His strut reminded her of a smiling serial killer, oh yeah, he'd kill you, but boy, he'd have lovely manners while he did it.

Love was a bitch because it shackled you as hard as steel cuffs, leaving you gasping and hollow for any connection.

Her libido hadn’t been this awake since … she couldn’t even remember. It was as if Avon had come calling and she was buying every damn lipstick in every damn shade.

Her life was one giant clusterfuck of crazy, she was the epicenter, and no matter what she did to outrun her own personally designed hurricane there it was sweeping her off to Oz.

Never taunt the devil, because the devil will show you what he had, pitchfork in hand. The devil was such a showboater, and Preacher was even worse.

He was just your average biker in blue denim jeans, thick-soled boots and a long-sleeved shirt underneath the leather jacket, nothing special she tried to reason with her clutching ovaries, little traitorous bastards.