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

the illusion of being in control of something. But we only eat twice a day. What about the eight hours in between?

Maart seriously thought I should just sit in the kitchen and do nothing? That’s dumb. I had to take a stand to get my point across.

But now it was time to submit and beg. I lifted my eyes up, head still bowed, and begged.

He recognized this move immediately and sighed, blowing out a long breath that indicated he was tired of me. But tired is OK. It was when they got bored of you that you have to worry.

“Anya, we are not playing. We’re here to save these kids. They will all have to fight the way we did when we were that age. And the Rock is a place where they truly advance. This is a proven technique. Thirty percent of our kids will live to see the age of ten. Five percent make it all the way to the Ring. And as pathetic as that sounds, we are the number one camp in the fucking world with this record. And now you’re here, fucking up our good thing, and these kids will be the ones to pay for that, not you.”

I lowered my eyes again. And this time my submission was real.

He placed a finger under my chin and lifted my head back up. “If I let you train with us, you follow the rules.”

I was nodding before I could stop myself.

“You do exactly what you’re told.”

I nodded again.

“And you still have to cook and clean the kitchen, do you understand me? Because someone has to do it and in four months Irina will be fighting for her life. She needs this time. You don’t. You have no idea what it’s like to be a camp kid. And I get it, OK? Slave kids don’t have it easy. But you have never felt the fear of walking into a ring knowing your opponent has been told to kill you in any way possible. No rules. No holds barred. Only one of you gets out alive. So you will cook and you will clean and maybe, if Irina wins, you can tell yourself you had a part in that.”

And that was all he said. After that he took me out to Cort and Cort paired me up with a tall, skinny, dark-skinned boy who looked like he was maybe eight, but was probably the same age as the others in Cort’s group, which was maybe six, and he was just tall for his age. I learned, through Maart’s nagging shouts from across the platform, that his name was Jafari. And he was going to be fighting soon for real, so he was super focused on kicking my ass.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur. I just did what I could without any instruction. Cort spent the entire time babying the small one, teaching her how to hit his palms with her tiny fists. He was good with her, though. And that surprised me. Like he cared about her. And maybe he does. But he didn’t treat any of the others that way. Not even the other little brown-haired girl, who was probably the same age as the boys.

It took me a while to realize why he was giving the tiny one more attention because she was always looking at her feet and her hair was always in her eyes. But then, at dinner, when I was plopping her rice into her bowl, she looked up at me and I actually gasped.

Her eyes were silver-gray. Cort’s eyes.

She is his daughter.

And that’s when I noticed that the boy who came with them on the ship for the fight—the one they call Evard—he has those same eyes too.

These two, and maybe more of them, are Cort van Breda’s biological children.

And he was being forced to train them for the fights. Knowing full well that they were not going to make it.

My entire reality flipped with this realization and nothing would ever be the same again.

I was still thinking about this—maybe I was even asleep and dreaming about this—when Cort came to me in the night and took me down the stairwell for a sip of Lectra.

That’s all it really was. Just a sip. One shot. But it was enough, and I guess that was the point. It was just enough to warm me up and make me sweat in the hot, humid night. Just enough to relax my shoulders and let out a sigh. Just enough to lower my defenses and let Cort van Breda be nice to me.

And he was nice. But I couldn’t let my guard down. I can’t ever let my guard down.

This was stupid. I had already let my guard down. I had already showed him my secret, he just didn’t realize it yet.

And now, three weeks later—and with no more special night-time moments from Cort—I was starting to wonder if maybe letting go of the secret might be a good thing.

Maybe Cort and his band of fighters were the answer to my endless, unanswered prayers?

It was a very dangerous thought to entertain. Faith was a precious thing and trust… well, trust was both priceless and expensive. Because if you trust the wrong person in my world, you don’t get a second chance.

“What the fuck, Anya? Are you even trying?”

I snap my eyes over to Maart. He’s been lecturing us for the better part of the morning. Carefully watching each group. Not correcting us, just studying us. I have no idea what this means.

Meanwhile, Jafari’s small, sharp, bare knuckles hit me right in the nose and blood rushes down my face.

Maart lets out an exasperated breath and walks over to Cort. I can’t hear the whole conversation because Jafari and I are wrestling on the mat now. I’m trying to wiggle out of his hold. And even though I was a little embarrassed that a tall-for-his-age six-year-old could kick my ass a couple weeks ago, I’m