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

But I smile the entire time for two reasons. One. Anya blocked Maart’s slap and he wasn’t expecting that. And two. I have to wear this mask with Ainsey. I don’t want her to know what’s coming. I want her to spend these last few months with me thinking it’s all gonna turn out OK, even though it’s not.

By the time the kids are done jumping rope, Anya and Maart are walking back out to the mats. I pause and watch them as they make their way towards me.

“She’s with you.” Maart sighs out these words. Like he’s tired. Or maybe just tired of her. I can only imagine the conversation that took place in the clinic.

Maart hates drama. And every time we get a new girl, he lets them know this. Maart is the complete opposite of Rainer. He is cold. He is calculating. He is serious, he is focused, he is intense. That’s why Rainer has always been in charge of Evard.

Though Maart has warmed up to Evard over the past year, ever since I fought for his freedom and won. Maart knows he’s here for good. Unlike Ainsey. Her clock is ticking so loud, Maart goes out of his way to ignore her completely.

I’m not sure what he thinks about Anya. Especially now.

“What?” he asks.

I shake my head and smile.

“Just…” He runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair and sighs. “I don’t know. I don’t care what you do with her. Three fucking months. I can deal with anything for three fucking months.” He gives Anya one final glare, then turns to me. “It was only three stitches, so if she starts getting lippy and whining about how she can’t work hard today, send her back into the kitchen.”

I chuckle. Yeah, ya know, I would actually love to see a lippy Anya Bokori. Because that sounds pretty fun to me.

Maart points at Anya. “And you will still clean those fucking dishes and make dinner. Do you understand me?”

Anya presses her lips together and nods, bowing her head in that slave way she does. I hate that slave bow. So I snap my fingers to get her attention, then point to the mat where my little band of misfit fighters are already doing drills.

Maart just turns away and walks off. I watch him, wondering what’s really going through his head. Does he hate Anya? Does he resent her? Is he pissed at me for bringing her out here and putting a little kink in our escape plans?

I’m not sure. We haven’t had time alone together since they all arrived. And our kids don’t sleep in the same area on the roof. He hates the fucking birds and stays as far away from them as possible. I love them. Coming to the Rock is like going home for the holidays. These birds are my family. So anyway, I guess I’ll have to make a point of finding Maart later to try to figure out what he’s thinking. Because we don’t need any tension. We’ve been living in a constant state of high alert our whole lives. This should be a fun time. A time to enjoy what we’ve built here and look forward to new things.

I turn back to Anya and bow to her. She is immediately confused and bows back. I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her and her eyes meet mine with zero expectations.

Sometimes she looks… lifeless. Like she’s empty inside the way Lazar is. The way Udulf is. The way I would be too, if I stayed in this world much longer.

But then, other times, she’s bright and the light inside her is so apparent, it makes me want to shield my eyes. She was like that in the game room. But the bright light has nothing to do with being happy. That light is about being alive. Because I could see it when she was puking up the tiny fish we caught in the net those first few days we had to work for our dinner. I could see it when I dragged her down to the lower level and left her there as punishment. I could see it when she helped me kill Pavo.

Anya Bokori is still in there. I don’t know her story and the way this is going, I will probably never know her story, but I do know one thing. She’s no quitter.

And she’s no slave, either.

That’s her first lesson today.

I put my palms flat together like I’m praying, then bow my head and raise my hands up until the front of my thumbs touch my eyebrows. If I was back at home, I would add a greeting, but this is a no-talking space, so I leave that out.

I point to Anya. And she does it just like I did. And when her bow is over, her light is back.

The both of us sigh at the same time, then I take her jaw in my hand and motion for her to open her mouth. She does, looking down—again, another instinctual slave gesture that she probably isn’t even aware of—and I check her tongue.

Three tiny stitches across the side of her tongue where she bit it. Maart is a damn good stitcher, but inside the mouth everything scars. I think this is more of a reinjury than a new one. I have a vague recollection of her mouth bleeding back on fight night. Which means it’s gonna scar good. And take extra-long to heal, as well.

It’s still seeping a little bit of blood, but she’ll live.

I walk over to Jafari, my tallest kid—which isn’t saying much, he’s six. But he’s lean, and he’s quick, and he’s already done this camp three times because I got him young. So he doesn’t need to be told what to do. And when I snap my fingers at him, then point to Anya, he just nods and walks over to her, his long, skinny arms already reaching up to