SICK HEART Huss, JA (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

so over it now. This boy is mean. Like, he’s out for blood every time I step onto the mat with him.

So I’m mostly concentrating on trying not to breathe my own blood while I make attempts to eavesdrop.

I hear Maart say, “Don’t even try…” And “She will test like the rest.”

And that’s that. Jafari and I will be matched for the test tomorrow.

This marks one month on the Rock for the kids, but two months on the Rock for me and Cort. That’s what all that moon-pointing is about. We are counting the days that lead up to the new moon. What happens to us after the test, I have no idea. A belt ceremony? We don’t wear those white uniforms you see on martial arts kids. So I’m pretty sure it’s not a belt ceremony, but I’m also pretty sure there is a ceremony. Why else do we have Lectra? Not that these kids will be drinking it. I’m like a thousand percent positive that’s only for the men. But we have cookies. And chocolate. And beef in the freezer. This food is here for a reason and I have not been allowed to serve any of it.

So I’m pretty sure there’s gonna be a party and I can’t wait.

I’m on my feet now and this is Jafari’s worst nightmare. Because while I might not be tall in the grown-up world—coming in at only five foot three and a half—I’m a fucking giant compared to this six-year-old. I lock my arms around his waist, pick him up, and slam him down. The breath rushes out of him with a grunt and Cort comes in to stop the fight, which means I won.

I pump my fist in the air like an asshole and walk over to the sidelines where tiny Ainsey high-fives me with a crooked smile. She’s my BFF now.

This entire world, and my place in it, is pathetic, and sad, and insane. I get that. But this is Fight Club, OK? It’s every man for himself and fuck the rules. And besides, kicking Jafari’s ass means I am making him better. When he fights for his life in a few months his opponent won’t be eighteen years old. He or she will be six. And Jafari’s gonna win that fight. He’s gonna live because of me.

“Go clean yourself up,” Maart barks. “And don’t be late with dinner. I’m fucking starved.”

No “Good job!” from him. No pats on the back. No encouragement of any kind. I’ve watched him with his own kids, and he definitely treats me differently. He only has four—Irina, the oldest girl who I have decided is probably thirteen, and Maeko, Peng, and Paulo, who are right about that age as well. Paulo probably a year or two older than the other two. Maart’s four kids are serious fighters. They practically kill each other every single day during training. And Maart is forever calling out encouraging things. Especially to Irina, who I’m pretty sure is his favorite because while I’ve deduced that Paulo is the most accomplished, Irina is definitely the most ruthless.

Maart hates me. I’m very sure of that. He hates the way Cort looks at me, and the way Cort pays special attention to me on the mat, and most of all he hates that Cort and I were out here alone for an entire month before Maart showed up.

They have a thing going. I’m not sure how to explain it, but they definitely have a thing going. I haven’t caught them doing anything, but we had sex together the night of the fight. And maybe I don’t remember very much of it, but I remember enough to know that there were no inhibitions. Sex together was something these men did.

At first, I thought Rainer was gonna be the same way with me, but he’s not. He’s nice, always cracking jokes. But he’s that way with everyone, so I’m nothing to him. He has five kids—Evard, who I am now one hundred percent sure is Cort’s biological son, plus Raffie, Budi, Oscar, and Rasha, the middle girl in camp. They are all about eight or nine. Also tough as nails and ready to kill or be killed when on the mat.

I walk into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face to wash away the blood, then study the reflection looking back at me from the dirty mirror on the wall.

Bexxie would not even recognize me if she were here. My skin is bronze now. My normally blonde hair has nearly-white streaks running through it. It’s tangled and wild from lack of proper care. There have been no more baths or showers. Only Cort, Maart, and Rainer are allowed to use the shower. They let us hose each other off every four days and the rest of time we just jump into the ocean and swim around until our caked-on sweat floats away.

But I like the way I look.

It’s a wild look.

An abandoned look.

A look that says I’m a savage.

I think the savage life suits me.

Cort does pay attention to me on the mat, but after we’re done training, he barely looks at me. At first, I was hurt. I mean, he took me down to the stairwell that first day of my real training and we had sex. So what the fuck, right?

But then I looked at it all logically. Sex in our world means nothing. It’s just a physical act and nothing more. I knew this. I was hopeful that it would be different with Cort. But now I’m glad it’s not. His cold shoulder forced me to concentrate on more important things. Like fighting.

I like it. I really like it. And I’m getting better.

So what if my sparring partner is six?

This makes me smile as I hold a rag over my nose with my head tipped back to stop the bleeding.

When that’s taken care of, I go into the kitchen and start making dinner and spend the entire time