Craig Schaefer Quotes

You can tell someone to stop saying nasty things about your best friend a hundred times," she mused over a forkful of pasta. "But you only have to rip their tongue out once.

I promised Coop two things before he died," I said. "One, I'd get his cut of the score to his wife. Two, I'd send Stanwyck to hell where he belongs. I'm keeping those promises." "The latter," Caitlin said dryly, running a sharp red fingernail down her menu as she read it over, "can be arranged, with pleasure." "I'm in," Pixie said. "Let's kill him." The table fell quiet.

She had personal details about my relationships that only my close friends should have known. "So you've got a stalker," I said to my reflection in the rearview mirror. "And she eats people. Great.

Only problem with the whole scheme, really, is that Lauren's about to blow up the planet. See, that's the part you aren't in on. The thing in the Box? It's an angel. And it's really old and really pissed off." "You're bluffing," Nicky said. "Are we?" Caitlin shrugged. "We're keeping things under wraps to avoid a panic, but a full report's been delivered to the prince and his inner council. A council which, last time I checked, includes your father. Why don't you get in touch with him? Ask him who Belephaia is." He looked from her to me and back again, resting his hand on his desk phone. His brow furrowed as he worked out the implications.

Everyone," Caitlin said, cradling her wine glass, "is the hero of his own story. That goes double for fanatics. Some of the greatest horrors in history were perpetrated by people who insisted, all the way to damnation's door, that they fought on the side of the angels.

Cait," I called over, "how much is this going to cost?" Sudden silence. Every eye in the room fell upon me, cold as winter ice. "Right," I said, holding up a hand. "I'm just gonna maybe shut up now.

My first escape attempt had been a disaster and this one was likely to land me in an unmarked grave, but the situation wasn't all bad. At least I was able to cross one thing off my bucket list. You know all those movies where the bad guy gets captured, but it turns out that was the key to his master plan all along? Not gonna lie. I'd always wanted to do that.

Ugh." She rolled her eyes. "Ever wonder why that's the conversational default? People always want to know your job. Not what you love, what you hate, but what you do to earn money. What does that say about us as a society?

The key to walking around places where you're not supposed to be is to look like you're too important to be interrupted. Most people are non-confrontational by nature, and if you give them a good reason not to challenge you, they won't. I

It's you, Pix. You and everybody like you. Everybody who reaches out a hand when they don't have to. Everybody who helps somebody get up on their feet, or gets in the way of a fist so somebody weaker doesn't have to take the pain. Everybody who stands up in the face of evil and says 'no more.' Everybody who does what they can to make this shithole of a planet a little less miserable for everybody else. You are who's fighting for us.

The machinery joining the vats was a nightmare jumble of pipes and flanges. Since you couldn't really hire a professional plumber to set up your deathtraps, some clever techie on Angus Caine's payroll must have done it himself with whatever parts he had on hand.

The C-4 really did look like a stick of butter, neatly wrapped in brown paper. So did the next brick she took from her trunk. And the next. "How much did you get?" I asked. She shrugged with a smile. "I called in some favors. Figured we might as well go all out on the shock and awe.

A couple strolled by behind my chair. For a moment, they got between us and the closest light, casting Freddie in a patch of shadow. As the light peeled away, so did the facade. A desiccated corpse reclined on the divan, with skin turned blue and chapped by arctic windburn. The corpse grinned at me from a lipless mouth, showing sharp yellowed teeth. Her nose and most of one cheek had rotted away, the ragged wounds black with frostbite, and iron talons three inches long curled around the stem of her martini glass. Then the light flooded back and the moment was gone. Freddie must have caught the look on my face. She smiled and gave me a wink.

it's about doing what you can, whenever you can, to stand up for what you believe. You fight and you never, ever give up. That's what makes a man.

You're playing solitaire with no aces in the deck, and you can't figure out why you never win.

In my experience, the handoff was the most dangerous part of a deal. If your client decided to pay you in bullets instead of cash, this was where it would go down.

Well hello," Caitlin said, eyeing the shepherd. "The last time I saw you, you were wearing your heart on your sleeve. Because I ripped it out and put it there.

Adrenaline after a gunfight's like a coked-up rock star in an expensive hotel room. It doesn't leave until it trashes the place.

A fresh bottle of Jack waited on the end table, but for the first time in weeks I didn't feel the need to pour a nightcap. The music was better.

Monsters always prey on the people who've already been beaten down.

It looked like a cutoff valve. Assuming I had any idea what I was looking at. Assuming it would work. Assuming the whole rig wasn't an elaborate fail-safe, a trap that would start the killing rain as soon as I turned the wheel. That was a hell of a lot of maybes.

