by J. R. Ward
“God, spare me from heroes,” she muttered. “Back the fuck off!”
That got their attention.
p. 408
She shook her head and bent down to pick up a shirt from the floor. “You are the sweetest thug I’ve ever known.”
p. 419
Sweeping her hair back, she laughed. “So your sight’s returning?”
“Among other things. Come here, Mary. I want to kiss you.”
“Oh, sure. Make up for being a bully by plying me with your body.”
“I’ll use any asset I’ve got.”
He threw the sheets and duvet off himself and swept his hand down his chest, over his stomach. Lower. Her eyes widened when he took his heavy erection in his palm. As he stroked himself, the scent of her arousal bloomed like a bouquet in the room.
“Come over here, Mary.” He twisted his hips. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right. It feels so much better when you touch me.”
“You are incorrigible.”
“Just looking for some instruction.”
“Like you need that,” she muttered, taking off her sweater.
pp. 419-420
“I told you, that’s fine with me.” She smiled. “I mean, come on. He’s kind of cute, in a Godzilla sort of way. And I’ll look at it as a two-for-one kind of deal.”
p. 441
Lover Awakened
Man, it was a good thing he fought like a nasty bastard or he might have been taken for a nancy.
p. 44
. . . The other was behind the desk and hump-ugly: a ragged, avocado green leather monstrosity with dog-eared corners, a sagging seat, and a set of legs that gave new meaning to the word sturdy.
Tohr put his hand on the thing’s high back. “Can you believe Wellsie made me get rid of this?”
John nodded and signed, Yes, I can.
p. 73
“Well, I can’t read. So we’re SOL, you and me.”
John worked his Bic quickly. As he showed the pad to Phury, the male with the black stare frowned. “What did the kid write?”
“He says that’s okay. He’s a good listener. You can do the talking.”
p. 94
He grabbed her hand, whipped the pen out of it, and flattened her palm.
I want to talk to you, he wrote.
Then he looked straight into her eyes and did the most amazing, ballsy thing.
He smiled at her.
p. 123
John nodded and looked at the twelve guys who were seated in pairs and staring at him.
Whoa. Really not feeling the love here, fellas, he thought.
p. 140
After a moment Blaylock pulled a polite one and introduced the others. They all had odd names. The blond’s was Lash. And how fricking appropriate was that?
p. 142
“This place is just too frickin’ precious,” the cop said, eyeing a guy dressed in a hot pink leisure suit with makeup to match. “Give me rednecks and home-grown beer any day of the week over this X-culture bullshit.”
p. 158
“Just want to make sure your needs are served. Customer satisfaction is so damned important.” The male moved even closer and nodded at Phury’s arm, the one that disappeared into his coat. “Your hand’s on a gun butt right now, isn’t it? Afraid of me?”
“Just want to make sure I can take care of you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yeah. In case you need a little Glock-to-mouth resuscitation.”
p. 159
That female who’d walked in on him and the Reverend clearly had a big mouth and . . . Christ. Butch must have already told Vishous. The two were like an old mated couple, no secrets between them. And V would squeal to Rhage. And once Rhage knew, you might as well have popped the news flash on the Reuters wire.
p. 181
Their eyes met. She was so pretty, she made him dizzy.
“Do you want to kiss me?” she whispered.
John’s eyes cracked open. Like a balloon had popped behind his head.
“Because I’d like you to.” She licked her lips a little. “I really would.”
Whoa . . . Chance of a lifetime, right here, right now, he thought.
Do not pass out. Passing out would be a total buzz kill.
John quickly called on every movie he’d ever seen . . . and got no help at all. As a horror fan, he was swamped by visions of Godzilla stomping across Tokyo and of Jaws chewing on the ass end of the Orca. Big help.
p. 215
. . . The guy was cracking down on the Brotherhood, organizing shifts, trying to turn four loose cannons like V, Phury, Rhage, and Z into soldiers. No wonder he always looked like his head hurt.
p. 219
Phury lit a blunt and eyed the sixteen cans of Aqua Net that were lined up on Butch and V’s coffee table. “What’s doing with the hair spray? You boys going drag on us?”
