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

holds on to it. She’s actually fighting him for the knife, her body glowing a surreal white in the blackness all around us. A ghost fighting the snake.

That fucking girl just saved my ass.

I’m up. Hurting, but up.

Pavo sees me, lets go of the knife, and pushes Anya so hard, she goes reeling backwards. Right in to me.

I catch her. Hold her.

“Nice.” Pavo laughs the word out loud enough to be heard. “Using a woman as a shield.”

No. That’s not what I’m doing, dickface. My hand slides over her hip and finds the knife in her hand.

She releases it. And I step out around her.

Pavo doesn’t even look at the weapon, but I know he sees it. “You’re not gonna make it this time, Sick Heart. Not even that knife can help you now.”

I toss the knife and it goes careening across the helipad as I smile at Pavo Vervonal.

Then I attack.

I will not win my last fight with a weapon.

Four long strides cover the distance between us. He comes at me with elbows and knees, but I’m done with Muay Thai tonight.

There is an advantage to living on this side of the world and that’s why I stay here. And that advantage is Brazil and the art of capoeira.

I duck and feign. Hop out of reach. Block as Pavo attacks again with kicks and I wait for that look on his face. It’s a look every fighter gets when they think they’ve won, when they haven’t. This look is a tell of weakness. Because in the Ring of Fire, it’s not over ‘till it’s over.

When he pauses, I swing at him and he blocks as I twist my upper body—left leg front, right leg back—and then I am turning. Right leg following the arc of the spin until my heel connects with the side of his head with a sickening thunk.

He goes down.

Then I’m on top of him because there are no referees on the platform to pull me away and let him recover, and this is just how it’s done in my world. You can set your fucking watch to the sick ending that comes with each and every Ring of Fire fight.

I straddle Pavo, running through all my options in my head. And then my hands are on his throat.

I can hear the crowd because the drumming has stopped. Actually stopped. And they are calling my name.

But it’s not the way they should be calling it.

And I catch Maart’s voice. “Behind you! Behind you!”

I twist off Pavo—who is still unconscious—and drop into a low crouch as I find Anya standing just a meter away holding that fucking knife.

We stare at each other. And I don’t know how it happens for her, but everything in my world suddenly goes silent. All I hear are the words that she’s not saying.

Her face is a bloody mess. Her nose may be broken and her plump, fleshy bottom lip is split. Blood is dripping down her chin.

She says nothing. And now that I know she’s silent, that makes sense.

But when you live in a world of sick hearts and dead voices, you only need eyes to say what needs to be said.

And hers tell me… she is furious.

There is nothing but hate in her gaze. And for a moment, I’m caught off guard. Because when I saw her earlier up in the command center, I would’ve never guessed she was capable of that kind of hate.

She walks towards me with the knife. The crowd is screaming. Pavo has lost. He’s barely conscious. Low, primal moans from him and nothing more. They all know I’ve won and that means this girl is mine. Or she will be, once I put Pavo out of his misery.

Or will she? Seems Anya is beginning to have an opinion about how this night ends.

She stops less than one pace between us. Our eyes lock.

Does she want to kill me?

No.

She looks at Pavo and then she holds up the knife.

I shrug and make a little gesture. A little wave of my hand that says, By all means. Be my guest.

She pushes past me and then, without hesitation, she straddles Pavo’s body, crouches down, and then, again without hesitation, she buries that knife right in his gut.

Oh, Anya. That’s gonna be messy.

Pavo gulps air. Blood spills out of his mouth as his back bucks up, arching and twisting.

Anya stares down at him, and then rises up, leaving the knife right where she put it. She turns to me, wipes the blood away from her mouth and lets out a long breath.

I look down at Pavo, then back up at Anya. Tears are streaming down her face. They leave a track of blurry white body paint on her cheeks.

Then I shake my head and sigh as I pull the knife from Pavo’s stomach and drag the blade across his neck, making sure to cut right through his trachea, because I’m ready for what comes next.

The blood pours out of him and suddenly he is lying in a pool of crimson scarlet. The drones hover just off my shoulder, barely ten feet off the ground, filming the entire death scene so that all my watchers tonight can replay it back in 4K ultra.

But this isn’t enough. This ending had a twist, that’s for sure. But it won’t haunt them. And I need to haunt them. This is my real heat-of-the-moment payment. It’s not the girls. It’s not the money. It’s certainly not the fucking accolades.

It’s the ending.

It’s the look in their eyes when I catch them by surprise.

And so far tonight, Anya is the only one who has made the news.

Yeah. I can’t leave it like that.

When I look down, the knife is still in my hand. I hold the hilt in my fist and drag the blade down Pavo’s body from neck to belly, splitting him open. And then I thrust my hand inside him, dig under his ribs, grab hold of the thick, still-trembling muscle, and use every