Stalemate
Chapter Eight
The woman's eyebrows arch. "Excuse me, you have Riddick?"
Kyra tilts her chin up defiantly. "Did I stutter?"
The redhead regains her composure. "Of course not," she gives her a saccharine smile. "If you don't mind, we'd like evidence, please."
Shrugging, Kyra agrees, "One second." She walks back into the other room where Riddick is already ready. His thick arms are encased in metal chains and his goggles are gone.
"Stay quiet," She whispers, reminding him again. They can't afford any slip-ups. If this goes according to plan, the rest will, or should, fall in place.
He nods, holding out his chained hands, a soundless gesture to pull him back into the console room. She does so, carefully keeping her face a blank canvas.
"Here," she announces, roughly shoving him to the screen. He even stumbles a little, playing the helpless chained up killer they want.
The woman's dark gaze pursues him with obvious interest. "Richard B. Riddick. We've waited a long time for you. Years, in fact. Who knew all it took was a little girl to capture you?"
He doesn't answer and Kyra feels a spark of pride and relief. If it were her in this situation, she would have snapped at the first word.
Redhead's gaze shifts back to Kyra, her excitement retreating. "How soon can you get there?"
"A month," Kyra responds, "Six weeks tops."
Her nose twitches in distaste. "I suppose that will have to do. We'll be in touch." And with one last look at Riddick, the screen flickers blank.
They stand there for a moment, frozen icicles. It's started, Kyra thinks, and there's no turning back now. "We need rules," she announces firmly.
"Rules?" He echoes disdainfully.
She hates them as much as he does, but it'll keep her sane for the long, long month ahead. "One," she continues, "no killing each other." It's flippant, tossed out with an air of confidence, but she's deadly serious.
"Two, you stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours. Three, don't go into the control room—"
"This is my ship, kid," he tells her with a smoldering fury in his voice.
Kyra gives him a sarcastic look, crossing her arms.
"Well," he amends, "I stole it. Means I give the rules around here." He undoes the shackles as if proving a point.
'You're supposed to be my captive," Kyra counters, "You in the control room is kinda suspicious."
He looks testy and annoyed. His fists tighten then release more than once.
Watching this, Kyra ask pointedly, "Second thoughts?"
The look he gives her even with his eyes closed is enough of an answer. He is committed. To what exactly, she still has doubts about.
Reaching into his pocket, Riddick pulls out his goggles, placing them on. In that instant, any traces of vulnerability dissipate. He is his calm, deadly self again. A panther in a human jungle.
He walks out and Kyra follows, trailing after him with reluctance. He goes through the mess to where the rooms are located.
Kyra has only touched this area briefly when she went through to memorize the layout. Sleep seems foreign to her, and the concept of a bed and comforter is luxurious.
"Two rooms, one bathroom," he tells her. "I'll take the one on the right."
"Then I'll be here," Kyra says, gesturing to the other door. It is a redundant statement, but she can't think of anything else to say.
She wonders, once again, if she has lost her mind. This elaborate plan will kill them both, she thinks skeptically.
"Tired?" Riddick asks.
Kyra shrugs, unwilling to give him an answer. Don't want to lie, but can't be weak either. She hates these kinds of quandaries. They piss her off, make her want to punch something. Hard.
Riddick stares at her and then his hands falls to his door, grasping the doorknob. He opens it, nods once at her, and then shuts it. There is an audible sound of a lock and then silence.
Kyra returns to her bag before entering her room and closing the door. She doesn't bother changing her clothes, just curls up on the bed.
Her knees touch her chest, her chin on her knees. Inch by inch, she melts a little more of her stress away, leaving her boneless.
Inhale, exhale.
She's tired, exhausted and ready to sleep for hours. Yet she stays in her fetal position, eyes open. It's like she will never fall asleep again, and maybe she won't.
The only thing she can do is listen to the sound of her breathing and scrutinize every plan inside her head, searching for the faults she knows will always be there.