of, I would have had him locked up in San Carolinas and the key thrown away before he could harm anyone else.'
"He refers, of course, to the night of terror when Rogan, high on Kerometh, broke into the city university dormitory and systematically went door to door in his path of heinous violence. A nineteen-year-old woman who escaped that night said she returned the next day to 'walls coated in blood,' the word bitch scrawled over the dorm room wall of every girl Rogan murdered that night, three of whom he also raped in his drug-clouded, misogynistic rampage. This was the same night four years ago when there was a city wide blackout that lasted three full days, and Rogan used that darkness to his advantage.
"He returned home that night drenched in the blood of his victims. His brother recalls Rogan laughing at what he'd just done. Sickened, Gareth knew there was no helping Rogan. He called the police and turned his brother in. In the ensuing years, Gareth has contributed over fifty million dollars to a fund in the murdered girls' names for the prevention of violent crimes against women, both here and Off world.
"After a quick and sensational trial, Rogan was sentenced and sent to Saradone Maximum-Security Prison. Eight months ago Rogan participated in an unwarrantedkilling spree that left two inmates dead and two injured. Rogan was sent to solitary confinement, where he has remained until being released to take part in The Countdown. "
Rogan shuddered. I wished I could block out the sound of the announcer's voice, shield Rogan from having to hear these horrible things being said about him, but the feed was directly through my implant and into my head, so there was nothing I could do but listen.
The other men continued to stand in place in the distance, one tapping the crowbar against the ground.
"Rogan has been unaware until now that two other Saradone inmates were also given the chance to be contestants on The Countdown, in a game that has run tandem to their own, and have also successfully completed four levels in this competition."
"No," he murmured. "Not possible."
"Mac Zebowitz and Kurtis Grimm were both convicted of first degree murder, as well as a laundry list of other crimes, including mob enforcement and Kerometh trafficking. They were the two men injured during Rogan's prison rampage, and it was their cellmates whom he murdered. They have sworn revenge against Rogan, and today they will have their chance.
"Level Five is an official death match. Only one pair shall go on to Level Six, the final level. Competitors, your countdown begins at twenty minutes. Kill or be killed. And to our subscribers … enjoy!"
At last it was silent except for the sound of my heart thudding loudly in my ears and the crowbar hitting the ground in the distance.
"Those men," I managed. "They're the ones who gave you that scar?"
He nodded. "I fought for my life against them and almost lost. I was damned lucky. I never thought I'd see them again."
I stared at the dark silhouettes. "So what do we do now?"
"I'm thinking."
"Think fast."
"Rogan!" one called out from a block away. "You're ours now. And you know what? Twenty minutes is a long time. We can play with you and your girlfriend lots before we cut your throats to win this level."
I didn't want to know the details of what he planned to do that would fill that time. I was willing to bet that it wasn't reminiscing about the good old days over a beer and a plate of nachos.
"How's that plan coming along?" I asked.
"Slower than I'd like." His voice shook. "Sorry, I… I'm not sure what to do."
I moved closer to him so I could feel the warmth of his body. I touched his face. "We're going to be okay, Rogan. We're going to make it."
He shook his head. "I don't know. I… I don't know if I can kill again."
I swallowed. "What are they waiting for?"
The crowbar tapped a steady tattoo on the street ahead, every five seconds without fail.
His hand closed around mine and squeezed tightly. "I won't let them hurt you, Kira."
I didn't hear the tap anymore. I watched the shadowy figures warily.
Suddenly, with a yell, both of the murderers started running toward us as fast as they could.
"Shit," Rogan breathed, and grabbed hold of my arm, spinning around. "Come on, we have to run. We have to run now!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
We ran past the shifted sewer grate cover and I snatched the crowbar off the ground. Rogan started toward a door to one of the surrounding buildings.
"They're all locked," I told him. My ankle cried in pain with every step. My hand was sweating, but Rogan clutched it tightly in his as if he didn't want to let go of me.
"I'm sorry for all of this, Kira," he said.
"I don't blame you."
"Yeah, well, you should. If I hadn't created the game in the first place-"
"Then I never would have met you."
He looked at me sideways and his lips actually quirked. "And that's a good thing?"
"Ask me again when we're finished running for our lives."
Because of my twisted ankle I wasn't running as fast as I could, and the men were gaining on us. Fast. I could hear them shouting from behind us, their heavy boots slapping against the road as they ran.
Rogan glanced over his shoulder at them. "I'll try to hold them off. You just hide."
"Bad plan."
"Why's that?"
'The ninety-foot rule? You go too far away and our heads will explode, remember?"
"Dammit."
"And besides, I'd rather not stand by and watch them beat the shit out of you."
He raised an eyebrow at me. "You assume they'd have the upper hand? I did kick their asses in prison."
