Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

But that’s not what he said. He looked at the gauze, then looked at me, then shook his head with an expression that looked a little like disgust and told me to lie on my side.

He scooted up very close to me on one of the doctor stools, my face in his lap. It was a weird position to be in. Clinical, I guess. But… I did have sex with this guy. And two other guys at the same time. So… not that clinical.

He wore gloves, but I could feel the heat of his skin against my cheek as he worked. The needle turned out to be so sharp, I didn’t really feel it. So that was good. But I could feel the suture sliding through my skin and that was gross.

It was only three stitches, and once Maart got started he was quick and efficient. Silent too. I expected a lecture from him, warning me not to try that bullshit again, or something along those lines. He said, I am ajarn here. And I am no martial arts expert, but I have read enough Ring of Fire magazines to know that means the person in charge of the training camp.

But he didn’t say anything until he started giving me instructions. “Try not to spit.” He paused and narrowed his eyes at me. “This should stop the bleeding, but it’s gonna swell. Good you’re a mute. Shouldn’t affect you at all.” He paused again, waiting for a reaction.

I considered my options in that moment.

Maart has power here. He’s not Cort, and from what I can tell, Cort is the actual one in charge. But they came from somewhere. These kids don’t live here, this is just… what? Some kind of retreat, maybe? A breakout session. Or something. It’s temporary, that’s my point.

So Maart runs this place because Cort, for whatever reason, is silent here. Sort of. The rules these people live by are murky and seem rather variable if you ask me. But Cort is the champion, right? They serve at his pleasure. Maart is a manager. Like Lazar’s top assistants. I didn’t have to listen to them. Not technically. But it was very easy for them to make my life miserable if I didn’t.

Maart is Cort’s top assistant. Rainer too, but Rainer doesn’t seem to care about power, and Maart does.

I bowed my head a little in submission. I didn’t want to work in the kitchen. I mean, I don’t mind cooking or the other stuff that comes with it, because I have the illusion of being in control of something. But we only eat twice a day. What about the eight hours in between?

Maart seriously thought I should just sit in the kitchen and do nothing? That’s dumb. I had to take a stand to get my point across.

But now it was time to submit and beg. I lifted my eyes up, head still bowed, and begged.

He recognized this move immediately and sighed, blowing out a long breath that indicated he was tired of me. But tired is OK. It was when they got bored of you that you have to worry.

“Anya, we are not playing. We’re here to save these kids. They will all have to fight the way we did when we were that age. And the Rock is a place where they truly advance. This is a proven technique. Thirty percent of our kids will live to see the age of ten. Five percent make it all the way to the Ring. And as pathetic as that sounds, we are the number one camp in the fucking world with this record. And now you’re here, fucking up our good thing, and these kids will be the ones to pay for that, not you.”

I lowered my eyes again. And this time my submission was real.

He placed a finger under my chin and lifted my head back up. “If I let you train with us, you follow the rules.”

I was nodding before I could stop myself.

“You do exactly what you’re told.”

I nodded again.

“And you still have to cook and clean the kitchen, do you understand me? Because someone has to do it and in four months Irina will be fighting for her life. She needs this time. You don’t. You have no idea what it’s like to be a camp kid. And I get it, OK? Slave kids don’t have it easy. But you have never felt the fear of walking into a ring knowing your opponent has been told to kill you in any way possible. No rules. No holds barred. Only one of you gets out alive. So you will cook and you will clean and maybe, if Irina wins, you can tell yourself you had a part in that.”

And that was all he said. After that he took me out to Cort and Cort paired me up with a tall, skinny, dark-skinned boy who looked like he was maybe eight, but was probably the same age as the others in Cort’s group, which was maybe six, and he was just tall for his age. I learned, through Maart’s nagging shouts from across the platform, that his name was Jafari. And he was going to be fighting soon for real, so he was super focused on kicking my ass.