I eat haughty, arrogant, manipulative, self-important bitches like you for breakfast, sugar. And then I go back for seconds.

And that's when I snapped up my left hand and smashed him in the face with the hammer I'd grabbed.

I didn't know if he really meant talk, make out, or something else completely, but I'd be happy with any of them.

Y’all might as well come on out,” I said. “I know you’re there. I can smell you.” “Smell me? But I just took a shower this morning!” an indignant voice drifted out of the shadows. There was a loud sound, like someone was getting smacked upside the head. Then another voice let out a low mutter. “Shut up, idiot.

This is really good,” Donovan Caine said, attacking his third strawberry pancake. “You sound surprised,” I said. He shrugged. “I just didn’t think an assassin would be able to cook like this.” “Well, I do get lots of practice with knives. You could say I’m multitasking.” The detective froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “I’m kidding. I enjoy cooking. It relaxes me.

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

Did she just call me a bleeding toothpick? Kill her! Kill her now!