Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

I run, and run, and Maart is there around every corner telling me, “Keep going. I’ve got your back.”

And I do keep going.

I go. I climb.

I’m on the roof of a rusty green container, my whole body pressed flat so that the hunter men cannot see me from the ground.

The men are strong, and fast, and they catch her first. The girl with no tongue. The girl who talks with her hands. The girl who draws stars on the inside of the container in her own blood as we pray, with palms pressed together, thumbs against our eyebrows, that one day the men will open the door so we can run.

They catch her. And then…

I wake up screaming.

But only on the inside.

Because I know better.

And I know why I know better.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - ANYA

“Wake up.”

I turn over, my mouth a dry, sticky, gross mess, and see Maart’s face pressed towards mine. “What?” I croak.

“Time to get up, princess.”

I shield my eyes from the sun and look around. “Where’s Cort?”

“Here.” He hands me a cup of water. “Drink this. Cort’s already downstairs with the kids. We’re just finishing packing up and the boat is already here.”

I let out a long breath, my head throbbing.

“Anya.”

“I hear you.”

“You’re not moving.”

“Give me a sec.” I push my hair away from my face and sit up, then feel a little sick.

“If you’re gonna puke, do it before you get on that boat.”

“Oh.” I groan. “Why did I get drunk last night?”

“Because it’s fun.”

I look down at myself and realize I’m still naked. “Oh.”

“Here.” Maart laughs and tosses my clothes to me. “You can take a shower. All the kids got a shower this morning.”

I nod and yawn—“OK”—then look around again, this time actually seeing things. “Where’s Cort?”

“I just told you. Jesus Christ. Get up.” He doesn’t wait for me to decide that, he just grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. When I look up at him, he’s smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… It was fun last night, right?”

“I barely remember it.”

“Fuck you. You remember. Just say it was fun, Anya, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

I smile a little. I can’t help it. It was fun. “Go away.”

“It was fun, you know it was.”

Then I frown. Because reality is suddenly slapping my face.

“What’s that look for?”

I look at Maart and sigh. “It’s over now. So who cares?”

He smacks my ass. “It’s not over ‘till it’s over. And we’ve got a five-hour boat ride back home. Make the most of it.”

I sneer at him, wondering what he’s implying. But he doesn’t bother to answer me. Just walks over to the edge of the container and jumps down. I pull my shirt and shorts on, then walk over to the edge too. He’s got his hand out.

“Take it,” he says. “I got you.”

And even though I don’t think his hand is gonna help break my landing when I jump, it actually does.

He gloats at me.

“Stop rubbing it in,” I say.

“What am I rubbing in?”

“The fact that this is the first day of the rest of your life.”

“Everyone’s first day.”

“Not mine.”

“Stick with me, Anya. You’ll see.”

I don’t know what that means, so I just ignore him and take my shower. I can hear lots of things going on down on the training platform, but I tune it out as I will my headache to go away.

When I go downstairs, I am surprised to find every bit of equipment put away in the containers. It looks like the first day I arrived here on the Rock four months ago and this is when the reality of my situation really sinks in.

It’s over.

My life with these people is over.

I suddenly understand what it might feel like to fight for your life on the mat. Waking up that morning knowing you might only have hours left to live.

But there’s one major difference.

They have a chance.

And I don’t.

The boat is actually very nice and has a cafeteria. Most of the kids stay on the deck, signing, and laughing, and playing their slapping games.

Ainsey is attached to Cort’s hip and even though I know Maart hates this, he doesn’t even shoot Cort a scowl. Just lets it go.

If Cort leaves his base camp today—and he will. I mean, why the fuck wouldn’t he?—then this is his last day with Ainsey.

I don’t bother him and he doesn’t come over to me, either. In fact, Maart is the one who hangs out with me all day as the ship crawls its way up the coastline of South America.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask him. We’re sitting on the deck, our backs propped up against some cargo hold, just watching the scenery go by.

“It’s a little village southeast of São Luís in Maranhão.”

“No idea where that is.”

“Brazil.”

I make a little o with my mouth. “So why are you hanging out with me today?”