Tilliboom

“I think that's Justin Bieber.

Standing in front of a line up of Lay's potato chips, Qhuinn looked overhead to the speaker inset into the ceiling tiles. Yup, I'm right, and I hate that I know that.

Next to him John Matthew signed, How do you know?

The little shit is everywhere.

I swear, that kid is proof the Antichrist is coming.

Maybe it's already here.

Would explain Miley Cyrus.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover at Last

“I'd better go,” he said, without leaving.
That one eye, the blue one, just kept staring up at him. Bloodshot, with a cut across the brow above it, the thing shouldn’t have been able to focus. But it was.
“I have to go,” Blay said finally.
Without leaving.
Damn him, he didn't know what the hell he was doing—
A tear escaped from that eye. Welling up along the lower lid, it coalesced at the far corner, formed a crystal circle, and grew so fat it couldn't hold on to the lashes. Slipping free, it meandered downward, getting lost in dark hair at the temple.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Reborn

“The thing was, Qhuinn felt like he wanted to explain things. Unfortunately, and unlike his slut cousin, Saxton the Cocksucker, he had no gift with words.”
― J. R. Ward, Lover at Last

“Hey, as you leave, Qhuinn wanted to say, will you do me a favor? I think my left ventricle is on the floor, so don't step on it as you pull out? Thanks. Great.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Reborn