There's a sort of dead passion in him. A spark that, had he more years to live, would be a wildfire.

He sits next to me, careful to avoid my hair that's splayed out around my head like blood. A bullet to the forehead, boom, blond waves everywhere.

And if I have to die trying, I will get out of here.

Love unrequited is violent. He loves you so much that he's turned it into hate.

Words like 'unputdownable' and 'irresistible' are simply not enough for Cat Winters's In the Shadow of Blackbirds. Days after finishing this story, it remains the first thought I have in the morning, and the thing that haunts me until I sleep.

None of the wives mention the security guards by the door, who will probably tackle us to the ground if we try to leave without our husbands.

She has the majesty of hurricanes and explosions.