Sick Hate – Sick World Read Online J.A. Huss

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Dark, Sports, Suspense, Virgin Tags Authors:

Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)

I should’ve hugged her more. I should’ve loved her more. But the truth is, I couldn’t. Even after we were free, I couldn’t love them like that. Because I could never shake the feeling that each time they walked away from me, it would be the last time I saw them.
The only way I knew how to show them I cared was to train them. And once I forced Irina to stop training, I didn’t have another way to love her.
I just didn’t know how. So I made her leave.

I was supposed to die nine times already, at least.
The nine ghosts of my opponents follow me around like reminders. Their gaunt faces, their expressions of pain, the fear in their eyes when they realize death has come for them. They have stuck with me all this time.
I’m not supposed to be here. I was supposed to go out fighting.
So I am doing nothing now. I am just existing. I am just doing it thousands of miles away from where I started. And I am doing it alone.

Every morning there is a choice. To get up, or not.
That’s my choice. To go on, or give in.
And on most days—recently, at least—I get up and go on.
But it’s never gonna be enough. Ever .
Just breathing is hard.

Written by New York Times bestselling author, JA Huss, Sick Hate is story of love, lost and found, starting over, and learning to let go and live on. It is the second book in the Sick World Series.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************


Rio de Janeiro, Bolivar and Atlantica

Fifteen floors up from Sick Fights Gym

“You have a last name now.”

The reporter—who I now know as Macks, which doesn’t fit her at all—is sitting across from me at the rooftop bar of the Bolivar Building. My gym is fifteen floors below us on the ground. I’ve agreed to talk to her because Cort said I should.

So. Yeah. Fun times.


“Right. I do. It’s Carvalho.”

“Maart Carvalho.” She presses her lips together. “Mmm. I dunno. Does it suit you?”

“Does Macks suit you?”

She chuckles, and I realize she’s got a nice face. She’s older. Early forties, late forties? Hard to tell. But you can clearly see she was a knockout in her prime. Still is, but in a more mature way. Curvy. Brave, obviously, since she’s still alive. And a smile meant to wipe away all your problems, but only so she can tease your darkest secrets right out of your soul.

The wind is blowing her mahogany hair across her face and this would bother most people, but it doesn’t bother her. It’s pulled back, but not neatly, so wisps of it are dancing across her cheeks. “Macks is just my fun name. My real name is Mackenzie.”

“Hmm. That doesn’t suit you either.”

“No? Do you have a better suggestion? What should I be called?”

I shrug. “Beth.”

This makes her laugh out loud. “You can call me anything you want, Maart.”

I pick up my whiskey, jiggle the ice, take a sip, then shrug. “Whatever. I can live with Mackenzie.”

This pretty much describes my life. Living with it. Because my whole world is surreal these days. I mean, I’m sitting at a rooftop bar across from Copacabana Beach and I own an entire floor of this building. I can see the ocean. And that’s familiar. All of it. The scent, the wind, the waves, the sun. I could never leave that behind. But the women in bikinis always throw me, and the sound of traffic, and the laughter at night.

It feels like a nightmare.

“Does it feel like a dream?” Mackenzie is studying me intently and I realize I’ve been quiet for a little while, just staring out at the ocean.

I take another sip of whiskey, then look her in the eyes. “I’m not sure.”

“Can’t decide if it’s real?” Her eyes are soft. In fact, she’s much softer than I remember her being back on the Bull of Light before Cort’s last fight. I was rough with her that afternoon, pushing her out of the way. But she was so different. Ambitious and hungry. Desperate to tease some words out of Cort’s silent mouth. Nothing at all like this woman in front of me now, who seems very… satisfied.

Back then she wore too much make-up and low-cut dresses. Today she’s wearing black bike shorts, trainers, a neon orange tank top, and a thin workout jacket. She looks like she wants to take a lesson in my gym.

Maybe she does?



“Are you gonna talk to me?”

“What do you mean? I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Nnnnooo. You’re not. You’re somewhere else. If it’s not a good time…” She starts to get up.

But I reach out, place a hand on hers, and look her in the eyes again to make her stop. “No. I’ll talk. Just… sit down.”

She hesitates, then settles back. “Look, I’m not trying to be difficult here. If you don’t want to do the interview, just say so. I’ll go away.”