You can work with me—or you can wade through the blood and bodies after I'm done.

Well, what did you have for lunch?” I snapped. “Surely that’s not top secret superhero information.” “Steak with mashed potatoes and a side salad,” Striker replied. “And a piece of chocolate cheesecake for dessert.” I gave up on conversation after that. I was too jealous of the cheesecake to continue.

It'll be okay, I promise. No matter what I see or feel. You'll still be Logan and I'll still be your Gypsy girl.

Hope. An emotion that always kept suckering me in, time after time, despite my supposed retirement from the assassin business. Hope. The one thing that always seemed to get me into more trouble than just killing people for money ever had. Ah, hope. Sometimes, I really hated it.

Art should look like art, trees and flowers and people, not weird shapes and splotches of color all smeared together.

Easy was for people too weak to suck it up and do what needed to be done. And I wasn’t weak. Not anymore.

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