Butch held up the length of PVC pipe he was punching a hole in. “Potato launcher, my man. Big fun.”
“Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you ever go to summer camp?”
“Basket weaving and woodcarving are for humans. No offense, but we have better things to teach to our youngs.”
“Ha! You haven’t lived until you’ve gone on a midnight panty raid. Anyway, you put the potato in this end, you fill up the bottom with spray—”
“And then you light it,” V cut in from his bedroom. He came out in a robe, rubbing a towel on his wet hair. “Makes a great noise.”
“Great noise,” Butch echoed.
Phury looked at his brother. “V, you’ve done this before?”
“Yeah, last night. But the launcher jammed up.”
Butch cursed. “Potato was too big. Damn Idaho bakers. We’re leading with red skins tonight. It’s going to be great. Of course, trajectory can be a bitch—”
“But it’s really just like golf,” V said, dropping the towel across a chair. He pulled a glove over his right hand, covering the sacred tattoos that marked the thing from palm to fingertip and all across the back. “I mean, you gotta think of your arc in the air—”
Butch nodded up a storm. “Yeah, it’s just like golf. Wind plays a big role—”
“Huge.”
Phury smoked along as they finished each other’s sentences for another couple minutes. After a while he felt compelled to mention, “The two of you are spending way too much time together, you feel me?”
V shook his head at the cop. “The brother has no appreciation for this kind of thing. Never has.”
“Then we aim for his room.”
“True that. And it faces the garden—”
“So we don’t have to work around the cars in the courtyard. Excellent.”
pp. 259-260
Tohr laughed softly. “Yeah, I’m not much for the emotive crap either—Ouch! Wellsie, what the hell?”
p. 272
He put the bottle on the table next to him and held up his gloved hand. “After all, this godforsaken thing still glows like a lamp. And until I lose this whacked-out night-light of mine, I figure I’m still normal. Well . . . normal for me.”
p. 301
Phury pulled on a pair of nylon warm-ups. “You want food? I’m going to make a kitchen trip.”
Butch’s eyes blissed out. “You’re actually going to bring it up here? As in, I don’t have to move?”
“You’re going to owe me, but yeah, I’m willing to deliver.”
“You are a god.”
Phury put on a T-shirt. “What do you want?”
“Whatever’s in the kitchen. Hell, make yourself really useful and drag that refrigerator on up here. I’m starved.”
pp. 307-308
“Then why are you wearing that bandage like a sash?”
“It makes my ass look smaller.”
p. 339
“I don’t want to go.”
“Well . . . in the words of Vishous, want in one hand, shit in the other—see what you get most of.”
p.
358
Phury was lying on the king-size bed, lines plugged into him as if he were a switchboard.
The male’s head turned. “Z . . . what are you doing up?”
“Giving the medical staff a workout.” He shut the door and weaved into the room, heading for the bed. “They’re pretty damn fast, actually.”
p. 397
There was no reply. So Z glanced over again—just as a tear slid down Phury’s cheek.
“Ah . . . fuck,” Z muttered.
“Yeah. Pretty much.” Another tear rolled out of Phury’s eye. “God . . . damn. I’m leaking.”
“Okay, brace yourself.”
Phury scrubbed his face with his palms. “Why?”
“Because . . . I think I’m going to try to hug you.”
Phury’s hands dropped and he looked over with an absurd expression.
Feeling like an utter ass, Z pushed himself over to his twin. “Lift up your head, damn it.” Phury craned his neck. Z slid his arm underneath. The two of them froze in the unnatural positions. “You know, this was a hell of a lot easier when you were out cold in the back of that truck.”
“That was you?”
