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Cemeteries had to have good stretches of pliable earth, because it wasn’t like you could plug a coffin into concrete. Well, guess you could—it was called a mausoleum.
humans were not only endless propagators of gore and depravity; they were fascinated by it as well—which
Life was what you determined it to be; regardless of where fate put you, logic and free will meant you could make your cabbage patch anything the fuck you wanted.
When you were trying to get away from yourself, you gravitated to the loud and obnoxious, to the extremes, to the reckless, because it forced you to scramble and hang on with your clawing nails to cliffs of your own self-invention.
Funny, there was a reason that people “built” lives together. Although the choices you made as husband and wife were not bricks, and time was not mortar, you were still constructing something tangible and real.
When you were in his line of work, it was hard to take satisfaction in what you did. Even if you solved a case, someone was still burying a loved one.
Time to find Butch O’Neal. If he could.
The one thing guaranteed not to work is silence.”
“Normal” was not a bad thing in this lunatic world; it really wasn’t. No matter how it happened to be defined.
she supposed she had died. Her body just wasn’t smart enough to stop working.
“You remind me of a friend of mine.” “You mean there’s another son of a bitch lost in his own life because of you? Great. We’ll start a support group.”
“I would do anything for you. Anything.” With that, he pushed his way out . . . and as the door eased shut, she realized that I love you could indeed be said without actually uttering the phrase.
Your legs are part of you, but not all of you or what you are. So wherever we go after tonight, I need you to know that you are no less for the injury. Even if you are in a chair, you still stand as tall as you ever did. Height is just a vertical number—it doesn’t mean shit when it comes to your character or the kind of life you live.”
“Listen to me. You have the fashion sense of a park bench and the interpersonal skills of a meat cleaver—” “Is this supposed to be helping?” “Let me finish—” “What’s next? The size of my cock?” “Hey, even pencils can get the job done—I’ve
“You’d be amazed what I would do to keep you alive.”
Payne’s right to choose her destiny superseded anyone’s right to trap her in her own life. Was that harsh? Yes. Was it fair on those who loved her? Absolutely not.
Humans were stupid cows, but a stampede with no brains was more dangerous than one with intelligence—you could never predict the clueless.
Manny rubbed his crucifix, and the Catholic in him suddenly believed in the saints as so much more than examples of good behavior.
the good news in all this, he supposed, was that finding out his former trauma surgeon was a ghost? Barely a blip on his radar. His mind had been blown too many times to count, and like a joint that had been dislocated, it had total and complete freedom of movement. Of course, its functionality was fucked. But who was counting.
Bonded males were nothing without their females.
To be a soulless killer was far, far, far better than to be a breathing void.
Rule number one of fighting? Pay the fuck attention to your damn opponent.
“Love can conquer everything but reality. Which will win every stinking time.”
His family had been all picture perfect, glymera-conservative—and payback had been a bisexual, metal-headed whore with a Goth wardrobe and a needle fetish.
The trouble is, body needs a hell of a lot less than the soul does to connect.”
God, check his shit out. From slut to camp counselor in a week. Next up: a guest stint on The-fucking-View.
As a ghost, she didn’t become exhausted the way she’d used to: no aches or pains, no dragging sense like someone had tied barbells to both her ankles. Now it was her psyche that grew weary, to the point where she had to shut her lids and see and do absolutely nothing—like her brain’s circuit board needed to be turned off and cooled down. And she did sleep then. And dreamed.
Funny . . . the eternity she’d been granted had always seemed like the grandest blessing. Until she pictured going aeons without the man she loved. Now it was a curse.
His father had taught him that soldiers were no different from any other weapon—and when they were in danger of misfiring? They had to go.
“If there’s one thing that I’ve learned as a doctor,” he said, “it’s that biology prevails. You and I can do all the deciding we want, but the biological differences are nothing that we can change.
“You’re the reason I get out of bed every night. And you’re the reason I can’t wait to come home every dawn. Not the war. Not the Brothers. Not even Butch. It’s . . . you.”
After everything his mahmen had pulled, he simply couldn’t trust females like he could his brothers or his best friend. Except Jane had never betrayed him. In fact, she’d been willing to battle her own conscience just to save him from the unspeakable act his twin had been demanding.
Check his shit out—looked like he was finally prepared to try a psychiatric version of Proactiv.
Through the storm . . . they’d found the calm. Once apart . . . now they were one again.
It was Casa del Heal-the-fuck-up around here.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’d best return to the interior. It’s cold here on the outside.” Well, wasn’t that an ass-smacker of a metaphor.
Shit, if prostitution didn’t make you think men were nasty, sick bastards, nothing else would: Aside from your run-of-the-mill cheaters and the types who were on power trips, you had fuckers with foot fetishes, and those who liked to get spanked, and others who wanted to get pissed on.
As she rubbed her temples, she wondered if anyone’s head had actually ever exploded—or whether everybody on earth just felt that way from time to time.
The king and his Seeing Eye dog were never apart. And not just because Wrath needed the help.
Vishous opened his mouth. Then shut it. Well, he’d had a rockin’ good time enjoying life for about . . . twenty-nine minutes.
“One other thing.” “What.” “I think we’re dating now.” As V barked out a laugh, the cop shrugged. “Come on . . . I got you naked. You wore a damn corset. And don’t get me started about the sponge bath afterward.” “Fucker.” “To the end.”
One advantage to having a wardrobe that consisted mainly of scrubs provided by a hospital was that he didn’t have a lot to pack.
“It has not been the memory of your father that we have served all these years.”
All in all? He felt like he’d won the lottery. In each of the fifty states. At the same time. That was how lucky they all were.
