My name is Gin, and I kill people.

There's nothing I can do that's going to drive you away, is there?" I murmured. Owen flashed me a sly grin. "Finally figuring that out, are you? I nodded. His grin deepened. "Well, it sure took you long enough.

Are you OK?" I asked. "I think so." Logan stared at me, and a smile pulled up his lips. "But maybe you should give me mouth-to-mouth, just to make sure.

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

Keep the change, Gin," McCallister said in a smarmy, mocking voice. "Consider it an early Christmas present." "Aw," I drawled. "A whopping thirteen cents. You're too kind, Jonah. Why, you'd put Ebezener Scrooge to shame with your bighearted generosity.

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

Etiquette? What kind of etiquette was there in someone trying to murder me?