Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

The boys don’t say anything, just offload their boxes and leave.

Maart picks up two of the boxes and points to a third. “Pick that up and follow me.” He goes into the kitchen, opens the door to the empty pantry, and drops the boxes. “Sort it out. Dehydrated and powdered protein goes on this side, carbs over there.” He points to the shelves. “Pile the sacks of oranges on the floor in that corner where it stays cool. And anything else you find in these boxes, goes in there.” He points to a cupboard with a lock on it. Opens it up to show me a smaller pantry.

Then he turns to the freezer and begins messing with a control panel on the outside. Something rumbles over our heads and then the panels lights up and begins beeping. I swear, I stand there open-mouthed, just picturing the things that will go into the freezer.

“It’s going to take about twenty-four hours for this thing to get to the right temperature, but everything is packed in dry ice. So just put all the boxes marked ‘frozen’ in here and you can sort that shit out tomorrow. Make sure you check the pantry items for holes in the bags. We can’t afford for any of this food to go bad. We have three fucking months on this damn Rock and we won’t get a resupply.”

I am momentarily stunned by that revelation. Three months?

“Anya!” Maart snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Get to work. I’ll be back tonight when you’re done and show you how to make dinner.”

Then he turns and walks away.

Thank God. Maart is an asshole. But I don’t actually mind the job. At least I’m busy. And the sight of all the food I unpack is exciting. The boys appear over and over again, dropping the heavy boxes of dried and frozen meats, rice, pasta, frozen French fries, potatoes, yams, dried fruits, and even a few boxes of treats. Cookies, some chocolate, and there are three bottles of Lectra.

Three hundred thousand dollars’ worth of the Blue Devil.

I sigh just picturing my bowl of food tonight. Being the cook will be awesome. I’m going to make something amazing. There is some beef in there. I have spent the last thirty days eating just enough dehydrated chicken and nasty fish to get by and now the pantry will be full.

I don’t even know what time of day it is when Maart comes back because there are no windows in this building, I just know it’s been hours. I ran out of room on the pantry shelves a long time ago, but I have gone through all the boxes to check the contents, just to make sure none of the vacuum-sealed bags have any holes in them the way Maart asked. And they are now stacked neatly and precisely labeled on the far wall of the kitchen.

He pauses in the door to the pantry and looks it over. “Nice.” Then he turns and looks at my stack on the other wall, nodding his head. His eyes meet mine. “Good job. Now…” He sighs, like it’s been a long day. “We’ve got twenty hungry kids out there who need to eat. Plus me, Rainer, Cort, and you. So here’s how it goes.” He walks into the pantry, picks up a bag of dehydrated chicken cubes, and slaps it down on the stainless-steel counter. “You will rehydrate ten cups of chicken and make twenty-five cups of rice.”

What? Oh, hell no. I am not eating rehydrated chicken and rice tonight. Is he crazy? I’m throwing those frozen hamburger patties on the grill and making bags and bags of French fries tonight.

He laughs. And when I look at him, I realize he was probably reading my mind. “Anya.” His voice is low, not angry or stressed now, the way it was earlier. “I’m only going to say this once. We are on strict rations and these kids have a very specific diet. They will each get a bowl with one cup of rice and one quarter cup of chicken cubes. Do you understand me? You will not touch anything else in the pantry or the freezer without my permission. You will not be snacking on cookies tonight. There will be no steak dinner under the stars. For the next thirty days dinner is nothing but rice and chicken. Breakfast is one cup of cooked powdered eggs, half a cup of oatmeal, and an orange. There is no lunch. Got it?”

I don’t react, but I die a little inside.

Maart pats my shoulder. “I get it. I don’t know what the hell you and Cort have been eating out here for the past month, but I do know it wasn’t enough for two. But if I catch you eating any food that the rest of us don’t get, I will chop your fucking fingers off. Understand me, Anya?”