Quotes from J.R. Ward

No, fuck that shit. That pair of assholes can fuck right off.

lex talionis

Damn it," he muttered as he squeezed his eyes shut. Sure, that shit about his mom was fine. But Lassiter, it appeared, was the race's new boss. Great. Nothing like putting a five-year-old behind the wheel of a car and giving the little shit the car keys. Big ol' angel wingspans aside, the ride, which had already not been all that smooth, was about to get bumpier than a motherfucker.

Terrific. A bisexual dominant vampire with kidnapping expertise. Man, for so many reasons she shouldn't feel like she did about him.

Sometimes the worst part about trauma was not going through it. It was the aftermath, when you were free. And you obsessed about what would have happened if you hadn't gotten out.

The vision had been of him naked and Butch wrapped around him, the two of them high up in the sky, entwined in the midst of a cold wind. Jesus Christ, he was deranged. Deranged and perverted. "Look, I'll come at sundown and hit you with a little hand action." "Good. That always helps.

In this state, the club was The Wizard of Oz made obvious: All the magic that went on here night after night, all the buzz and excitement, was really just a combination of electronics, booze, and chemicals, an illusion for the people who walked through the front doors, a fantasy that allowed them to be whatever they weren't in their day-to-day lives.

It was a very big it. A very…erect it, straining the front of his pants.

In A.J.'s experience, she wasn't really the kind of woman men would break down a door to get to. Well, maybe if a house was on fire and they were a Good Samaritan with ax and an air mask.

My sex life is private, Butch. So are my…unconventional interests." "I hear ya. No one's biz but yours. One question, though." "What." "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?

When it came to someone else macking on their females, bonded males liked closure. Of the coffin-lid variety.

How he roomed with the fucker was inexplicable.

Butch let his head fall loose on his shoulders and he wept openly… though not out of happiness, as they must have assumed. He wept at the hollowness he felt. Because however wonderful this all was, it seemed empty to him. Without his mate to share his life with, he was but a screen for events and circumstances to pass through. He was not even empty, for he was no vessel to hold even the thinnest of air. He lived, though was not truly alive.

Sometimes your whole life could hinge on a fraction of an inch. Or the beat of a nanosecond. Or the knock on a door. Kind of made a male believe in the divine. It really did.

Screamer's was packed tonight, full of women wearing leather and men who looked like they had advanced degrees in violent crime. Darius and his companion fit right in. Except they actually were killers.

V was sooo stuck. "You know," Lassiter murmured, "I really wish I had brought my cell phone right now. Your face is such a picture. It's the kind of thing I'd like to have as my lock screen.

Humans + alcohol x urge to kill=body count. Not what he or his business interests needed.

But thanks, my man." "One other thing." "What." "I think we're dating now." As V barked out a laugh, the cop shrugged. "Come on . . . I got you naked. You wore a damn corset. And don't get me started about the sponge bath afterward." "Fucker." "To the end.

You wanted to live." "No," he shot back. "I was afraid of dying.

The matched pair of avant-garde rich were inspecting a work of art that was made up of shredded bedsheets draped over a taxidermied cow standing with each hoof in a toilet.

He was hers to command, and if she wished to take his life here and now, he would willingly give his mortal coil unto her. No matter how much it hurt or what his suffering was, it would be a good death, one he had long deserved. Because this female, who captivated his black soul as surely as if she held his beating heart in her palm, would be the one killing him.

Butch re-formed next to him and entered

Just talk to me. And I promise, I'll make sure that motherfucker gets it right good.

He heard the door to the apartment across the way close, and abruptly a surround-sound TV came on loud enough so he could hear the rerun of The Office. He liked this epi. It was the one where the bat got loose—