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

bookies paid out on Cort’s win, so it has been settled. But as we discussed”—he nods his head towards Ainsey in Lazar’s arms—“you have found yourself a new daughter to replace the one who died that night.”

What?

What did he just say?

Died that night?

Who died that night?

I didn’t die that night.

“Bexxie.” I look up and find Lazar watching me. “Bexxie,” he repeats, his voice filled with disgust and malice. “She paid for your treason with her life. And she went out bloody. Just. Like. Pavo.”

I lunge at him. And I’m dead fucking serious about this lunge. The edge of my hand is already aiming for his throat, ready to chop his trachea and make him choke on those words, when one of the mercs grabs my hair and pulls so hard, I fall backwards on my ass.

“I have it all on film,” Lazar says, his voice not even quivering from my threat. “I’ll play it back for you some day.”

“Someone had to be the sacrifice that night.” Udulf’s tone is mild, matter-of-fact. “And since it wasn’t you?” He shrugs with his hands. “Well, she was the next best thing.”

I lean over and throw up.

“What’s my prize?” The whole room goes silent and everyone looks over at Cort. “If I fight, what is my prize? And don’t say freedom,” Cort snaps. “Because I already have that.”

Udulf smiles. He smiles like a man who knows he has won. “Ainsey, of course.” Then he nods his head to me. “I’ll throw her in too.”

“Not good enough,” Cort spits. “My entire camp goes free.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Udulf chides. “Maart has cornered that market. If he wins, your entire camp goes free. With the exception of the little one and Anya Bokori. If you win, you get them, and only them.”

Cort laughs. “And what makes you think I would fight for just them?”

Udulf nods his head towards Maart. “Because he told me you would.”

And Maart was right.

Because Cort agrees to the terms.

I spend the next thirty minutes locked in an upstairs bedroom as the entire camp packs up their personal things and are loaded into a bus. Everyone but Cort and all the girls, because Maart said they weren’t worth his time and Cort could keep them until he lost and they could be sold.

I join them at the last minute, and then we’re driven to a newly built compound that turns out to be Maart’s new training camp.

I guess we all know when this deal was made. A long, long time ago.

Lazar wanted to keep Ainsey as a down payment on his ‘new daughter,’ but Cort refused these terms and threatened to pull out. So in the end, it was agreed that Ainsey and I were to be kept at the new compound and she would live in the barracks with the other kids until the fight is over.

It’s a massive estate, a mansion with enough rooms to house the entire camp. But they have their own facilities, so instead it only houses me, Maart, Udulf, and Lazar.

The fight will happen in three days. And the whole time this was being negotiated, I could see the worry on Cort’s face.

He trained every day, like the rest of us. But he didn’t train hard. He worked out like a man who knew he would never have to fight for his life again.

Maart has spent the last three months working out like a man who would be fighting for his life in the near future. He has been sparring with four top-notch fighters. And he spent an extra four hours a night training with me. Which, OK, I’m not really a suitable opponent for him to spar with, but it was four extra hours a day.

It’s so apparent that he is in much better shape, I feel a little sick.

And you could say, well, Cort has the advantage because he’s got the experience. He’s been in the ring dozens of times. He’s undefeated and Maart hasn’t had a real fight in over a decade.

But Cort’s body looks like it’s been fighting for decades. His bones have been broken, his muscles stretched and pulled past their limits. I’m not sure how many concussions he’s had in his career, but I’d be willing to bet that number is significant.

He looks like a man who has been in the ring for decades.

Maart looks like a would-be champion about to rise.

It is the morning before fight day and I’m sitting at the dining room table with Udulf. He makes me take meals with him. To torture me, I think. To make me uncomfortable. But also because he’s fishing for information.

He sits across from me, smiling as he chews on a forkful of scrambled eggs. “Tell me, Anya, who do you think will win?”

I, of course, don’t answer him. He knows I’m not going to answer him, but so far, he’s been patiently persistent.

I expect this patience to wear off at some point today, since the fight is tomorrow and I’m fairly certain he expects Maart to win and part of the deal was that Lazar would get me back if that happened. So Udulf here, he’s got one more day to get answers out of me.

There isn’t a lot in my life to give me joy at the moment, but watching him squirm over this almost makes the situation worth it.

“We all know it’s going to be Maart. Does that disappoint you? I mean, surely you and Cort have gotten close. I saw the way he looked at you.” He pauses to chew on a bite of sourdough toast, then continues. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… do you remember me?”

Do I remember him? As if I could forget the time Lazar rented me out to his good friend Udulf here so I could get his secrets.

But the funny thing is… nothing I came back with was secret.

Lazar was there. He tortured that little girl, then they killed her together.

So Lazar wasn’t looking for secrets from