Upstairs, the door on the right. At the end of the hallway.

Jordan walked in and locked the door behind her. She never obeyed the rules, but this seemed to be the epitome of situations where it was crucial to follow every single rule.

Then again, she had never been put in this type of situation before, so she was really just feeling everything out.

It was quiet for a moment. The room was pitch-black, nothing visible to Jordan at all. The only reason she was able to find the lock was because her hand was already on the doorknob.

She wasn't sure what to do next. She felt like she was going to knock something over if she took a step forward, but she wasn't sure if there was a light switch she was supposed to flip on. There was no letter with instructions for her to follow in this room.

Finally, she spoke.

"Hello?" Her voice sounded strange, coming from the sole person in the room. It almost echoed, but not to the point that she expected it to—there were clearly other objects in the room, but she wasn't able to see them.

Until the light flipped on.

Exactly fifteen seconds after she spoke, the light came on—a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling like something out of a horror film. The kind where the stupid white person went into the haunted house of their own free will.

Exactly like Jordan was doing at that very moment. Except instead of simply being in the haunted house, she had locked herself inside of a room in the haunted house...by herself.

Jordan let out a soft gasp, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as she looked around. The walls were covered from ceiling to floor in pictures of her. But the problem was that she wasn't alone in the pictures: she was with Dean.

Dean.

Jordan Conrad hadn't thought about Dean Summers in almost three years. But she remembered their last meeting quite well; better than she wanted to admit.

It still haunted her when she closed her eyes at night.

***

"You're how old?" Jordan shook her head, her eyes wide with disbelief. "You're lying."

"No, lying was what I was doing before." Dean smirked, shaking his head at the small high school freshman standing in front of him. "I'm coming clean now."

Jordan shook her head again. She had been dating this guy for almost five months, in secret, since he was a bit older than her...but she had thought the age difference was three years. He had told her that he was a senior at Barnum Prep's rival high school. And now he was telling her that he was...

"Twenty-seven." Jordan whispered under her breath, "You're twenty-seven."

Dean nodded.

"Had you fooled, didn't I?"

Jordan was confused out of her mind. Why did he seem so...happy about this? He was the one who had broken the law, he was the one who could get thrown in jail. A thirteen-year age difference wasn't something to smirk about.

"You could be thrown in prison for this, Dean—"

"But I won't be." He opened his jacket up in the way Jordan had seen police officers do on television, the detectives that flashed their badges and said "NYPD" with all the authority they could muster. Dean's jacket, to Jordan's immediate dismay, displayed a similar badge.

"I'm a cop, Jordan. I'm not going to be locked up for having a little fun with a high schooler."

"You will if I file a report." Jordan countered, shaking her head in disgust as she recalled everything that had happened between the two. She was fourteen years old, this man was almost twice her age. She felt like throwing up just thinking about it.

Dean grabbed Jordan's arm in his hand and yanked her towards him until her face was inches from his. She could smell the tobacco on his breath—a terrible habit that she had always thought odd for a high schooler to be so addicted to.

It wasn't quite as odd anymore.

"Get off of me." Jordan ordered, trying her hardest to get out of his grip, "Let go or I'll call the police."

"I am the police, Jordan." Dean grinned, "And if you file a report against me, or tell anyone about the...law-breaking...we participated in? I'll kill you."

Jordan's eyes grew wide as she looked up at him, shaking her head slightly.

"You wouldn't kill me over something like this."

"Oh, but I would." Dean replied, "I've spent my whole life working to become a police officer, and I'm not going to have my freedom taken away because some high school freshman got a fake ID at a bar and decided to talk me up. It's not my fault this all happened, you know. The blame rests solely on you."

Jordan swallowed loudly, her throat dry and her voice coming out hoarse.

"I didn't think—"

"Save it." Dean shrugged, "This works out fine for me either way. So what do you say, Jordan? Your life or my imprisonment?"

Jordan shook her head, her eyes closed as if she thought she could open them and wake up from whatever terrible dream this had to be.

"Well?" Dean asked, shaking her.

"My life." Jordan whispered, "My life."

***

"You have another decision to make."

Jordan almost jumped out of her skin when the voice spoke seemingly from the walls surrounding her—a robotic voice, like the GPS that had unfortunately led them to this hellhole.

"Excuse me?" She asked, shaking her head to rid it of the memories of Dean, "Who are you?" But the memories wouldn't leave as she looked around, looking at every inch of every wall plastered with photos of her and the disgusting man who lied to her and then threatened her very life.

"If you don't do as I ask, you'll end up dead at the hands of this man."

Jordan felt her heart leap into her throat as she shook her head, "Dean?"

"I'm not Dean, you moron." The voice snapped, and Jordan stepped back slightly. "But if you don't do as I say, then I'll turn Dean in. And he'll kill you."

Jordan shook her head.

"I'll do whatever you want. Please don't turn Dean in, please don't do anything—"

"Stop talking and start listening." The voice ordered. "I have a job for you."

Jordan nodded.

"Anything."

"Turn around."

Jordan obeyed, turning around to see another light flip on, in the back corner of the room just to the right of the door. There was a small table wedged into that corner, a small table with only one thing on it. Jordan took a few steps forward until she could see it clearly and she let out a small gasp: it was a handgun.

"Is it—"

"Loaded? Yes. I did the hard part for you." The voice answered, "Pick up the gun."

Jordan nodded, her hands shaking as she walked forward until she held the gun in her hands. She had never held one before...she didn't even think she had ever seen one before. Not in real life. She used to watch action movies with her father when she was younger, but no more. They had started to scare her.

And now, they seemed all too realistic. Except instead of a brave heroine, she felt like a victim in a horror movie.

"Are you ready for your task?"

Jordan nodded.

"I am."

"Remember the consequences if you do not oblige."

"I said I was ready." Jordan snapped, her hands starting to shake more until she almost dropped the gun altogether. "Give me my task."

"You have 48 hours."

Jordan raised her eyebrows.

"48 hours to what?"

The voice was silent for a moment before words rang out that would remain in Jordan's conscious for weeks to come.

"48 hours to kill Michael Hadden."

A/N: Oh snap. Oh snap. It's getting real.

ALSO! Make sure to check out Killer Instinct on Radish Fiction! Live Chats will be hosted through Radish every day from 11 AM-2 PM MST, after each update. Chapter 19 was updated today, so you can chat with other readers through the app. After the Radish updates catch up to Wattpad, I will begin updating two chapters ahead on Radish, so you'll get new updates before Wattpad through Radish! So check out @kathpowell on the app now!

Let me know your thoughts on the chapter! Lindsey is next.

-Katherine