A Bitter Draught Quotes

“I apologize for knocking your head. I didn’t see you in the cave.” His fingers stilled in surprise, and he lowered his hand with purpose. “It’s likely the blast more than your skull.” “My company will do that too.” Riot looked at her. “Never you, Bel.” His eyes were sharp and clear. “You haven’t spent enough time with me yet.” “Not nearly enough,” he agreed, “but I hope to.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“Isobel exhaled, and she felt Riot relax in front of her. Bark pressed against her back, and warmth radiated from the man in front. He looked down into her eyes. “You can throw your voice,” she whispered, impressed. “A useful skill,” he said quietly. “Where did you learn to run up a wall like that?”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“Not at all an unpleasant place to convalesce,” Riot observed. “Not outwardly,” she said, sinking into an armchair by the window. “There are dark sides to asylums and sanitariums. A murderer and rapist will get a fair trial, but a woman who has a mind of her own can be locked away for life by her husband’s signature.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“The Lady is confident. She’s been on these waters all her life. Practically sails herself. Just needs a nudge here and there.” “Still, it’s a lot of boat.” “When I take you beyond the Golden Gate, you’ll be happy she’s over forty-feet.” Not if, but when. That word heartened Riot to no end. But today, he was glad that they were headed north, staying well inside the bay.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“I’m trouble, and your agency would be in a world of mess if I’m discovered. I’ve involved myself too much as it is,” she realized. Her instincts urged her to leave, to sever ties and flee, but Riot’s calm voice cut through the impulse. “I thought I’d teach Bel to pick locks. Can we use your sample locks?” The prospect of learning to pick a lock, long ached for, overrode concern. What woman could resist such an offer?”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“I refuse to thank you for the use of your hack,” she said to his back. “And I refuse to say you are welcome,” he murmured without interrupting his work.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“I’ve laid my cards on the table.” He spread his hands. “Hardly a strategy.” “It’s a white flag,” she corrected. “You know full well that I’m more akin to a pirate. I’d board your ship anyway. This is a ploy so you can keep your myopic eyes on me.” “What I know, Bel,” he said, softly. “Is that you and I can look after ourselves, but that doesn’t mean we have to.” The words should have sparked outrage, but there was something in his voice that pulled her near: respect. “Damn you, Riot,” she swore. He looked startled, as if he had lost a high-stakes poker hand. “Must you be so agreeable? Some tyrannical comments would be helpful.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“I’ll be sure to write you a dissertation when my own moral insanity gets the better of me.” “Too late. You’re already dead, Bel.” She smiled. “There is that.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“Isobel narrowed her eyes. “You were the detective who beat me to Henry’s residence,” she accused. “I suppose so.” “The landlady wouldn’t budge. Told me to go find a husband and have children.” “Is Mrs. Irish still conscious?”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“Aware of her arm submersed in water with an electrical device, she quickly withdrew it. “Not a pleasant way to die,” she mused. “Would a belt like that kill a man in water?” Her knowledge of electricity was sketchy. “Tim may know. He likes to tinker with electrical devices.” “Tinker as ‘strap one on and climb in the tub’?” “Wouldn’t be the first time,” Riot acknowledged.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“The problem with breaking into an abandoned house was the creeping worry that it was not empty.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“And here they were again; sitting in the saloon as if no time at all had passed. The man made her soft.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“With a breath, she steeled herself, cocked the hammer, stepped into the cabin door, and aimed. A bespectacled man sat in her saloon, reading. His raven hair, streaked with a wing of white, gleamed in the lantern light. Calm brown eyes looked up from the page, ignored her armament, and found her eyes. “Ahoy there.” “Damn you, Riot.” Isobel scowled. Heart in her throat, she uncocked her revolver and slid it into its holster. “I might have shot you.” “You might have,” he agreed, shifting his left hand. His own No. 3, hidden by the book, was cocked and ready in his hand.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“Trust?” Lucie asked, surprised. “I didn’t think you trusted anyone but yourself.” “I’m talking with you, aren’t I?” “My dear sister,” her twin drawled in a masculine voice, “I don’t even trust myself. Madame de Winter is a shameless flirt and gossip.” “Madame de Winter will find her balls kicked if she so much as breathes a word about this business to anyone.” “Your diplomacy has always been intolerable.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“Mack did not know how to reply to her observation, so he fell back on charm. “And what of Mr. Bonnie? Is he a sporting man—or the squeamish type?” He had, at least, noticed the ring on her finger. “Mr. Bonnie died under suspicious circumstances. Poison.” Isobel smiled. “Let me know when the next match is. I do love watching men beat themselves senseless. The bloodier the better.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught

“How are the matches this week, Mr. McCormick?” Surprise flashed across his eyes, and his chest swelled until the buttons looked about to burst. He placed a chewed cigar between his lips. “You’re a sporting woman, then?” “Not that kind.” He chuckled. “Never been to a match, then?” Mack answered his own question. “Women tend to shy away from the brutality.” “Probably reminds them of home and their husbands.”
― Sabrina Flynn, A Bitter Draught