Spittle flew from Jango’s lips as he shouted at the man in a woman’s voice that sounded like it was made of cyanide and sugar that had been laced with the patter of blood dripping on an abattoir floor, “This is the truth about The Killer, ain�...
It ain’t how hard you are when you’re standing over top of someone that really matters. It’s how hard you are when someone’s standing over top of you that shows what you’re made of.
I once fed a dog-fight operator to the dogs he had abused for so long, and do you want to know something? It felt so good. It was justice, girl. The fucking law never gave a shit about a victim, but justice is all heart.
The nurse snorted, and said. “All men are pigs.” “Not all men.” Jango said. “Some of the men are zombies.
Sometimes you have to do something ugly so that something beautiful can grow.
When she had died, his anchor was gone and the world had burned from his untethered insanity.
I have to get stronger, harder, and faster. The only way to get hard enough to walk the Apocalypse Road is in the crucible of battle.
When it's my time, and the reaper calls my name, there will be no stink of fear on me, and my only wish will be to die with grace, covered in the blood of my enemies.
I'm a man born to blood and pain, and peace would be a killing blow for me.
Jango danced; and the tune that he danced to was Death.
She watched as the dancing lights of madness swirled and flickered in his eyes like the fires of hell, and she knew that there would never be anything that could quench those fires except death. Vanessa knew that Jango had become his own Grim Reaper.
