SICK HEART by Huss, JA (nice books to read TXT) 📗

bit of energy I have left to pull his heart out of his chest.

The entire universe stops to watch me.

The crowd says nothing. They don’t even dare to gasp.

Oh, shit, they’re thinking. What will he do with it?

I consider the optics of eating it. That would really give them nightmares. But I can’t stomach the thought of biting off a piece of Pavo and the drones are too close to fake it.

So I just stand up and throw it as far as I can towards the closest group of people, and when it slaps into the blocking arm of Lazar, I look down so the drones can’t see me smile.

“Sick Heart. Sick Heart. Sick Heart.” They chant it now. Not for me. They don’t chant for me. Their chant is submission and nothing more.

They know who’s in charge on this platform.

I point to Anya and she sucks in air. Then I motion for her to grab Pavo’s arm. She does this without hesitation and we drag his body across the rough concrete, leaving a river of black in the white glow behind us.

He is just meat.

We position him until he’s teetering sideways on the edge of the helipad.

The silent night breaks and I hear him. Anya’s father, that fucking prick, is screaming my name. My real fucking name. “Cort van Breda! Cort van Breda!” in his stupid Hungarian accent.

I know he’s running towards us because his calls become louder. And then he’s screaming at Anya, telling her to stop me. But neither she nor I look back at her father. We simply roll the body over the edge.

And that’s the end of Pavo Vervonal. Because he disappears into the churning black water of an endless ocean of death.

“No!” her father screams.

Lazar is right behind us. Very fucking close. Close enough to push either of us over the side. And while I’m not afraid of death and I might be able to get on board with jumping off this ship at some point in time, I just won my last fight and I have more things coming my way than just this girl who saved my life.

So I turn on him. And I growl at him.

Maart and Rainer are already running across the platform with several of the mercenaries as backup. But I don’t need backup. Not for this dumb fuck.

Lazar stops just a few paces off and when I reach for Anya’s arm and tug her behind me, he backs up.

Then the lights come on and everything is bright and white.

I can’t see for a moment, but Lazar doesn’t understand that. He’s never had to fight for his life. He’s never stood under the black lights and fought to the death. He’s never had the white blindness after winning.

He knows nothing.

But his face is red with rage. “You’re sick! You know that? Someone should put you down! You’re an animal. And you didn’t win this fight. My daughter won this fight. This ship is mine, this prize is mine—”

The mercs grab him and pull him away, and now his threats are for them, not me.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Maart reaches me and immediately begins to assess my condition. “Come on, you’ve lost blood.”

I reach up to my neck and realize that the entire right side of my body is nothing but sticky red and it’s only then that I recognize the dizziness for what it is.

I sink to my knees, suddenly weak. Like all the adrenaline that was keeping me going has been used up.

“No, no, no.” Rainer has one arm and Maart has the other. “We’re not passing out here, champ. That would never do.”

They drag me off the platform and I let out a long breath as I close my eyes, thinking, Maybe this is the end?

Because what’s left after this?

Who am I when the fights are over?

I dream about Lazar as I drift in and out of consciousness in the clinic.

I don’t know why I dream about him. I’ve never met him before, but he looks so familiar. I can’t place it, really. It’s just some fuzzy nonsensical association thing that comes with dreams. Especially half-dead dreams.

Rainer is monitoring my blood transfusion as Maart stitches up my neck. Someone I don’t know is trying to fasten a brace around my ribs, but when I swing at him, Maart yells for everyone to get out and leave me alone.

Maart. I reach up, grab his hair with a weak fist, and pull him down to my face.

I don’t open my eyes. Can’t really open my eyes. But I just want to kiss him.

He laughs and pulls back. “You’re dumb. And you just got blood all over me, asshole.”

“Where’s my kiss, Cort?” It’s Rainer.

I lift my hand and wave him over. But he flicks the tip of his finger against my forehead instead. “You’re good. Just relax. You’re gonna feel a lot better once this transfusion finishes. But”—he lowers his voice and whispers right next to my ear—“Anya’s here in the room. I wasn’t sure what to do with her, but I didn’t want her going back with her father in case he got any ideas about keeping her.”

Fuck. I sit up out of instinct and immediately the pain in my ribs feels like it might shear me in half. I hiss and wince.

“Fucking hell, Cort!” Maart objects. “Lie back down. I’m still sewing you up. Ten more minutes, OK? That’s all I need.”

But I tune him out as I find Anya’s paint-streaked face across the room. She’s sitting on a wheeled stool in the corner wearing a hospital gown. Frowning at me. Silent.

That’s right. I almost forgot. She’s silent.

I like that about her.

But why? Why is she silent? I really need to know that, so I sign to Rainer because Maart is still trying to stitch up my neck and isn’t watching my hands. Why is she silent?

Rainer hesitates. “Uhhh, well… I dunno.” Then he turns to Anya. “He wants to know why you don’t talk.”

She doesn’t