Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

“She’s not one of our kids,” Cort begins.

But Maart cuts him off. “That was my fucking point. She’s not one of us. She doesn’t need a test. She won’t be fighting for her life in a few months. She will go live in one of Udulf’s mansions, or harems, or wherever the fuck Udulf keeps his women. And she will be fed, and fucked, and—”

“That is enough!” Cort yells it. And every single kid ducks their head a little, cowering from the anger and rage in his voice. “That’s enough.”

Maart walks towards him and pokes Cort in the chest. “Fuck you. I don’t take orders from you, Sick. Heart. I’m not your underling. I am your equal. And you and I both know who the better fighter is, so don’t you fucking tell me that’s enough. I’ll let you know when I’ve had enough.”

Cort pushes him. Hard. Forcing Maart to take a step back. And then this fight is all but inevitable. Until Rainer steps between them, his back to Maart, his finger in Cort’s face. “Step the fuck back and get out of the way. We have an uneven number of kids this time, so this is how it ends. If Anya wants a test, she fights Maart. This is how it’s done.”

“With kids who know what the fuck they’re doing.” Cort points to me. “She has no idea what she’s doing. He’s playing with her.”

“Then I guess she should say no,” Rainer says. He turns to me. “You have three seconds to make a decision. Do you want a test, or don’t you?”

I nod yes before I can think about it. Because fuck this Maart guy. He’s been on my case for two months now. Like whatever his problem is, it’s all my fault. And I’m sick of it.

“There you go. Get off the mat, Cort. We’re all hungry and ready to celebrate the end of phase two.” Rainer pushes Cort backwards until he stumbles off the mat and is standing behind his row of kids.

And then it’s just me and Maart. With nothing but a few feet between us.

He hunkers down into his fighting stance again and turns into someone else right before my eyes. Some ruthless killer version of himself. He turns into Cort the way he was that night on the helipad with Pavo.

He turns into an animal.

And I turn into his prey.

I put my fists up, mimicking his fighter stance, but without the two and half decades of practiced good form.

We circle each other for a few seconds, then, before I even understand what’s happening, he’s smacked me in the face. I grit my teeth, tasting blood. My tongue has mostly healed from the last time he did that, but it’s like he knew he could split it back open with one well-placed slap.

And this pisses me off. Not that he cut my tongue back open. The fact that he slapped me.

Like I’m just a stupid girl. Not worthy of a real punch.

And I don’t know what happens to me. But something does happen to me. Because I see red and my vision narrows down into a tunnel focusing only on my opponent. My whole body goes hot. My feet dance the way they’ve been conditioned to, bouncing on the mat like I really am a fighter.

And then, before I can think about it—before Maart can read my mind and counter what I’m about to do—I fake a punch and he ducks left. But I’ve already lowered my head. I ram his chest like a bull. Pushing him backwards, making him stumble. And then, like a fucking miracle from God, he’s on the mat. On his back. Right in front of me. I drop to my knees as he laughs. And I punch him in the mouth.

I’m just about to smile and enjoy this one moment—this one time that I took Maart by surprise—when his fist crashes into my jaw and my whole world stutters.

And then it all goes black.

I struggle to swim up from the darkness.

People are saying my name over and over. “Anya! Anya!” Lots of people.

I recognize Rainer, Cort, and yes, even Maart. Then Irina. Even Evard. Hell, maybe all of them.

“Anya!” That’s Cort. “Open your eyes.” He pulls one lid open with a finger. “Look at me. Can you look at me?”

I nod, which makes my head swim. Then I look over at Maart and smile.

“What the fuck are you smiling about? I knocked you out, you dumbass.”

Then I laugh and throw him my middle finger. And this, I think, is a moment worthy of words. “Fuck you. You fucking prick. You want to slap me? Like a goddamned girl? You think I’m just a goddamned girl? Someone to be tucked away in a harem house? Fuck you! You have no idea who I am. Or what I’ve lived through. Or what I’m capable of.”