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

altercation between Cort and my father only adds to the sick feeling in my gut.

Did I win the fight for Cort?

Will I have to go with him? Or can my father keep me? Is there some rule that might save me from becoming another Sick Heart concubine?

I don’t love my father. I don’t care about him. But I do love Bexxie and if I leave… if I leave—

“Hey, you.” A mercenary dressed in black body armor pokes me. “Let’s go.”

I look around and realize Cort is being helped off the platform. My father is on the far side screaming at Cort’s father, Udulf.

I concentrate on this interaction for a moment. Focusing on Udulf van Hauten.

This is the first time I’ve seen him since we arrived and it’s… disconcerting.

I know him.

I remember him.

And then I shudder with revulsion.

“Anya doesn’t belong to Cort!” This is what Lazar is screaming. “He didn’t win. It was cheating!”

I look around at the crowd, no one else seems to share his concern. And that means it’s over. The bets are already being paid out and no one put money on me, so I am definitely not the winner.

The mercenary grabs me by the arm with a commanding grip that leaves no room for objection. I don’t resist. I just try to keep up as I’m led down the stairs, across the upper deck, and then through a door and down more stairs.

I thought we’d be going up to the reception room for the party, but we’re not. We’re going deep into the belly of the massive ship.

I’m still naked and even though we pass dozens of men as we walk through the halls, not a single one of them lifts their eyes up from the floor.

Are they afraid to look at me? Because of my father?

Maybe they’ve just seen enough sacrificial girls to know I’m not worth leering at.

Or maybe they find me, and everything I represent, disgusting.

One—a dark, middle-aged man wearing an apron—crosses himself and mutters a prayer as we pass each other. Like I am the Devil’s daughter.

The merc stops suddenly outside a door and knocks. “The girl,” he calls.

The door opens and Rainer appears. He nods at my escort. “I’ll take her from here. Thanks.” The door swings wide open to reveal a small clinic—one bed hosting Cort, a small desk built into the side of the wall, and two of those rolling stools doctors use.

Maart is sitting on a stool, frowning as he holds a thick wad of gauze against Cort’s bleeding neck with his elbow while he uses his hands to insert an IV. Cort’s eyes are closed and I’m not sure he’s even conscious.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” I look up and find Rainer’s scowling face. “Get the fuck in here. We’re busy.”

I walk forward and Rainer grabs a hospital gown off a counter, shoves it up to my chest, and then pushes me out of the way. The space is tiny and it’s a tight fit with four people in it, even if one of them is on the bed.

“Put that gown on and sit over there,” Maart commands me with a nod of his head.

I slip my arms into the gown and put it tight across my front as I walk over to the corner and take a seat on a second rolling stool.

Then there’s another knock at the door.

“Get rid of them,” Maart mutters.

Rainer opens the door and I try to peek around his muscular body, but he’s massive and I can’t see anything until he bends down.

It’s the boy. He’s holding a bottle of Lectra and trying to get a look at Cort. “Is he OK?” His voice is small and scared. “I brought him this.”

“He’s gonna be fine, Evard,” Rainer tells him. “Just a nick. That’s all.”

“He’s all bloody.” Evard is not convinced. And when I look at Cort, I’m not either. Maybe he’ll die of blood loss? Maybe I’ll get to stay here on this ship instead of being sent to the harem? Maybe I can go home with Bexxie? Maybe—

“It looks a lot worse than it is,” Maart says. He’s not paying attention to Rainer or the kid. He’s pulling a bag of blood out of a cooler on the floor and hooking it into the IV. “We got this, Evard. Go to bed now.”

“Bed?” Evard’s single word comes out both surprised and cynical. “I’m not going to bed! He’s dying!”

Rainer is still crouched down. And now I realize he did that so he could look the boy in the eyes. He puts a hand on his shoulder. “He’s not dying, Evard. He needs some blood, and some stitches, and his ribs will be fucked for a few weeks. But he’ll be fine the next time you see him, I promise.”

“No. I don’t want to go back without him. Why does he do this? Why can’t he just come home?”

Hmm. I wonder what this is about?

“Evard?” Maart has had enough of this. I can hear it in his tone. “Go back to the room and stay there. If you say anything else, you’re gonna get three months on the Rock.” Evard scoffs, but Maart adds, “Alone.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Evard yells. “He would never—”

“Wouldn’t he?” Maart interrupts. And then he looks up from his work on Cort’s body and his gaze slowly migrates over to the kid.

Evard has the good sense to slink back.

Hell, even I slink back and he’s not even looking at me.

“Go,” Rainer says, his voice still soft and calm. “He won’t be happy if he wakes up and Maart tells him about this. You’ve already crossed lines here.”

A long, tired sigh from the boy. Then he thrusts the bottle at Rainer. “Tell him I brought him this.” Rainer takes the bottle and then Evard turns and walks away.

Well, that interaction was very interesting. Lots of little information nuggets to decode later. But not now. Because Maart begins to stitch up Cort’s neck and this rouses Cort just enough to