Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

They are the prize of a prize. Because when I win, I have to breed with them before the night is over. ‘Them’ meaning the girls put up as a prize. Like Anya. Udulf wants my bloodline and it’s not like I’ll be settling down and raising a little family for the Ring of Fire breeding program.

He takes it from me.

He take everything from me.

I don’t know how many of those girls have gotten pregnant during the post-fight, Lectra-induced sex party. At least two, obviously. So that’s one way you get born into our world. Breeding.

You can be kidnapped by traffickers, you can be sold by your parents, you can come from foster care, or an emergency-relief tent in some third-world country. So that fantasy of mine—that I was someone else, that I am someone else… it’s not really wrong.

I got here somehow.

And even though I’ve been doing my best to not think about who I really am and where I really came from, it’s always been there. In the back of my mind.

I am Udulf’s son.

And he threw me away. Probably to save himself somehow.

Just like I will throw Ainsey away to save myself.

Anya gets to her feet and leans out over the edge of the helipad. I grab her leg out of instinct. This makes her look down at me and sign, Just looking.

Seventeen languages. That’s pretty fucking crazy. No wonder Lazar kept her. I’m sure the people he sent her to assumed she could read and write. She’s so pretty. These sick fucks like to keep the pretty ones as pets. Treat them like daughters. Which is a whole other level of sick evil.

The daughters don’t go to school, of course. They hire tutors for them. But they don’t really teach them anything of consequence. They learn a little math, they learn a little reading, they might paint or practice an instrument. But they do not teach the daughters foreign languages.

It’s not like most people are even capable of learning seventeen languages. So she’s a genius. And that’s the real reason Lazar kept her all these years. She’s too smart to let go. Too smart to even kill.

So why did he put her up as sacrifice for this fight?

Anya said, If you won, I died and Udulf’s secrets went with me. And if Pavo won, you died and Lazar’s secrets went with you.

This is what doesn’t make sense to me. What secrets? And why get rid of her now?

Anya sighs. Then she starts backing up, her eyes trained on the horizon.

“What are you doing?”

She smiles, but doesn’t look at me. I get to my feet. “Anya. What are you doing?”

She points to the sea, then looks me in the eyes. And in that moment, I know exactly what she’s going to do.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” I step in front of her. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer me. Just puts her hand out, palm up.

I look over at the edge. The steel beam is in the way. But it’s a short leap over. Nothing insurmountable. I’ve jumped off this platform enough times to know that, at least.

Then I look back at Anya, take her hand, and the next thing I know, we’re running.

And then… we’re flying.

Falling. Plunging. Deep and quick—and then slow as the ocean suffocates us.

I push pause on life and just… open my eyes.

And she is all I see.

One beautiful blonde girl. Her perfect skin marred now with the scars of her fights. Her eyes open as well. And even though this water is not the kind you find near the shore—it’s not the kind that glows turquoise in the sun, it’s mostly dark green, cloudy and more like a lake today—even so, the blue of her eyes is so striking, I forget that I need to breathe.

Her hair floats around her face like she is a creature of this sea. A dark, dangerous creature of this sea that makes you want to give up everything and take your chances trying to tame her.

My sick heart changes in this moment. It doesn’t quite mend. But the hole that once held the missing piece might… shrink a little.

Then we are rising again, our bodies naturally buoyant, seeking the air we need to live.

And when we crash through the surface together, I realize we’re still holding hands.

She laughs. A real laugh. Even better than that first one I heard back on the ship before fight night.

She drops my hand and I almost reach for her again, missing her grip immediately, desperately wanting to hold on to her.

She wipes her eyes, still smiling, still laughing, spinning around as we tread the choppy water of a tantrum-throwing sea. Then she turns back to me, her face suddenly serious, and she says, “Don’t ask me again. Don’t ever ask me again.”

I’m so stunned by her words—and so enthralled with her sweetness of her voice—I don’t say anything back. I just float in front of her. Afraid I’ll spook her and the magic of this moment will disappear.