What's with the cute shoelace on your head?" "What this?" He flicked the end of the cord with his finger. "Yeah. Rambo called, he wants his bandana back.

What do you do to your hair?" "Dust, hair gel, and a little gun oil." "Ever thought of patenting the recipe?" "No.

This is payback, isn't it?" Jim glared at me. "Don't be ridiculous," I told him. "As the Consort of the Pack, I'm far above petty revenge.

On a scale from one to ten, the Pack was eleven and everything else a one.

I did deranged quite well, when the occasion called for it.

The dark scary servant of all evil was on his way to rescue me. Somehow that thought failed to make me warm and fuzzy.

Our stares connected and we were quiet for a long minute, united by our misery. At least he understood me and I understood him. "A fine pair we make,” he said. "Yeah.