Leandros's favorite place had turned out not to be vegetarian, but vegan, which was for people who preferred their suicide slow.

When life gives you lemons. . . You might as well shove 'em where the sun don't shine, because you sure as hell aren't ever going to see any lemonade.

Niko caught my hand and slapped it lightly down on the bar. “Pistol whipping elderly women isn’t precisely our mission statement, Cal.” I hadn’t been going to pistol-whip her. Yell at her a little more, then pick her up and toss her out into the street. Some risk of a broken hip there, but that wasn’t pistol-whipping… unless she tried to come back in.

Pick up your clothes. I am not your maid. How do I know this? A maid cannot kill you with a tube sock. I can.

You're so very good at that. The temper, the scowl. You must drink shots of testosterone in your morning coffee.

Lies were like acid, corrosive: They could dissolve trust in a heartbeat.

What're you still doing up? You know all good little ninjas should be in bed, visions of homicidal sugarplums dancing in their heads.