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

her back, and points her face up at the moon as her pussy begins to contract around my shaft.

And then she comes, biting her lip and silencing herself in a way that seems… sad. And practiced.

And in this moment, I feel nothing but hate.

I hate Lazar. He ruined this girl. Ruined her.

I fucking hate that man. I want to get him alone in a crowd. I want to stumble into him on a sunny day. I want to rip his arms from their sockets and slice his throat so deep his head falls off. I want to dig into his chest the way I did Pavo and take out his heart. Feed it to the scavenger gulls and watch them rip and shred it into pieces as they swallow him whole.

And then I come too. With this pale fairy girl on my lap. With this hate in my sick heart. With this dream of revenge.

Filled up with anger and loathing, I come too.

We stay like that for several minutes. Nothing but two broken bodies breathing heavily. Nothing but two lost souls with sweaty skin. Nothing but captured and wasted innocence.

But eventually, the spell wears off and she gets up from my lap, looking for her clothes. And I pull my shorts up, turning to face the stairwell.

And that’s when I see him. Maart.

Watching me?

Watching her?

Watching us.

I can hear his sigh, even though he’s way up on the top platform. And I can see his disapproval in the slight shake of his head.

You’re going to ruin everything. That’s what his head shaking means.

I’m going to ruin everything.

And I might. I just might.

Because this girl has awakened something inside me. Something I’ve been hiding away in a deep dark place for over twenty years.

I’m not sure what it is yet, I just know it’s there. I’ve always known it was there.

I just never wanted to look too hard at the shadows in the corners of my memory. I have always thought it better to walk away and focus on the future.

But what happens when the future is now?

What happens to those shadows when there are no more distractions to keep them at bay?

What happens to me if I take a good long look at who I am and how I really got here?

This is what Maart is afraid of. And up until now, I have been too.

But Anya… there is something uncannily familiar about her.

She is my secret.

No.

She is my answer.

That’s what Maart is really afraid of.

She is my answer.

CHAPTER NINETEEN - ANYA

 

 

After Maart slapped my face so hard I bit my tongue, he took me into the clinic and gave me a piece of wet gauze to bite on while he got his things ready to stitch me up. The amount of blood that came gushing from the side of my tongue was crazy. And sickening. I threw up four times, unable to follow his simple direction of “Don’t swallow it.”

It took a while to fix me up, mostly because it wouldn’t stop bleeding enough for Maart to see where he needed to stitch, so he made me lie down on the cot with my head elevated, biting on the gauze until, when he changed it, there was just a soggy splotch of pink.

I was hoping he’d say the stitches weren’t necessary because he had already warned me that there would be no numbing. He was going to stab my tongue with a razor-sharp needle.

But that’s not what he said. He looked at the gauze, then looked at me, then shook his head with an expression that looked a little like disgust and told me to lie on my side.

He scooted up very close to me on one of the doctor stools, my face in his lap. It was a weird position to be in. Clinical, I guess. But… I did have sex with this guy. And two other guys at the same time. So… not that clinical.

He wore gloves, but I could feel the heat of his skin against my cheek as he worked. The needle turned out to be so sharp, I didn’t really feel it. So that was good. But I could feel the suture sliding through my skin and that was gross.

It was only three stitches, and once Maart got started he was quick and efficient. Silent too. I expected a lecture from him, warning me not to try that bullshit again, or something along those lines. He said, I am ajarn here. And I am no martial arts expert, but I have read enough Ring of Fire magazines to know that means the person in charge of the training camp.

But he didn’t say anything until he started giving me instructions. “Try not to spit.” He paused and narrowed his eyes at me. “This should stop the bleeding, but it’s gonna swell. Good you’re a mute. Shouldn’t affect you at all.” He paused again, waiting for a reaction.

I considered my options in that moment.

Maart has power here. He’s not Cort, and from what I can tell, Cort is the actual one in charge. But they came from somewhere. These kids don’t live here, this is just… what? Some kind of retreat, maybe? A breakout session. Or something. It’s temporary, that’s my point.

So Maart runs this place because Cort, for whatever reason, is silent here. Sort of. The rules these people live by are murky and seem rather variable if you ask me. But Cort is the champion, right? They serve at his pleasure. Maart is a manager. Like Lazar’s top assistants. I didn’t have to listen to them. Not technically. But it was very easy for them to make my life miserable if I didn’t.

Maart is Cort’s top assistant. Rainer too, but Rainer doesn’t seem to care about power, and Maart does.

I bowed my head a little in submission. I didn’t want to work in the kitchen. I mean, I don’t mind cooking or the other stuff that comes with it, because I have