Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

He knows I’m not going to hit him today. Not on a fight day. I will have enough bruises when I step off the platform tonight. I don’t need any extras going in.

“You do not want that bottle. Do you hear me?”

I want that bottle. And he knows it. That’s why he feels the need to repeat himself.

“Fuck.” He sighs, then opens the door with a bang. “Oh, hey!”

I am not in the mood for one of his charismatic long-winded speeches to explain my actions, so I just push him out of the way and enter the reception hall.

My eyes take in the massive room and… well, well, well. There she is. The girl from the window.

Anya, Lazar called her.

She is young. Much younger than me. Maybe eighteen. But probably not.

I know how these people work. I know their sick hearts better than I know my own.

But she is very pretty. Slender and willowly, like a ballerina. But on the small side. Fragile and strong in the same breath. Her hair is light blonde, very straight at the moment, and long. Her fair skin and soft features tell me she is not actually related to Lazar. There is no resemblance whatsoever. He calls her ‘daughter’ in the most derogatory way possible. Same way my father calls me ‘son.’

The other little girl is missing. They look enough alike that they might be real sisters, but again, I doubt it.

Anya. I say her name in my head. Memorizing the way it feels. Enjoying the hate it conjures up.

Not for her. I do not give a single fuck about her.

Lazar. He’s familiar in an unfamiliar way. And everything about that is ugly.

My gaze wanders over to the bar and I stride towards it with purpose. Everyone is silent as I reach for an electric-blue bottle on the top shelf.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I look at Pavo, then down at the bottle of Lectra in my hand, taking a moment to appreciate the almost-glowing light-blue color of the drug inside. It doesn’t look like water. You don’t need to be smart to know this is not colored water. It’s too thick. Viscous. Like an oil. But it’s not oily going down. It’s cold. Ice cold. It burns your throat, then your stomach, then—just a few minutes later—you float.

You float through worlds. You feel like Superman. You want to kill people and save the world in the same instant.

It’s indescribably seductive.

And addictive.

I look up and study Pavo for a moment, looking for the tell-tale signs of Lectra addiction, but he’s too far away to see the blue ring around the iris.

I’ll be close enough tonight to solve that little mystery.

“You can’t take that.” Pavo is still moaning. “It’s Bokori.”

It’s fucking tribute, is what it is. And we both know I will win this fight tonight, so even if Lazar didn’t say I could have it early, I could take it anyway.

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

“Listen.” Maart says this word calmly, still standing 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.”

Anya’s laugh almost startles me. It’s so… I dunno. So out of place here. So musical and happy that I almost ask her to do it again.

What?

I have to shake my head at that last thought.

Her veins might not have Lazar’s blood running through them, but she is the enemy’s daughter.

I lock eyes with her as I cross the room. She lets out a breath like she’s about to piss herself with fear. Good. You should fear me, little girl. Everyone should fear me.

Because inside my chest beats the sickest heart on this whole ship.

And if I win, none of the guests will rest tonight.

I don’t care how many fights they’ve been to—I don’t care how many ways they’ve seen it end—I will give them a show they will never forget.

I will haunt their sleep like a monster.

I will fill their hearts with terror.

I will ruin them… with the memory of me.

One floor down Rainer and Evard are waiting for us. Evard’s eyes go wide when he sees the bottle of bright blue liquid in my hand. I shove it into his chest and he wordlessly clutches it. I catch the mercs standing guard at the command room door eyeing the kid, probably imagining ten or twelve different ways they might steal that bottle from him.