There's pressure, but that's true no matter who you are or what you do.

This would be so much easier if they actually issued black hoods.

Some things are private. Some things needed to be said, even when the person who needed to hear them couldn’t hear anything. Ever again.

Marc didn’t want to win by default. He wanted to win for real. Forever.

Not that I don't appreciate the rescue," Holt said. "But I'm forced to ask, in the interest of self-preservation ... exactly how well armed are you right now?

Did he show himself?” Nash asked, and I glanced to my right to see him staring at my father, as fascinated as I was. My dad nodded. “He was an arrogant little demon.” “So what happened?” I asked. “I punched him.” For a moment, we stared at him in silence. “You punched the reaper?” I asked, and my hand fell from the strainer onto the edge of the sink. “Yeah.” He chuckled at the memory, and his grin brought out one of my own. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my father smile. “Broke his nose.

A smart woman would have shut up. Did I? Hell no. Intelligence is overrated anyway.