SICK HEART by Huss, JA (non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

the heart with the keyhole over his left pec, the little skeletons, and skull faces with gray eyes.

And the stars. I trace the stars as we fuck, his cock buried deep inside me. Maart behind me, pulling my hair as he wraps his palm around my neck. Not pressing hard. Not pressing at all, like he doesn’t want to scare me, just turn me on. And it does turn me on.

He enters me too, momentarily fighting with Cort for dominance. But Cort’s laugh echoes into the night and gets lost in the blanket of stars.

I turn my head and find Rainer sitting back on the blanket, jerking off as he watches us. He winks at me, says something in yet another language I don’t understand, then comes in his hand.

Cort’s thumb is swirling small circles against my clit and he and Maart fuck me and that’s it for me too. I gush all over them. And then they gush inside me.

We collapse into each other, a heap of bodies drunk on Lectra. And that’s when the buzzing of the tattoo machine starts.

Rainer is grinning wildly as he marks Cort up with yet another bit of ink. But it’s not a skull this time. He turns the keyhole over Cort’s heart into a lock.

Then he takes my hand and draws a key. A skeleton key, of course.

And he makes it fit the lock over Cort’s sick heart.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - CORT

 

The world is mine.

This is what the Lectra tells me.

It’s all mine for the taking.

Finally.

We are a heap of sweaty fighters under the stars.

Warriors, all of us.

Champions in the dark.

My body is still humming from the sex, my mind is still blown from the ecstasy, and this is when the Lectra takes over. Pulls me into that other place. That other reality where I am small, and screaming, and running through a bathhouse.

I’ve been here before, I tell the Lectra. You’re gonna have to do better than this.

And the Lectra says, Challenge accepted.

Everything in the dream changes and I’m suddenly in a shipyard, one small boy among dozens of small boys running between containers. But we scream. Oh, do we scream.

And our feet are bare. And they are bloody.

This is how they find us. We leave a trail of crimson scarlet in our wake. And all they have to do is follow it.

But I don’t know this yet. How could I know that? I am only four.

I look up and the girl who is Anya or Ainsey, but is neither Anya nor Ainsey, is shaking me by the shoulders. She is older than me, years older. Maybe seven. She flashes her fingers at me quickly, efficiently, desperately.

Listen, her fingers say. Hide! Run and hide and don’t ever come out! No matter what happens, do not come out! She shakes me again. Do you hear me?

No. I don’t. Because she can’t talk. She has no tongue.

But I do, of course, understand her. And that’s all she really means.

So I nod. And I run again, weaving my way through the maze of shipping containers, never wanting to be inside one of those things again. Because I still smell like piss, and shit, and death from the trip across the ocean.

I run, and run, and Maart is there around every corner telling me, “Keep going. I’ve got your back.”

And I do keep going.

I go. I climb.

I’m on the roof of a rusty green container, my whole body pressed flat so that the hunter men cannot see me from the ground.

The men are strong, and fast, and they catch her first. The girl with no tongue. The girl who talks with her hands. The girl who draws stars on the inside of the container in her own blood as we pray, with palms pressed together, thumbs against our eyebrows, that one day the men will open the door so we can run.

They catch her. And then…

I wake up screaming.

But only on the inside.

Because I know better.

And I know why I know better.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - ANYA

 

“Wake up.”

I turn over, my mouth a dry, sticky, gross mess, and see Maart’s face pressed towards mine. “What?” I croak.

“Time to get up, princess.”

I shield my eyes from the sun and look around. “Where’s Cort?”

“Here.” He hands me a cup of water. “Drink this. Cort’s already downstairs with the kids. We’re just finishing packing up and the boat is already here.”

I let out a long breath, my head throbbing.

“Anya.”

“I hear you.”

“You’re not moving.”

“Give me a sec.” I push my hair away from my face and sit up, then feel a little sick.

“If you’re gonna puke, do it before you get on that boat.”

“Oh.” I groan. “Why did I get drunk last night?”

“Because it’s fun.”

I look down at myself and realize I’m still naked. “Oh.”

“Here.” Maart laughs and tosses my clothes to me. “You can take a shower. All the kids got a shower this morning.”

I nod and yawn—“OK”—then look around again, this time actually seeing things. “Where’s Cort?”

“I just told you. Jesus Christ. Get up.” He doesn’t wait for me to decide that, he just grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet. When I look up at him, he’s smiling.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… It was fun last night, right?”

“I barely remember it.”

“Fuck you. You remember. Just say it was fun, Anya, and I’ll stop bothering you.”

I smile a little. I can’t help it. It was fun. “Go away.”

“It was fun, you know it was.”

Then I frown. Because reality is suddenly slapping my face.

“What’s that look for?”

I look at Maart and sigh. “It’s over now. So who cares?”

He smacks my ass. “It’s not over ‘till it’s over. And we’ve got a five-hour boat ride back home. Make the most of it.”

I sneer at him, wondering what he’s implying. But he doesn’t bother to answer me. Just walks over to the edge of the container and jumps down. I pull my shirt and shorts on, then walk over to the edge too. He’s got his hand out.

“Take