Oh, Finn isn’t an assassin,” I cut in. “He’s much, much worse. He’s a banker.

Kiss me or let me go. I don’t care anymore.

The two men eyed each other. Assessing strengths. Looking for weaknesses. Measuring dicks once again

Really, Gin, did you have to ruin my suit?” he said. “This was a Fiona Fine original.

Finn regarded pesky little things like wedding bands, engagement rings, and jealous, hulking menfolk more as amusing challenges than immovable obstacles that could be hazardous to his health.

Are you coming along peaceful-like, or am I going to have to hog-tie you and put you in the car?

Still, I'd do anything for him. Even smear his clotting blood inside the vehicle of his choosing.