Page 2 of Fearless

Cole is shaking his head, and Sarah just looks bored.

Politics and hoors clearly don’t mix.

A nation willing to do what others would so easily shy away from.

The woman on the TV is doing that thing all politicians do, where they make a fist with their hand and bash it down against an invisible desk every time they say an important word. It looks fucking stupid seeing a man doing it, but on a woman it is downright farcical.

Especially a woman like her. She’s lucky if she’s five feet with heels on. She wears glasses that make her eyes look small and beady, and her thick brown hair is cropped so short that from behind you’d mistake her for a man. All the female politicians seem to have those daft haircuts. Maybe they think it’ll make people take them more seriously. I don’t think they’re fooling anyone.

I glance over at my brother to gauge his reaction, one fist clenched and the other one squeezing that cigarette for dear life.

This is not a war on drugs. This is a chance for peace. A chance for hope. A chance for future generations to grow up in a world without that war taking place on their doorsteps.

“Fucking turn her off, Kill. I can’t be dealing with her anymore.”

I switch the channel up one, and some random nature documentary comes on.

...they mature, these young males begin to explore the boundaries of the pride’s territory.

“Now there’s a man you can trust,” Cole says, pointing the end of his cigarette at the lion on the television. “That’s a man I could get behind. He knows the way of the world.”

I laugh at his quick change of mood.

“I’d vote for him instead of that stupid bitch,” he continues.

“You should have gone for the old TV gangster trope,” I suggest. “Crime-lord slash drug-baron turned politician. I can see it now. Cole Hendry for First Minister.”

He laughs at that. “Aye. Should have suggested thatbeforewe started this shit-show.”

I shrug my shoulders. “It’s never too late to change your mind.”

“It’s too late,” he says, almost choking on a deep breath of smoke. “Meisie’s downstairs.”

I lean forward in my chair. “She’s what?”

Cole turns his head toward me. Sarah’s blond head is moving back and forth between us like a little ping pong as she desperately tries to keep up.

“Can you get rid of her or something?” I point my head in Sarah’s direction.

Cole laughs. “She’s fine. She barely knows what planet she’s on. One too many lines, eh darlin’?”

Sarah blinks at him.

Still, I don’t like her knowing our business. It would be different if he ever actually settled down with one of them, but everyone except Sarah knows she’s unlikely to last another two weeks. Two months is about Cole’s limit.

“You said she was downstairs?”

He nods his head and stubs his cigarette out in the ashtray, blinking rapidly as the smoke burns his eyes. “Aye. Spotted her in the Violet room. Why do you think I’m here? I thought you’d want me to cover the shift for you.”

I rub my chin, turning my attention back to the flat-screen. The narrator’s moved on to chronicling the demise of a pretty little impala that seems wholly unaware of the cheetah stalking it in the tall grass.

This is it.

The night we’ve been waiting for.

It’s taken three weeks of Catfishing Meisie on Bumble. And when I say Catfishing, I do mean Catfishing. Iwasme—with my own face—and the bitch swiped left. Swiped left! So I had to adjust my age and resort to using a photo of this skinny Justin Bieber look-alike from America, who I aptly named Justin.

Justin is exactly the sort of cunt who takes a gap year in Thailand and poses with drugged-up tigers.

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