Yous

“The staircase that was revealed was lit with a soft red glow.
I feel like I'm walking down into a porn movie," V muttered as they took the steps with care.
Wouldn't that require more black candles for you," Zsadist cracked.
At the bottom of the landing, they looked left and right down a corridor carved out of stone, seeing row after row of...black candles with ruby color flames.
I take that back," Z said, eyeing the display.
We start hearing chick-a-wow-wow shit," V cut in, "can I start calling you Z-packed?"
Not if you want to keep breathing.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Avenged

“Oh, man there's a marathon of Beaches running tomorrow night. Can we go after ten so I can see it once all the way through?"

Everyone in the room turned to the blond-and-black haired guy, who was propped in the corner, massive arms over his chest.

What," he said. "Look, it's not Mary Tyler Moore, 'kay? So you can 't give me shit."

Vishous, the one with the black glove on his hand, glared across the room. "It's worse than Mary Tyler Moore. And to call you and idiot would be an insult to half-wits around the world."

Are you kidding me? Bette Midler rocks. And I love the ocean. Sue me."

Vishous glanced at the king. "You told me I could beat him. You promised."

As soon as you come home," Wrath said as he got to his feet, "we'll hang him up by his armpits in the gym and you can use him as a punching bag."

Thank you, baby Jesus."

Blond-and-Black shook his head. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to leave."

As one, the Brothers all pointed to the open door and let silence speak for itself.

You guys suck.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Avenged

“When I want you to beg, I'll tell you.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Unbound

“Jesus Christ. . . he was not Omega's son. Was he?

"No." V said. "You are not. He just wants to believe you are. And he wants you to think you are. But that doesn't make it true."

There was a long silence. Then Rhage's hand landed on Butch's shoulder. "Besides, you don't look a thing like him. I mean. . . hello? You are this beefy Irish white boy. He's like. . . bus exhaust or some shit."

Butch glanced over at Hollywood. "You're sick, you know that?"

"Yeah, but you love me, right? Come on, I know you feel me.”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Revealed