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

Rainer closes the door, sets the bottle on the small counter, and then turns to Cort. “You here with us, buddy?” He slaps his cheek a few times. “Cort? Can you hear me?”

Cort moans again, and his head turns, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Maart growls. “Stay still, asshole. I’m fucking stitching here.”

Another bit of information gleaned. Maart is his… what? Medic? He certainly seems to know what he’s doing.

Another knock at the door.

“Fucking hell,” Maart says.

But Rainer is already opening it up. He whispers something, then opens the door wider. “This guy brought a brace for Cort’s ribs.”

Maart looks up from his stitching. “No. We don’t need a brace.”

“I’m sorry,” the nurse at the door says. “Udulf commanded me to make him wear it.”

Maart glances up from his work and shoots the delivery guy a death look, making him shrink back. Then he looks over at Rainer and sighs. “Put it on him then.”

“Me?” Rainer laughs. It’s a nice laugh. In fact, he’s got a nice face. It’s friendly-looking when he laughs. “Not my area of expertise.”

Maart is really annoyed now. He looks at the nurse. “Put it on him!”

“Yes, sir,” the man says. He squeezes past Rainer, but there’s not just one nurse, there are two, and they both come in. And now this room is way too small. They shuffle around each other, one on each side of Cort’s body, reaching under him to try to slide the brace underneath his muscular back as Rainer messes with the line feeding Cort a bag of blood.

But suddenly Cort wakes, his fist swinging at the strangers.

“Out!” Maart barks. “Now!”

Cort reaches over to Maart with both hands, grabs his hair, and pulls his face downward. I hold my breath and wonder what he will do next. Hit him? Headbutt him?

But no. Cort kisses him. Right on the lips.

Maart laughs it off with a joke about getting him all bloody and then Rainer is bending down to whisper in Cort’s ear.

Suddenly Cort bolts upright, looking straight at me as Maart hisses objections. But Cort’s steel-gray eyes are locked on mine and suddenly, I feel like I’m under a spell.

I can’t look away. His hands are moving. Fast. And I realize that he is signing.

Pavo lied.

Sick Heart does so talk.

He just doesn’t talk out loud, that fucking cheater.

I don’t know why this surprises me so much, because people who talk are normal and people who don’t aren’t, but I am shocked. And disappointed.

I mean, it’s only been like an hour since I realized he and I might be alike. But if he communicates, then he is not silent. And that means he’s not like me at all.

“He wants to know why you don’t talk,” Rainer says.

I don’t say anything to Cort van Breda. Not with my hands. Not with my eyes. Never with my voice. Because he’s not getting that answer from me.

I do not communicate with anyone. Ever.

He’s a dirty silent cheater, that’s what he is.

He will never get a single secret out of me.

Never.

I watch as Rainer shoots Cort up with a syringe of painkillers over Maart’s objections, and try to follow the silent conversation Cort’s hands are having. It’s not hard since both Maart and Rainer give clues with their voices, but Rainer actually signs and talks out loud, so that’s super helpful with my limited understanding of sign language. Cort’s signs are deliberate and defined, but Rainer’s are slow and sloppy. Like he’s skipping words.

Soon enough, Maart is done with the stitching and they start in on the Lectra. Even serious Maart gets in on the drinking goal. Cort sits up, flashing his talkative hands, and someone delivers a white dress for me.

Right. My dress.

This isn’t over, Anya. Your nightmare is just getting started.

Cort is helped into a pair of cargo shorts, one arm around each of his friends as he steps into them. Is that what they are? Friends? I’m not sure. They might be lovers, actually. And if that’s the case, maybe Cort does nothing with his concubines? Maybe he’s not interested in them that way?

Not them, Anya. Us.

Because I’m one of them now. I belong to this man. I belong to this killer.

He dragged that knife across Pavo’s neck like it was nothing. He gutted him like a dead animal. No thought at all went into his decision to kill tonight. And why should he think twice about it? According to the rumors—and the skulls on his body—he has killed dozens of men on nights like this.

“You ready?” Maart is holding Cort’s head with both hands, staring straight into his eyes.

Cort sucks in a breath and nods the affirmative. “Then let’s do it.”

All three of them are in a much better mood now. Cort has been smiling non-stop since Rainer shot him up with those painkillers. And they have all taken at least half a dozen sips of the Lectra. I stare at the blue liquid in the bottle and notice that it is more than half empty.

“Hello?”

I look up and realize Maart is talking to me.

“Are you ready?”

I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be ready for, but since when did it matter if I was ready for anything that’s happened to me in my life? I, of course, say nothing. But I don’t change my expression, either. I’m actually thinking back to my laugh earlier in the day.

I laughed at Maart’s threat to Pavo.

I don’t talk, I don’t use hand signals, and I don’t laugh, either.

And now I’m mad at myself for doing that. For being so complacent. For not paying attention. For showing them something real.

No one gets anything real out of me.

Ever.

So I just stare at Maart like he is speaking a language I don’t understand.

“I think that’s a yes.” Rainer laughs. “Come on, let’s get the formalities over with so we can get this night started.”

Rainer reaches for the door, but Cort puts one hand on his shoulder and signs something with the other one.

“Oh.” Rainer looks