Sick Heart: A Dark MMA Fighter Romance

But that was only half of it.

It was dank, wet tunnels filled with the smell of shit. It was iron locks on wooden doors and screaming kids behind them. It was bright lights over beds and strange faces watching.

It was sickness.

Even the good parts, if there ever were any good parts.

It was all just sickness.

I wake to the sound of a voice I don’t recognize. A deep, throaty voice that rumbles into my head and weaves its way into my chest, and down my body, and then back up where it settles in my heart. It makes me want to leave the truth behind and keep this miserable fantasy going just a little bit longer.

I know it won’t last. It always catches up in the end. But I figure it can pass me by for all I care, and go back to sleep.

A wet cough pulls me up from the depths. And for a moment I think it’s me. I think, Shit. Now you’re sick, Anya. Lazar is gonna be mad if he has to take you to the doctor. So I try to stop the coughing. But it keeps going—on, and on, and on—and it’s so thick and wet, I clear my throat.

That’s when I realize it’s not me coughing. It’s someone else.

“There she is.” A cool hand flattens on my forehead. “Anya? Can you hear me?”

Who is that?

“Anya,” he whispers. “Wake up. It’s been almost two days. You have to pee. There’s no way you don’t have to pee.”

I try to laugh, because that’s true. I really do need to pee. But the pain that shoots through my face is enough to make me choke. And at the same time, the coughing is still happening.

“Can you open your eyes? Come on, Anya. Enough is enough. You need to come out of this. Maart wants to call for a ’copter to take you to the mainland. And you can’t leave now. Not yet.” This last part comes out like a plea, which is so confusing, and this voice is not Rainer or Maart, so…

Oh. Ohhhhhh. It’s Cort. He’s talking to me.

I squirm, trying to open my eyes and sit up. But there is no way this is happening. My entire body aches. No, that’s the wrong word. Every movement causes my muscles to scream in protest. And try as I might, I cannot open my eyes.

“Here,” Cort says. “Lemme help.”

I wince and then cry out as he helps me sit up a little. He presses a hot cloth to my eyes, wiping the sandy crumbs away. It’s only then that I realize my eyes are open, but they are so swollen, just a sliver of reality gets past my lids.

I see him. His smile is fake, but I think that’s because he’s worried and not because he’s about to lie to me. He lets out a long breath. “Fucking hell, Anya. You scared me. Maart wanted to take you back to the village and leave you with Udulf.” He pauses, stares at me. “Do you know who I am?”

I nod. Then force a small smile.

“Yeah. Good.” He smiles back. “I’m pissed at him, by the way. We fought over this. I didn’t know he was gonna pair you with—”

I place a hand on his arm and he stops. I don’t have the energy to sign anything, and I’m sure as hell not going to speak. But we’re past that, I think.

The outcome of the fight doesn’t matter.

I lost, and I don’t care.

Because for the first time in my life, I feel… alive.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - CORT

Her hand on my arm is a signal. She’s OK. I don’t know what’s really going through her mind, but she’s OK. That’s all she needs me to know.

Anya’s eyes migrate down to the limp body of Ainsey in my arms. I let out a long breath. “She’s sick. Again. Third time she’s caught pneumonia since she came to live with me last year. There’s something wrong with her.” I sigh. Because it all feels so pointless.

Anya tries to sit up, her distorted face registering a look of concern.

“No. She’s fine right now. Maart gave her some antibiotics and she’s actually breathing a lot better than she was yesterday. But he says there has to be a reason for it. Probably an undiagnosed heart defect and poor nutrition when she was little.”

Even with both of her eyes swollen I can see the judgment.

“I know, I know. We’ve put her on a new diet. Her training is over. I don’t know what else to do. I feel like a fucking failure.”

I haven’t said these words out loud to anyone. Not even Maart. And for good reason. Because the idea of leaving Ainsey behind is cracking my heart right down the middle.

Who knows how many of these kids in camp are mine? Just because they don’t have the gray eyes doesn’t mean they didn’t come from the girls I won in the fights. I would never know. Because I don’t know what happened to those girls after they were taken away.