Page 22 of Filthy Lies

Star:I’m a star. I exist in the heavens.

Conor:Oh, look. Hell just froze over too.

Star:You’d know seeing as you live in Hell’s Kitchen. What’s it like being next door to the devil?

Conor:Surprisingly humid.

Star:Figured it would be hot.

Conor:More sticky.

Star::P Hit me with the question.

Conor:What happened in Afghanistan?

Star:There was a war.

Conor:Sigh. I mean with you.

Star:Ah, you mean how did I end up being a sex slave?

Conor:Yes. Precisely.

Star:Director of the CIA is a Sparrow. I started sniffing around where he didn’t want me sniffing, and I got my ass landed in Sex Slave Central. Trust me, it’s not the kind of marketplace you want to visit.

Star:Unless you’re into that, of course.

Star:Are you?

Conor:Double sigh.

Star:Why are you asking?

Conor:You have a lot of long-term plans.

Star:I do! It’s my favorite thing to do.

Conor:Do you bullet journal?

Star:Do I seem like the kind of woman who’d bullet journal?

Conor:Hey, I don’t judge. Maybe you have a kill list and it’s decorated with hearts…

Star:I’m not a ‘hearts and flowers’ kinda gal.

Conor:Skulls and crossbones then?

Star:Lol. You got me.

Conor:What? Do you bullet journal?

Star:Uh huh. I use bullets to decorate my journal.

Conor:You’re no fun.

Star:I’m plenty of fun.

Conor:So, do you have a kill list?

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