"That was then and this is now. Besides, wouldn't want to tear your new outfit."
"Give me the crowbar," he said.
I decided not to argue, and handed it to him just as my already injured foot hit a piece of gravel. I stumbled, and Rogan caught me before I hit the ground. We didn't stop moving, but we slowed considerably as we turned the next corner. Another dark street with no cars. All concrete and cold stone and brick.
There was the shadow of something in the middle of the road ahead, though. Something much larger than a piece of gravel.
I picked it up, feeling the cold black metal in my hand.
A gun.
The show provided what we needed to finish a level. Just like the crowbar earlier. I stifled a feeling of gratitude toward whomever had left it there for us to find.
So, as I clutched the gun with both hands, Rogan at my back holding the crowbar, the men were on us. I saw their shadowy faces, the hiss of breath hitting the cold night air. They were also wearing the new black Countdown uniform. It looked much better on Rogan's tall, muscular frame than on their thick, oxlike bodies. They were grinning.
"That didn't take long at all," one of them said. He had
a shaved head and thick eyebrows that met between his eyes. "Damn, Rogan, she's even prettier up close. Almost prettier than you are."
I noticed that one held the crowbar while the other had a short-bladed knife. They walked in a slow circle around us, six feet away. Rogan and I were back-to-back as we turned, keeping an eye on the two murderers.
"Mac, I don't think he has anything to say to us," the other guy, Kurtis, said. His dark, stringy hair was long, practically to his ass, and only emphasized his receding hairline. He smiled, showing off a mouth that was missing a few teeth. "Is that right, Rogan? You got nothing to say?"
"Nothing immediately comes to mind," Rogan growled.
"Did you miss us?"
"No."
"We missed you the last eight months you were in solitary. We had big plans for when you got out."
"Yeah, I bet you did."
"Okay," I said out loud, trying to keep my teeth from chattering. My arms already ached from trying to hold the heavy gun steady. "Look, guys. We're all in this together. We don't have to fight one another. Maybe we can get out of this if we work together."
Mac laughed hard at that. So hard that he had to stop walking and put his hands on his knees to support himself. "That's priceless. Where did they find this bitch? I thought Sesame Street went off the air decades ago."
My jaw clenched. Okay, so much for trying to make friends with the enemy.
Kurtis eyed me slowly, from the toes of my combat boots, up my thigh-high black stockings, to the bare skin the ridiculous skirt showed off. It barely covered the thong underneath. He licked his lips.
"Long time since I had me a woman," he murmured. "I miss how they screamed for mercy while I fucked them."
Mac laughed. "How about I let you have her first? We got time."
"Lay one finger on her and you'll be spending the rest of the level searching the city for your severed cock." Rogan's voice held no humor.
"Don't be jealous, Rogan. We'll get to you, too."
To say this was a bad situation would be an understatement. The food I'd eaten in the reward room churned unpleasantly in the pit of my stomach.
"I don't mean to interrupt," I said. "But I do have a gun. See?" I waved it. "Why don't I shoot the both of you and we end this level right now?"
Kurtis was staring at me and absently rubbing the crotch of his pants. "Kira, right? Yeah, during a rest period the show let us tune in to you and Rogan getting to know each other a bit better earlier. You give great head, honey. Made me hard as a rock just watching."
I felt bile rise in the back of my throat at the thought of him watching us.
Mac's grin widened. "And your skin's so perfect. I can just imagine this knife sliding over your neck while I take you from behind."
"Shut up." Rogan's voice quaked. "Leave her alone."
The men's taunts were making my hands shake even more than they already were, but I tried to focus. I raised the gun a little and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the wall just over Mac's right shoulder. His eyes widened and he took a step backward.
"Didn't think I'd do it?" I snapped at him. "I'll do it. I'll shoot the both of you. I'm thinking it's no big loss for humanity."
"There are fifteen minutes remaining for this level of The Countdown."
"She's got some spirit to her," Kurtis commented. "That why you like her, Rogan? Does she remind you of the women you killed?"
'That was a lie," I said. "He's innocent."
"Is that why you spread your legs for him? Did he convince you he was wrongfully convicted?" Kurtis snorted. "Yeah, we're all innocent here, aren't we? That's why we're playing this game."
"Go to hell," Rogan growled.
"We're glad to be here," he said. "And we love to watch you, Kira. We were watching when Jonathan told you that Rogan killed your family."
I went cold inside. Of course there were cameras in the room with us then. There was no privacy in this game. Everything was fair game as entertainment for the subscribers. After all, if they tuned out, Gareth wouldn't be able to get his juice, would he?
Dammit. I needed to tell Rogan about that. He had to know his brother was trapped somewhere inside that thing and wasn't responsible for betraying him four years ago.