The pink sun tumbled from the sky like a shooting star, turning day to night in the space of a trembling breath. What rose in its place was a moon made of rotting meat, its vast surface pitted with crawling black mold, glowing in a starless sky.

Whatever you did, man, you laid her to rest." I didn't lay Stacy's soul to rest. I sent her to hell. It wasn't my finest hour.

It's never good to owe money to a guy with a cellar full of military hardware. Especially not when he rides with an outlaw biker gang.

My guys saw you on Fremont last week, Dan. You know what they saw you doing?" "Their mothers?" I replied. "Funny," he said and turned back to Juliette.

Simon Koertig took no pleasure from the act of murder.
That wasn't true, exactly. He took tremendous pleasure from the art of murder. Of honing his skills, refining his craft, pursuing his quarry, and staging their perfect and elegant demise. Some murders were quick and brutally simple, others long and drawn-out affairs, but they were all handcrafted and beautiful acts. The relationship between executioner and victim, he believed, was more sacred than the bond between lovers.

Joining Vigilant was a one-way door, an express elevator with only one button: down.

All the danger, none of the reward.

She called herself Mater Tantibus." I scraped the rust off my Latin. "Mother of Nightmares?" "Pretentious, right?" Said the Grand Matriarch of the House of Dead Roses, I thought, but I was smart enough not to say that out loud.

I chuckled. "Yeah, okay." He relaxed, sinking back in his chair, mirroring my smile. "But you know the old saying," I told him. His brow furrowed. "What old saying?" "Two people can keep a secret," I said, "if one of them is dead." He barely had time for the shock to register on his face as I grabbed his wrist and yanked up his right hand. I pressed the muzzle to his temple and his hand to the barrel. "No," he gasped, just before I pulled the trigger and painted his desk cherry red.

shot or worse. I needed a plan. So nobody had ever successfully escaped from Eisenberg Correctional. I was willing to bet they'd never had a prisoner like me, but then again, that was probably what every other would-be escapee thought before he ate a bullet.

She arched an eyebrow. "You already know?" "I stole his soul, lost his soul, exorcised his soul from another person's body, stuffed him in a bottle, pulled a short con, and now the Choir thinks I'm Gilles de Rais." Pixie just stared at me. She rested her palms on the tabletop. "You have got," she said, "to do a better job of keeping me in the loop." "It's been a really busy couple of days.

You killed a buddy of mine, back at the shelter." "Yeah? What about the other three guys I killed? You didn't like them as much?" That shut him up, at least. The elevator door whispered open. Jennifer and I stepped into the cage, bathed in cherry light. The merc leaned in, swiped his keycard, and hit the button for the penthouse floor. "Bon voyage, asshole," he said

Freedom. You humans do love to prattle on about freedom, and you barely understand the word. How much agency do you think you actually have? From the cradle to the grave, you're bombarded with media, advertising, cultural and social pressure to conform…it's amazing you can think at all.

I explained Crime 101 to the kid. "Guns escalate things. They're only good for crowd control. We're going in after closing hours, so we don't need crowd control." "Yeah," Augie said, "but what about security? What if they start bustin' caps?" Bustin' caps. I wondered how many hip-hop posters he had on his bedroom wall. "Site's handled by Gold Star Security Northwest," I explained. "They don't carry guns, just Tasers and pepper spray. They also make thirteen bucks an hour, and heroics are highly discouraged in their training manual. Their standing orders in case of a burglary are to retreat to safe ground and call the real cops. That gives us plenty of time to bug out if we get spotted and blow it." "Cool," Augie said.

The cellar itself? Not shown. Probably wanna check that out." "The cellar," I said. "Great. Because nothing bad ever happens in the cellars of creepy old houses.

At a distance, they looked just boring enough to be important.

You saved me, too," I told her. "Sometimes you just can't do everything alone. And that's okay.

Honor," she said, "is the coin that stays in your pocket when all your silver has been spent.

I could see the sorrow in her eyes as she gently brushed his hair aside and kissed his brow. Then she snapped his neck. Ben's corpse tumbled to the floor. Emma sank to her knees beside him, mute. She brushed her fingertips along his lifeless arm. If this was an action movie, that would have been her cue to say something badass. But this wasn't a movie. It was just a stupid dead man and a grieving widow and a gulf of pain I couldn't imagine.

Good. I need to arm up. All I've got is a gun with four bullets, and it's a really embarrassing gun.

Have you ever considered, for even a moment, the list of things I'm not allowed to do because some bitter old men say so? I can't lead a mass, can't earn the greens of a priest, let alone claim my birthright. My entire life, from the cradle to the grave, is dictated by 'traditions' and rules that you aren't subject to. My power was taken away from me the moment I was born a woman. So no, you do not get to give me permission to cry!" "I'm