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“By the time you reach the point, Conor, you’ll both be eighty. Guilt,shame, these aren’t feelings that plague people like us. We get them burned out of our psyches during training.”
“Not true,” I argued.
She scoffed. “Tell me are you at all sorry about what happened at the ‘you know where’ with the ‘you know who?’”
“Not really.”
Her lips twitched. “And would you do it again if you could?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so what about that sounds like you’re sorry?”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to hurt Conor—”
“Yes, but you just said you’d do it again and hindsight is a beautiful thing because you know you missed ‘you know who’ so it was like a pointless endeavor.”
“No. That bitch is eating slugs now,” I retorted, referring to our dearly departed First Lady. “That was worth it. Traitorous cunt. She hurt Conor’s family, Cin. Shit like that people have to pay for.”
“Wait, that’s why you wanted her…gone?”
“There were a lot of reasons, but she was integral to your sister-in-law losing her mother, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she deserve to, you know, be alive?”
He frowned. “And with Da, that was because…”
“He was a shit dad,” I said flatly. To Cin, I grumbled, “He said that art was making his son gay.”
Cin’s brows lifted. “Are you bi, Conor? I’d be interested in watching—”
“Cin!”
“What? Sex is art, Star. I’ve told you this a million times. You know I like watching—”
“Are we having this conversation on my brother’s front stoop?” Conor sighed.
“It isn’t art. It’s a private moment—”
“We’re losing focus,” Conor argued. “Back to my da.”
Cin eyed him. “Hissex life? He was hot.”
“No.”
“No!”
“Jesus, you need to get laid, D,” I groused.
Her lips formed a moue. “You know, you might be right. I wonder if those pilots would be down for a threesome?”
“Your da used you, Conor,” I interrupted her before she could start deep diving into the orgies she’d enjoyed in the past. “I told you that already.”
“You did and I told you—”
Ignoring him, I queried, “Cin, do you remember that story about the Aryans?”