Kurtis lightly rubbed his blade along his chest, as if the act gave him pleasure. "See, the funny thing is that your convo with Jonathan made me remember something."
I looked at him. "Oh, yeah? And what's that?"
He had a grin on his ugly face. "Just before I went to prison seven years ago I'd been hired to kill a little girl with psi abilities."
My stomach turned at his words, but I kept my face blank. "Fascinating."
He laughed. "My employers hated psi freaks. So do I. They're a dark stain on humanity-a product of the plague. They singled out those they thought were of special interest and hired guys like me to take care of the problem." His expression darkened. "Your daddy put up a good fight trying to protect you. He knew it was only a matter of time before somebody came to get you-he knew what you were. He had tickets for your whole happy little family to go to Offworld later that week. Did you know that? He managed to take a hunk out of my leg with a big butcher knife. I wasn't going to kill him or your mother and sister, but I shot them all. Unfortunately your mama was still slightly alive after I'd finished with her, and she managed to call the police before she finally croaked. I had to bolt before I got to you, but I've remembered you all this time." He took a step closer and peered at me. "So, I'm curious. Can you read my mind, you psi bitch? Can you see into my soul like they said you could?"
I squeezed the trigger, and he jerked backward. Blood flowed from his shoulder wound, although it was barely noticeable against the black fabric that covered it in the darkness of night. But he was standing just under a street lamp and I could see I'd gotten him. Not good aim, though. I'd been shooting for his heart.
He yelled and clamped a hand to his shoulder, his face contorted in anger and pain.
Pure red rage filled my vision and pushed all other thoughts out of my head. "You're the one? You killed my family?"
"Kira …" Rogan said, still pressed up behind me. He was breathing hard. I felt the muscles in his back tense tighter than they were before.
"I'm going to kill you!" I yelled, and I aimed and squeezed off another shot at the murderer.
The chamber clicked empty. I pulled the trigger again and again, but there was nothing.
Only two men.
Only two bullets.
The show had given us just enough to kill them and nothing more.
"Dammit!" I threw the gun at Kurtis, who had slumped down to his knees, staring at the blood that gushed out from between his fingers. I heard Rogan's crowbar make contact with Mac's, a crash of metal against metal, and then a grunt of pain as Rogan managed to clobber Mac. He dragged me behind him as we began to run again as fast as we could, trying to put distance between us and the two injured murderers.
I was shaking with fury. He'd admitted what he'd done so freely, as if he were proud of it.
"I'm sorry that had to happen," Rogan said, his words pinched.
"Stop apologizing for everything," I yelled, directing my anger at him instead of the man behind us.
"Here." He stopped running in front of a door, and I skidded to a halt next to him. The streetlight was angled like a spotlight showing us the way. There was a chain across it, and he whacked it a few times with the crowbar until it broke. He tried the handle and it swung open. "Let's go inside."
"I'm sorry I yelled at you." My cheeks were wet with tears of frustration and rage. I wasn't sad; there was no time for that. I'd finished being sad a long time ago, and now there was only anger left behind.
"How about neither one of us apologizes anymore." He squeezed my hand. "At least not to each other, okay?"
I nodded shakily. "It's a deal."
We went into the building and he shut the door behind us. Then I felt his arms around me, hugging me against him while I
sobbed against his shoulder. He slid his hands through my hair.
"I'm right here with you. I'm not going anywhere."
I finally stopped crying and nodded against his shoulder. There wasn't much light inside, only some from a bare bulb dangling from the ceiling, but it was enough to see we were in a small foyer that led to a staircase. Rogan moved toward the door and slid the lock across about two seconds before there was a loud, resounding bang on it from the other side.
"We know you're in there!" Mac yelled.
Bang.
"Come out, you little bitch!" Kurtis bellowed louder, but there was a tense, pained quality to his voice. Getting a bullet in the shoulder would do that.
I exchanged a look with Rogan.
"He doesn't sound too happy," Rogan said.
I swallowed and tried to force myself to calm down, to breathe slower, or I was going to hyperventilate. "He killed my family."
Rogan nodded grimly. "I'm so sorry, Kira." He closed the distance between us again and touched my face gently. "I wish I could take your pain away."
I looked up into his eyes. "Right back at you."
There was a creak as the door gave a little with the last pounding.
"We'd better move," Rogan suggested firmly.
"And where do you suggest we go?"
He eyed the stairs. "Looks like we only have two options: through those assholes out there, or up the stairs."
"Not much of a choice."
"I know."
I swallowed. "I vote stairs."
"Good choice."
Rogan started taking the stairs two at a time until he remembered that I was hobbling around on an injured ankle and he thundered back down to my side. He put an arm around my waist and helped support me as we went up flight after flight of stairs. I was in pretty good shape, but by the time we got to the top of twenty-five flights, I was panting, my heart slamming inside my chest.
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