Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

I love her. I really do. She is the very best thing about my life. But Pavo is just like any other fighter in the Ring of Fire circuit.

Ruthless.

Violent.

Intolerant.

Insane.

He grabs her by the hair and drags her through the open door. My mind follows the sound of their feet stomping on the metal stairs as they descend. Then Bexxie is screaming and wailing and I know she is putting up a fight.

I let out a long sigh and sit back down on the couch.

Less than a minute later Pavo is back. He slams the door closed as he enters and the banging echoes off the high ceiling of the large room. “She is a stupid little whore. Stupid. Fucking. Whore.”

I don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say anyway. Pavo will rant no matter what I do. And even though I’m ninety-nine percent sure that Father won’t beat Bexxie over this, it still makes me mad that Pavo caused a scene.

I don’t like scenes. I like calm.

“You are mine, Anya. You know that, right? When I win tonight, you will be mine. That’s my prize. Your father can have control over this stupid ship. I don’t want it. I will take you back to Thailand and you will never see that stupid bitch of a sister again. Do you hear me?”

Of course I hear him. He’s yelling in a reception hall that echoes.

The door bangs open again and both Pavo and I startle and turn.

“Oh, hey,” the man says with a broad smile. He’s one of Cort’s friends. The inner circle entourage people. Maart, if I remember his name correctly from the Ring of Fire article.

But then he’s pushed out of the way by…

I stop breathing.

Cort van Breda’s steel-gray eyes find mine, but he looks away, searching the room. Then, without comment, he turns towards the bar at the far end and starts walking that way.

Pavo and I are silent as Cort reaches for a bottle of electric-blue liquid on the top shelf. But then Pavo snaps out of it. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t take that. It is Bokori.”

He’s referring to the bottle of Lectra in Cort’s hand. And Pavo is right. Cort is insane if he thinks he can just walk in here and steal a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of Lectra. Since Cort’s father is the host tonight, the rest of the families have to bring gifts. This bottle is the Bokori family party favor. It goes to the winner. And clearly, there is no winner yet so…

“Did you hear what I just said?” Pavo is crossing the room. “You can’t fucking take that!”

“Listen,” Maart says calmly from his position by the door. “You can argue with him all you want, but he’s taking the fuckin’ bottle. If you want to have your fight, right here, right now, well, I’m pretty sure that’s not gonna go over well with the hundred and fifty VIP’s currently placing bets in the topside mess hall. So you should maybe shut the fuck up and back off before he and I kill you and put an end to this night before it starts.”

My mouth makes a little o shape. And then I laugh. I can’t help it. This is the first truly funny thing I’ve witnessed in a very long time.

Pavo is speechless. First, my bratty nine-year-old sister yanks his chain. Now, his current mortal enemy is stealing something precious—something he very much thinks is his—and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Cort turns and heads back towards his friend at the door. But his eyes narrow down into slits as he passes me. I meet his gaze and realize… he is everything they say about him.

Ruthless.

Violent.

Intolerant.

Insane.

Just like every other fighter in the Ring of Fire.

But I drop my eyes quickly and then get a good, long look at those skulls on his body.

This is the moment when I believe the rumors.

This is the moment when his reputation sinks in.

This is the moment I know in my heart he is sick.

He has won thirty-five Ring of Fire death matches.

This does not include all the people he fought on his way up as a child.

Because there are a lot more than thirty-five skulls on his body.

A lot more.

When I look up again his steel-gray eyes find mine.

And I feel like his next victim.

CHAPTER TWO - CORT

Hot.

Everything about this day is just fuckin’ hot. So before I even get out of the helicopter, I take my shirt off and throw it aside.

We exit, Maart first, so he can speak for me. His loose button-down shirt flaps in the vortex of wind created by the propellers. His slicked-back hair barely moves, and even though this day will turn into something shitty and dark no matter how it ends, I take a moment to internally grin as I admire Maart’s commitment to his fucking hair.