Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

I lie to her with these actions. Because they tell her she is safe. And she is not.

Not from Udulf.

Not from Lazar.

And certainly not from me.

I love three people in this world. And everything I do, I do for them.

But her guard is down. I didn’t plan this day for that reason, but it is the final outcome. And of the many ruthless things I’ve learned over my twenty-seven years of life, the one at the top of the list is, Give people what they expect.

If I had tried this yesterday, she would’ve been suspicious. But after a long, soft, slow day she expects a long, soft, slow night.

So that’s exactly what I give her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - ANYA

His arms wrap around me like a warm cloak, his chest rising and falling against my back in a slow, easy, predictable rhythm. I can feel his lips on the back of my neck, not kissing me, just… there.

My body stiffens as I hold my breath. And he feels this. He is in tune with me. Because his arms tighten a little, offering me comfort. It’s OK, his arms say. We’re safe, his slow breathing proclaims. And even though I know better, I exhale and decide to believe him.

I am safe, at least from outsiders.

But from him? I’m not so sure.

Today was good. I did faint from hunger and bang my head, but I got two meals today and my wound is clean and cared for. He didn’t make me train. In fact, our day was pretty fun. The puzzle was a nice surprise, because my home base was there in that picture. And the memory of it was always sweet. It was always nice to go to that place in Paris. It would wipe away everything that had just happened. All the awful weeks that led up to Paris would be swept away and I would be rewarded with shopping, and bathtubs, and an older, careful woman who only spoke Hungarian. And even that was nice. As much as I hate to admit it, the Hungarian, like Paris, felt like home.

I don’t have a lot of sweet, soft memories so what are the odds that, on this sweet, soft day with the killer called Sick Heart, I would find my home base in a puzzle on an abandoned oil rig?

I couldn’t even begin to calculate those odds, but surely they are one in a billion. One in a trillion.

But the point is, this slow, sweet night isn’t entirely out of place. One thing leads to another. That’s how we got here.

So why am I so suspicious of him?

Hmm, Anya. Why indeed? He’s a mentally unstable professional killer who just won you in a fight, plopped you down on a crumbling rig in the middle of the ocean, and has a creepy game room tucked away filled with things only children can appreciate.

It should make sense. He felt sorry for me this morning. That led to a break in his schedule, which led to extra food, and fun times in a game room clearly meant for the younger kids in his training camp.

That’s all this is. It’s very clear. It all makes sense. Up until the point when he asked me why. Why don’t you talk, Anya?

I’ve been asked that question thousands of times. Hell, Bexxie alone has asked it a few hundred, at least. I’ve never answered any of them, so I’m sure as hell not going to answer Cort van Breda.

But it was a tell. A sign that he is playing me.

And he’s good, I’ll give him that. Because I would like nothing more than to melt my back into his chest and let him make me feel safe.

Instead, I just feel sad, all the good of this day wiped away from his deception. So I turn onto my stomach, breaking his tight hold on me, and just close my eyes to make it all go away.

I wait for a little before letting myself drift off. Wait to see if he will accept my rebuke, or fight it.

He doesn’t fight it. He doesn’t even seem to notice. Maybe he’s even asleep. But I doubt it. He’s a predator and they live in the night. They know how to use the darkness to their advantage.

But I have been hunted by predators far more dangerous than he is my entire life.

And I know how to be silent and slip away.

When I wake in the morning, Cort is over near one of the nests petting a super-sized chick. I don’t move. Don’t let him know I’m awake so I can watch.

He must’ve just woken up because his sleeping mat is in his other hand, like he was just about to take it downstairs to the training floor. He has a crooked smile on his face as one of the parents wanders up to him, extending its open beak towards Cort in what I might consider a threatening gesture. But Cort just gives the giant creature a scratch on the head, and the bird closes its eyes in grateful happiness.