“You think it was Santa Claus or some shit?”
p. 399
Butch sighed in relief. “Listen, man, do me a favor. Warn me before you pull another stunt like that. I’d rather choose.” Then he smiled a little. “And we still ain’t dating.”
p. 406
Lover Revealed
. . . When it was finished, the scaled dragon looked around and as the thing spotted V, a growl rippled up to the bleachers, then ended in a snort.
“You finished, big guy?” V called down. “FYI, goalpost over there would work righteous as a toothpick.”
p. 22
“For sure. I’m thinking about a future in contracting. Wanted to see how this bathroom was put together. Excellent tile work. You should check it.”
“How about I carry you back to bed?”
“I want to look at the sink pipes next.”
Respect and affection clearly drove V’s cool smirk. “At least let me help you up.”
“Nah, I can do it.” With a groan, Butch gave the vertical move a shot, but eased back down onto the tile. Turned out lifting his head was a little overwhelming. But if they left him here long enough—a week, maybe ten days?
“Come on, cop. Cry uncle here and let me help.”
Butch was suddenly too tired to front. As he went totally limp, he was aware of Marissa staring at him and thought, man, could he look any weaker? Shit, the only saving grace was that there wasn’t a cold breeze on his butt.
Which suggested the hospital gown had stayed closed. Thank you, God.
pp. 84-85
“You know you were with the lessers, true?”
Butch lifted one of his busted-up hands. “And here I thought I’d been to Elizabeth Arden.”
p. 85
“Sure.” Except when V brought up his business hand and started taking off that glove, Butch recoiled. “What are you going to do with that thing?”
“Trust me, true?”
Butch barked a laugh. “Last time you said that I ended up with a vampire cocktail, remember?”
“Saved your ass. That’s how I found you.”
So that had been the why of it. “Well, then, fly me some of that hand.”
Still, as V put the glowing thing close, Butch winced.
“Relax, cop. This isn’t going to hurt.”
“I’ve seen you toast a house with that bastard.”
“Point taken. But the Firestarter routine isn’t going down here.”
p. 87
She pulled back the sheet. Good God, his sex was . . . “It’s gotten so . . . huge.”
Butch barked out a laugh. “You say the nicest things.”
p. 117
“Man,” Rhage muttered, “someone hit this place with the Hallmark stick.”
“Until it broke.”
p. 143
“When the females tie you down, do they paint your toenails and shit? Or just do your makeup?” As V laughed in a loud crack, the cop said, “Wait . . . they tickle your pits with a feather, right?”
p. 150
Before Butch knew what was doing, V grabbed his forearm, bent down, and licked the cut, sealing it up quick.
Butch yanked out of his roommate’s hold. “Jesus, V! What if that blood’s contaminated!”
“It’s fine. Just f—” With a boneless lurch, Vishous gasped and collapsed against the wall, eyes rolling back in his head, body twitching.
“Oh, God . . . !” Butch reached out in horror—
Only to have V cut the seizure off and calmly take a drink from his glass. “You’re fine, cop. Tastes perfectly okay. Well, fine for a human guy, which really ain’t my tail of choice, you feel me?”
Butch hauled back and nailed his roommate in the arm with his fist. And as the brother cursed, Butch popped him another one.
V glared and rubbed himself. “Christ, cop.”
“Suck it up, you deserve it.”
p. 193
“Shit . . . you’re right. I apologize.”
“Can we screw the ‘sorry’ part and let me hit you back instead?”
p. 194
“V, you know I love you like a brother, right?”
“Yeah.”
“You feed her and I’ll tear your fucking throat out.”
p. 218
“That’s what I like to hear.” The Reverend slid into the booth, his amethyst eyes scanning the VIP section. He looked good, his suit black, his silk shirt black, his mohawk a dark cropped stripe that ran front to back on his skull. “So I want to share a little news.”
“You getting married?” Butch tossed back half the new Lag. “Where you registered? Crate and Bury ’Em?”
