Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

The first clue that this day is not going to go the way we planned is the silence.

The second clue is the stillness.

All our warriors are here. On my left I can see Cintia in the first of three large, covered training rings. She is bending down, whispering to Ainsey as we walk by. There are a few other kids with them, sitting on the mats in the background.

Sissy is in the second ring with our four older fighters—two sixteen-year-old boys, a sixteen-year-old girl, and a seventeen-year old boy who will be going to the Ring of Fire in the next couple months. They are what’s left of my older kids. The ones who no longer go out to the Rock with us because they are past that.

The only ones to survive into adulthood.

No one is in the third ring, but when I look to my right, I see Ling leaning up against the porch of the small house she shares with Cintia and Sissy. The rest of the little kids—the ones not with Cintia—are sitting on the steps of the huts lining that side of the camp. Just watching us.

Rainer is the one who finally speaks as we make our way up the path towards the main house. “What the fuck?”

None of us answer him. It’s pretty obvious what’s happening because even from a distance of a hundred yards, I can count three of Udulf’s mercenary bodyguards standing on the large front porch of our house.

“He’s here,” I say, more to myself than my friends.

“Yep,” Anya breathes. “He’s here all right.”

“What are we gonna do?” Rainer asks.

“What do you mean what are we gonna do?” I answer.

“I mean, what the fuck are we gonna do? We’re not going through with this. Tell me we’re not going through with this.”

“Shut up, Rainer,” Maart growls. “Just… shut the fuck up.”

It’s a weird response from Maart. He doesn’t normally talk to Rainer that way, but today is not any ordinary day. We are free men. I think. And we’re about to walk away from this camp with a brand-new life.

It’s stressful. Even cold-hearted Maart feels stress. So I let it go.

We walk the rest of the way in silence. We climb the porch steps in silence. We enter the house in silence.

Udulf turns from the spread of food and drink laid out on the dining room table, a look of happy surprise on his face when he sees us. “Ah. There they are!”

Yeah. There is definitely something going on here. And we’re in the dark about all of it.

“Cort! My son!” He walks over to me and claps me on the shoulder. “You look… fabulous. Fabulous,” he repeats. “You always did thrive in solitude.”

I’d like to point out that I wasn’t alone on the Rock, not for one fucking second, but his words are just dressing. Just frosting. Just… fluffy air to fill the empty space in this room.

“And Anya.” He moves on to her, taking her hand in his, even though she doesn’t offer it, and bringing the tips of her fingers to his lips. He kisses them. Licks them. She tries to pull her hand back, but he doesn’t let go. So she gives in.

It’s a lewd gesture. One of disrespect. One that pretty much calls Anya a whore, in my opinion. He leers at her, looking her up and down like she is a sexual thing.

This is a tell with Udulf. We are playing some sort of game. Because Udulf only has sex with children. In his perverted, sick, twisted version of the world, Anya is much too old to sexually excite him.

He lets go of her hand, bypasses Rainer completely, and his gaze lands on Maart. Udulf laughs. “Well. Here you are. Are you still in?”

I look over at Maart as well. “In? In what? What the hell is he talking about?”

Maart ignores me. “You bet I’m in.”

“What the fuck are we talking about?” I ask again.

“We”—Udulf turns to face me—“we,” he stresses the repeated word, “aren’t talking about anything. Yet. But Maart and I, we had a deal.”

“What deal?” I look over at Maart. “What fucking deal?”

Maart draws in a deep breath. He glances at Rainer for a moment, but decides to skip whatever thought first comes to mind and concentrate on me. “You and I both know how we got here, Cort.”

“Maart—”

“He got you here,” Udulf interrupts. He walks over to Maart and stands next to him. “Isn’t that what you’re trying to say, Maart? Hmm? You’re the… what do they call it?” He flips his hand in the air. “The wind beneath the wings, so to speak?”

“Maart—”

“You were never strong enough,” Maart says.

“Strong enough for what? Because the way I see it, you’re a free man today because I was strong enough in all the ways it counts.”