P.D. > Recent Status Updates

In his opinion, speed limits were for people who didn’t know what they were doing, and Rush very much knew what he was doing.

Scowling at him, Rush snatched the phone out to his hand to get a better look at the stupid little screen. It was an article about graffiti, and why did he think . . .
Rush’s gaze fell on the first image of the actual “graffiti,” and he felt his blood run cold.
“Magnus Dux,” was painted in blood across a brick wall, and a quick skimming of the article made it clear that this wasn’t the only one of its kind.

The girl tried to take another go at Rush with her knife, but this time Rush was faster, and he caught hold of her wrist and twisted it. She let out a hiss of pain as the knife clattered to the ground, but she didn’t let that bring her down.

He didn’t wait to see if the degenerate would follow before strolling toward the door and out of his office. He headed back to the elevator they’d ridden in earlier and hit the button, tapping his foot as he waited and Rush came up and leaned against the wall beside him.

Just because you’d take a bullet for someone didn’t mean you wanted them to know everything about you.

Was Peter sitting in a dark empty room just for the fun of it? He was not. Was he doing it to scare the bejeebers out of someone? Of course, but only because they deserved it.

Lever snorted, shaking his head. “Are you serious? You’re about as subtle as a porcupine in a bounce house.”

“I’m insulted,” Lever drawled, raising an eyebrow at the man. “You watched me play a demented version of Ninja Warriors, and you don’t even remember me?”

"What are you waiting for?"
“This shirt's new, I don’t want to get your blood all over it.”

God might still love him after all the mistakes he’d made, but humans were far less forgiving.

He couldn’t just cower, not now, not ever. Cowards were always the first to die, and he was not going to die here.

A small voice whispered that Lever deserved to be alone, and he couldn’t exactly refute it.

Winfield rolled his eyes. “I don’t get concussions.”
“Just because you’ve got a hard head doesn’t mean you can’t get a concussion,” Lee said.

What? Did they seriously think there was a tracker in her? That would be . . . insane, like about everything else that had transpired in the last couple of days. Shoot! She totally had a tracker in her!

“What have you been telling her? And here I thought you’d have my back when it counted.”
He shrugged as he crossed his arms. “I’ll save your life, but character assassinations are totally fine by me.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Riley said, smiling. “I fully intend to get some more practice in.”
“You’re as threatening as a golden retriever,” Jay called back, and Sammy found herself shaking her head at them. “And don’t make empty threats, we both know you wouldn’t be able to survive without me.”
Riley scoffed. “Just get your brother and stop making up stories we both know aren’t true.”

The passenger seat in front of Samantha shifted and bumped against her knee as Riley gave a small chuckle. “Better to be precautious than dead.”
Jay snorted before Samantha heard the clicking of the turn signal. “You should put that on a pillow or something. You might even get it tattooed on your forehead, since I’m pretty sure you’re allergic to being precautious. Oh . . . maybe they can put it on your grave stone.”

He couldn’t be held responsible for whatever he did unsupervised, he was pretty sure that was a rule somewhere.

Thankfully, before Peter would have had to push air into Lever’s lungs—gag!—Lever jerked, and Peter was able to jump back before he got covered in water and whatever else Lever decided to cough up.
Once Lever was done clearing out his lungs, his eyes flickered over to Peter before he slumped back against the ground. “You didn’t have to give me CPR, did you?” he slurred, eyeing Peter.
“No.”
“Small blessings.”

“Fine,” she huffed, shoving herself off of the bed. “Now, get out of my room.”
Riley smirked at her. “I’m not in your room,” he said, glancing down toward where he was just on the other side of the threshold. 
Unbelievable.
Sometimes he really did act like he was the thirteen-year-old and not Samantha.

He nodded. “Interesting. I wonder… Do you think if I did end up killing you anyone would care?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Or would it be just another ketchup stain on the napkin of life?”
“Honestly?” Lee asked. “That was the weirdest metaphor I’ve ever heard, and I can’t get past that part.”

This was a terrible idea. Larkon wasn’t sure why he’d ever thought differently.

Jenny’s jaw dropped. “I was just trying to make conversation!”
Lee snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure, and waterboarding is just a fun sport.”

He shook the thought away; it wasn’t as if he had any plans of smoking anyways.
It was bad for your health, whether there was a sniper involved or not.

With that, she let go of his arm and spun on her heels, nearly taking out one of his eyes with her ponytail.

Hesitantly, Lee did as he was told. But when he sat down, the chair tried to eat him.

“‘Sam gave Jill two apples. Jill gave Bob four apples. How many apples will Bob have if he gives Sam the same amount as he gave Jill?’ Are you kidding me? This isn’t math, it’s Communist propaganda!”

Winfield didn’t find it as hard as he had expected, descending the side of the building. He hadn’t done it for years, but it was like riding a bike, except it was nothing like riding a bike, and it was unlikely he’d die from messing up riding a bike.

“Oh . . . you’re not off the hook,” Cookie said, turning and pointing a finger at Riley. “I have no doubt that he was telling the truth about this being mostly your fault, even if he’s not completely innocent. You are a trouble magnet.”

“I think you enjoy throwing things at me too much.”
“Of course not,” Riley said, giving Jay a confused look. “I just do it for the enjoyment of when you don’t catch it in time and it smacks you in the face.”