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

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.

But I can’t afford to like him. Even if he turns out to be as nice on the inside as he looks on the outside.

I can’t afford to like anyone except Bexxie.

She is the only one I ever trusted. She is the only one who has had my back since the day she came to live with us. She is wise far, far beyond her nine years.

She is a survivor.

And now I have to leave her behind.

I sigh, heavy with sudden sadness, and look past Rainer. Past all of them like they are unseen ghosts.

Because this is over now. Nothing will ever be the same again and not even Rainer’s bright green eyes can change that. So why bother looking at them?

Beauty is a trick. That’s something I learned young. And all three of these men are far too beautiful to be anything but evil.

“Well, she’s going to be a barrel of fun tonight,” Maart says dryly.

Then they are pushing each other the way boys do, and not grown men. Cort is grinning and Maart is laughing as Rainer forces us all through the door.

The walk to the reception hall is long, but passes quickly. I know from watching Cort for the last hour that he is hurting. And he’s drunk and on drugs right now so everything about this walk should make him slow. But it doesn’t.

I hear just one tiny hiss when we need to brush past people in the hallway and a crew member’s arm swipes the side of his bare ribcage. But aside from that, you’d never know he was in a fight to the death and had his neck cut open two hours ago.

He walks super-fast. He jogs up the steps. He never once wobbles or even breathes hard.

Either he is the definition of fitness and control, or he’s so used to the pain, he’s figured out how to get past it.

Or maybe he’s all of that?

I begin to wonder about his life. Where he grew up—no. How he grew up. That’s much more important than where. Who took care of him as a child? Where did Maart and Rainer come from? And that little boy? Who is Evard? One of his trainees? Evard wasn’t allowed to watch the fight, but there he is, waiting for us outside the reception hall entrance. Two of those mercenaries stand on either side of him like he’s under their charge.

The smile he beams at Cort is uncontainable. And his eyes are filled with love even though he says nothing when Rainer hands him the Lectra bottle. Like he knows his place in this entourage.

But then he spots me and smiles. “Hi, Anya. Bexxie wanted me to tell you not to leave without saying goodbye.”

“Who the fuck is Bexxie?” Maart asks. All three of them are looking at me.

“Her little sister,” the boy says. “She found me and we watched the fight together.”

Well, that figures. That’s totally something Bexxie would do.

Cort signs something to Maart and Maart looks at me. “Later. He says you can see your sister later.”

Then Cort looks at me. Maybe expecting me to be grateful? I’m not sure. But this tiny sign of humanity isn’t enough to make me react. Not even close.

“All right, you ready?” Maart asks Cort, pulling his attention back to the business at hand, which is the reception.

Cort nods.

“Then let’s go.”

The mercenaries open the wide double doors like we’re royalty.

And I guess we are. For tonight, anyway. He did win the fight. My father does not get a controlling interest in this ship and Cort’s father maintains his status.

All because of Sick Heart.

That is no small thing.

There are at least a hundred people in the room when we enter and they all begin to applaud. Not the barely-polite applause they managed outside, but a roaring, thundering applause that even comes with a few whistles and shouts.

And that makes me tired.

I’m so tired of the show.

So tired of the lies.

So tired of this life.

Why do I keep going?

That’s the Lectra talking, Anya. You drank too much already and your night has barely started.

And that’s how