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.

Just another part of that Spartan killer instinct. I can slay the ladies just as well as I can reapers.

Instead, I cut him. Not deep, but there was enough of a sting in the wound to remind him of what I'd done to the dwarven mobsters in the parking lot - and that I wasn't just some chick with a knife who looked good in black.

I pulled the trigger twice, cutting off his protests, and Finn joined my lover on the floor.

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

Logan Quinn was the kind of guy who could stab me in the eye with a freaking Twizzler.

Don't you agree, fuzzball?