You're mine," "Not his. Mine. Only mine. Always mine.

The two men stared at each other. Assumptions were made, judgments rendered, dicks measured.

What was it with people always trying to kill me in the library? Nickamedes so needed to put up warning signs. Danger: Working here could be hazardous to your health.

They’d played “Sweet Home, Alabama” so many times I wanted to crash the party, kill the radio, and knife whoever was selecting the music.

This is an Aston Martin, Gin.You don't run over dead bodies in an Aston Matin." "Tell that to James Bond

You're just jealous." "Hardly. Been there, done you. Adequate, but unremarkable.

I was so getting tired of fighting for my life in the library.