The Black Dagger Brotherhood (53 page)

Read The Black Dagger Brotherhood Online

Authors: J. R. Ward

“How about basstard?” Z suggested.
“Nice. I feel that.”
p. 445
Lover Unbound
“I am
so
not feeling all this cowhide.”
Vishous looked up from his bank of computers. Butch O'Neal was standing in the Pit's living room with a pair of leathers on his thighs and a whole lot of you've-got-to-be-kidding-me on his puss.
“They don't fit you?” V asked his roommate.
“Not the point. No offense, but these are wicked Village People.” Butch held his heavy arms out and turned in a circle, his bare chest catching the light. “I mean, come on.”
“They're for fighting, not fashion.”
“So are kilts, but you don't see me rocking the tartan.”
“And thank God for that. You're too bowlegged to pull that shit off.”
Butch assumed a bored expression. “You can bite me.”
p. 10
As another martini arrived, Phury tried to remember whether it was his fifth? Or sixth? He wasn't sure.
“Man, good thing we ain't fighting tonight,” Butch said. “You're drinking that shit like water.”
“I'm thirsty.”
“Guess so.” The cop stretched in the booth. “How much longer you plan on rehydrating there, Lawrence of Arabia?”
p. 49
Moments later a huge male with a cropped mohawk came out. Rehvenge was dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit and had a black cane in his right hand. As he came slowly over to the Brotherhood's table, his patrons parted before him, partially out of respect for his size, partly out of fear from his reputation. Everyone knew who he was and what he was capable of: Rehv was the kind of drug lord who took a personal interest in his livelihood. You crossed him and you turned up diced like something off the Food Channel.
p. 50
“Okay, so spill,” Blay said. “What was your transition like?”
“Screw the change, I got laid.” As Blay and John both bug-eyed, Qhuinn chuckled. “Yeah. I did. Got my cherry popped, so to speak.”
p. 52
“You so need to lighten up about that potato-launcher incident,” Butch said.
Phury rolled his eyes and eased back in the banquette. “You broke my window.”
“Of course we did. V and I were aiming for it.”
“Twice.”
“Thus proving that he and I are outstanding marksmen.”
p. 81
“What the guy look like?”
“The vic?” The kid leaned in. “Vic is what the police call the victim. I heard 'em.”
“Thanks for the clarification,” Phury muttered. “So what did he look like?”
p. 93
. . . Damn it.
She had no interest in playing doc. It was a big enough job being kidnap victim, thank you very much.
p. 128
“Didn't we just do this?” Red Sox murmured to the patient. “‘Cept I was the guy in the bed? How about we call it even now and not pull this wounded shit anymore.”
Those icy bright eyes left her and shifted to his buddy. The frown didn't leave his face. “You look like hell.”
“And you're Miss America.”
pp. 129-130
Berating herself and them, she took her hand from her pocket, bent down, and grabbed a vial of Demerol out of the bigger duffel. “There aren't any syringes.”
“I've got some.” Red Sox came over and held a sterile pack out. When she tried to take it from him, he kept a grip on the thing. “I know you'll use this wisely.”
“Wisely?” She snapped the syringe out of his hand. “No, I'm going to poke him in the eye with it. Because that's what they trained me to do in medical school.”
p. 139
“You're kidding me, right? Like I'm supposed to forget the abduction and the mortal threat and give you a drive-thru order?”

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