Page 34 of Filthy Feck


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Star:Temper.

Conor:She was christened that?

Star:Not everyone’s christened, you Irish heathen.

Conor:So that’s on her birth certificate.

Star:Nah. Her full name’s Temperance but she’s about as temperate as a Category 7 hurricane.

Star:So… with Temper on the case, plus you, me, and Cin too, maybe we can uncover something?

Conor:You’re sure we can trust her?

Star:We can. She hates Reinier almost as much as I do. She’s a better person than me or Cin though. A real soldier.

Conor:Isn’t it unwise to trust her?

Star:She views the current leadership as enemies of the state, Conor. Who better to help us take them down?

Conor:Fair point. Send me the manifesto?

Star:Sure.

Conor:I’d like to look at the info you have for the email and password too, please.

Star:I’ll send it over as well.

Star:Conor?

Conor:Hmm?

Star:Thank you.

9

CONOR

“Who are you?”

Black clucked her tongue. “We don’t really have time for this. Star would probably have told you I was called Temper.”

My brows rose as the text conversation Star and I had about a woman called Temper rammed me in the frontal lobe. “You’re related to Dead To Me?”

To none of my brothers would I admit that I croaked out those words.

She winked. “First cousins.”

Though I was relieved to know that she was on ‘Team Star,’ I was still confused as fuck.

Reinier groaned and a puddle of piss soon joined him on the floor.

Grimacing and taking a step back, I demanded, “What the hell is going on? Is this a trap?”

“Not for you,” she drawled then kicked out her foot and aimed it at the director’s head. “God, I’ve been wanting to do that for a fucking lifetime.” She clicked her neck and bounced on her toes before slamming him in the side like he was a football she wanted soaring through the goalposts at MetLife Stadium.

Brow still furrowed, I rasped, “This has to be a setup?” Either that or a goddamn joke.

“Meh, less of a setup. More a fortuitous chain of events.”

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