Quotes About Tension

If you think looking at three hundred boiling-mad, half-cocked Virginians holding every kind of breechloader under God's sun staring back at you with murder in their eyes is a ticket to redemption, you is on the dot.

Because all that money wouldn't be in the pot in the first place if you weren't up against a pretty strong hand, you loose, dumb, tight-weak motherfucker!

And Max, I've put some scraps in a bowl for your dog, Mom said. It's on the floor, by the back door. The flock and I went still. Uh-oh, I thought. Total stomped up to me, his glare accusing. A bowl on the floor! he seethed. Why don't you just chain me to a stake in the yard and throw me a bone!

Fang was going to kill me. And after I was dead, he would kill me again.

When did they start coming after you?" "Was it—was it after the oil- slick Hummer crash?" the Gasman asked Iggy tentatively. My eyes widened. Oil-slick Hummer crash? Iggy rubbed his chin, thinking. "Or maybe it was more---after the bomb," the Gasman said in a low voice, looking down. "I think it was the bomb," Iggy agreed. "That definitely seemed to tick them off." "Bomb?" I asked incredulously.

Fang looked at me, hope in his eyes, and I smirked at him. I save the huge emotional kissy-face for imminent death scenes. This probably didn't qualify.

The house was on fire, i greeted them tersely. In case you're interested. they both glanced up overhead as if to make sure the house was still standing. Fang sniffed, smelling the smoke. It's out, right? he said

You know things have gone bad when military marches pass for pop music.

Advanced life-forms, my seweet patootie. Jerks. Both of them.

Choose now,' he spat, his eyes practically shooting sparks. 'Me or him.' 'Gosh, Fang, you romantic fool,' I said sarcastically. 'How incredibly sexist-pig of you.

Veins practically popping out of his neck, the jerk leaned out his window and yelled a bunch of swear words, including a new one I tucked away in my brain for future use, if necessary.

why can't you just get out of here and leave me alone?i bellowed. i can't! dylan shouted back,his face twisted with an anger i'd never seen from him. you can,i said through gritted teeth.just point your wings that way and flap!

I moved to leave, and Dylan actually grabbed my shoulders. I was so surprised that i forgot to karate-chop his elbows and break his arms.' "I don't want anything to happen to you," he said urgently. "What you want does not matter here," I said slowly and carefully. I hoped Dylan was sensitive enough to read between the lines, to the subtext of: Let go of me or I'll kill you.

What do you talk about to a murderer, and someone you loved, over a perfect dinner and cocktails? I wanted to know so many things, but I couldn't ask any of the real-questions pounding in my head. Instead, we talked of the coming vacation days, a plan for the here and now in the islands.

He felt nervous and excited an happy and kind of filled with dread, all at the same time. It was the most emotion he'd never experienced...

Five minutes," I said, and walked away, but my heart was still going just as fast as before. This was only half over. Was it five minutes until I pulled this off? Or five minutes to live?

Stevie Kosgrov is my very own somewhat demented Dudley Dursley—if Dudley had muscles and serious BO issues and knew how to jam people's heads down toilets to give them a swirly. Yes

Ruger in his waistband. Then he switched the .357 to his

quarter glass of whiskey. His shoulders were up around his ears and his jaw was flexing, and I could see what remained of the muscles in his neck twitching. He was looking away from me and Nick at a group of men celebrating what seemed to be someone's return. A skinny, pockmarked shrimp of a guy at the center of the

after we cleared the tunnel at Treasure Island, a panicky

walked away, Jeanne Galletta heard him mutter something like "calm down" under his breath. Typical. Male cops tended to respond one way to a man's

up beside the car. Then he pulled out a Sig Sauer

The captain was almost as tall as me. He wore his dark hair slicked tightly against his scalp. There were definite cliques inside the NYPD. Divisions happen in all large organizations. The simple old Irish-versus-Italian rivalry had given way to a much more complicated system. Ramirez identified strongly with the Hispanic clique and didn't give a crap if I was Irish, Italian, or black. I wasn't Hispanic so he didn't cut me any slack.

I know your old lady isn't home, 'cause she's in the car with Sosh right now." "Well, then, Sosh