Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

But I can’t afford to like him. Even if he turns out to be as nice on the inside as he looks on the outside.

I can’t afford to like anyone except Bexxie.

She is the only one I ever trusted. She is the only one who has had my back since the day she came to live with us. She is wise far, far beyond her nine years.

She is a survivor.

And now I have to leave her behind.

I sigh, heavy with sudden sadness, and look past Rainer. Past all of them like they are unseen ghosts.

Because this is over now. Nothing will ever be the same again and not even Rainer’s bright green eyes can change that. So why bother looking at them?

Beauty is a trick. That’s something I learned young. And all three of these men are far too beautiful to be anything but evil.

“Well, she’s going to be a barrel of fun tonight,” Maart says dryly.

Then they are pushing each other the way boys do, and not grown men. Cort is grinning and Maart is laughing as Rainer forces us all through the door.

The walk to the reception hall is long, but passes quickly. I know from watching Cort for the last hour that he is hurting. And he’s drunk and on drugs right now so everything about this walk should make him slow. But it doesn’t.

I hear just one tiny hiss when we need to brush past people in the hallway and a crew member’s arm swipes the side of his bare ribcage. But aside from that, you’d never know he was in a fight to the death and had his neck cut open two hours ago.

He walks super-fast. He jogs up the steps. He never once wobbles or even breathes hard.

Either he is the definition of fitness and control, or he’s so used to the pain, he’s figured out how to get past it.

Or maybe he’s all of that?

I begin to wonder about his life. Where he grew up—no. How he grew up. That’s much more important than where. Who took care of him as a child? Where did Maart and Rainer come from? And that little boy? Who is Evard? One of his trainees? Evard wasn’t allowed to watch the fight, but there he is, waiting for us outside the reception hall entrance. Two of those mercenaries stand on either side of him like he’s under their charge.

The smile he beams at Cort is uncontainable. And his eyes are filled with love even though he says nothing when Rainer hands him the Lectra bottle. Like he knows his place in this entourage.

But then he spots me and smiles. “Hi, Anya. Bexxie wanted me to tell you not to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Who the fuck is Bexxie?” Maart asks. All three of them are looking at me.

“Her little sister,” the boy says. “She found me and we watched the fight together.”

Well, that figures. That’s totally something Bexxie would do.

Cort signs something to Maart and Maart looks at me. “Later. He says you can see your sister later.”

Then Cort looks at me. Maybe expecting me to be grateful? I’m not sure. But this tiny sign of humanity isn’t enough to make me react. Not even close.

“All right, you ready?” Maart asks Cort, pulling his attention back to the business at hand, which is the reception.

Cort nods.

“Then let’s go.”

The mercenaries open the wide double doors like we’re royalty.

And I guess we are. For tonight, anyway. He did win the fight. My father does not get a controlling interest in this ship and Cort’s father maintains his status.

All because of Sick Heart.

That is no small thing.

There are at least a hundred people in the room when we enter and they all begin to applaud. Not the barely-polite applause they managed outside, but a roaring, thundering applause that even comes with a few whistles and shouts.

And that makes me tired.

I’m so tired of the show.

So tired of the lies.

So tired of this life.

Why do I keep going?

That’s the Lectra talking, Anya. You drank too much already and your night has barely started.

And that’s how I get through the Lectra intoxication every time they give it to me. I talk to myself and no one else.

So this night should be so much fun.

I drift away in my approaching Lectra stupor, unable to even pretend to care what’s happening around me. The little boy takes my hand and keeps hold of it. But I don’t look at him. I don’t look at anyone.

That’s the Lectra taking over too.

It makes me want to float away. Just give in. And I will. Not yet, but soon.

The boy tugs my arm and I look down at him. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We’re not staying here long. Cort hates parties. And we have better things to do than hang with these people. Here. Take a sip. It will make it better.”