Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

I do not communicate with anyone. Ever.

He’s a dirty silent cheater, that’s what he is.

He will never get a single secret out of me.

Never.

I watch as Rainer shoots Cort up with a syringe of painkillers over Maart’s objections, and try to follow the silent conversation Cort’s hands are having. It’s not hard since both Maart and Rainer give clues with their voices, but Rainer actually signs and talks out loud, so that’s super helpful with my limited understanding of sign language. Cort’s signs are deliberate and defined, but Rainer’s are slow and sloppy. Like he’s skipping words.

Soon enough, Maart is done with the stitching and they start in on the Lectra. Even serious Maart gets in on the drinking goal. Cort sits up, flashing his talkative hands, and someone delivers a white dress for me.

Right. My dress.

This isn’t over, Anya. Your nightmare is just getting started.

Cort is helped into a pair of cargo shorts, one arm around each of his friends as he steps into them. Is that what they are? Friends? I’m not sure. They might be lovers, actually. And if that’s the case, maybe Cort does nothing with his concubines? Maybe he’s not interested in them that way?

Not them, Anya. Us.

Because I’m one of them now. I belong to this man. I belong to this killer.

He dragged that knife across Pavo’s neck like it was nothing. He gutted him like a dead animal. No thought at all went into his decision to kill tonight. And why should he think twice about it? According to the rumors—and the skulls on his body—he has killed dozens of men on nights like this.

“You ready?” Maart is holding Cort’s head with both hands, staring straight into his eyes.

Cort sucks in a breath and nods the affirmative. “Then let’s do it.”

All three of them are in a much better mood now. Cort has been smiling non-stop since Rainer shot him up with those painkillers. And they have all taken at least half a dozen sips of the Lectra. I stare at the blue liquid in the bottle and notice that it is more than half empty.

“Hello?”

I look up and realize Maart is talking to me.

“Are you ready?”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ready for, but since when did it matter if I was ready for anything that’s happened to me in my life? I, of course, say nothing. But I don’t change my expression, either. I’m actually thinking back to my laugh earlier in the day.

I laughed at Maart’s threat to Pavo.

I don’t talk, I don’t use hand signals, and I don’t laugh, either.

And now I’m mad at myself for doing that. For being so complacent. For not paying attention. For showing them something real.

No one gets anything real out of me.

Ever.

So I just stare at Maart like he is speaking a language I don’t understand.

“I think that’s a yes.” Rainer laughs. “Come on, let’s get the formalities over with so we can get this night started.”

Rainer reaches for the door, but Cort puts one hand on his shoulder and signs something with the other one.

“Oh.” Rainer looks over his shoulder at me, then offers me the Lectra. “He says you need to drink.” Cort signs something and Maart laughs as Rainer amends his statement. “He says you need to catch up.” Rainer grabs a marker off the small desk and draws a line on the bottle. “Drink it down to there.”

I hold in my reaction. This is a test. Not the drinking part. Well, yes—the drinking part is a test of my obedience. Fine. Whatever. I’ll drink ten thousand dollars’ worth of Lectra if they want me to.

But the real test is my reaction.

My new master wants a reaction from me.

Cort’s eyes are locked on mine when I find his face. And he probably thinks this Lectra will loosen me up. It will make me drop my guard. Make me compliant and easy. It might even make me talk.

That is a fantasy.

I will not smile.

I will not frown.

I will not glare at him.

And there is not enough Lectra in this world to change that.

Do they think I just woke up one day and said, “I think I’ll stop talking?”

Fucking amateurs.

I grab the neck of the bottle and it goes down cold. So cold. Lectra is typically served at room temperature, but it’s always like ice going down.

I don’t stop until I’m certain that I have met the mark. And actually, when Rainer grabs the bottle from me, I see that I drank a little bit more than was required.

“Easy there, killer,” Rainer jokes. “Save some for us.” Then he winks at me. His eyes are neither dark, like Maart’s, or blank slates of gray, like Cort’s. Rainer’s eyes are bright, bright green. They look like grass on a summer afternoon. His face reminds me of sunshine. The scruff on his chin has a glint of gold to it. And if I were someone else in this world, I would maybe think about liking him.