Novel & Cerita Boondock Saints Sayings

He grinned. She simply laughed. “Telephone. Telegram. Telegraph. Tell a Saint.” “Truth.” Pagan laughed as he walked into the chapel, and she took her post with the other prospect on duty tonight. Toad was one of the last Saints through the door and closed the door behind him. “Pagan.” Toad growled as he moved towards his chair. “What the fuck were you doing at the courthouse this week?” he sat in his chair. “Your ex giving you shit again?”

Brody murmurs, unsure, "You think it'll be okay? No accidents?" "You think I'd risk it?" Saint scoffs in an annoyed tone, "Of course it'll be okay, idiot. Don’t question me.” "He doesn’t like being questioned. Just believe him," Angel lets out with a dumb, very drunk, laugh, "I just want to get there, so let's go."

Saint’s low growl rumbles the room. “Saint, it’s just me. Relax.” I roll my eyes while I lean Bronx’s head onto my shoulder and slide his underwear on. “If you could help me get him dressed, that would be nice.” There’s a pause. I sense Saint coming forward with a raspy groan. His gravely voice murmurs in my ear. “He’s happy for you.” “What about you?” I ask while Saint uses my body to support Bronx’s weight. “I’m fucking drunk.” He leans back on the bed when the shorts are in place. “The pup changes everything.”

Saint scolds. "Because out there? It isn't a keyboard and a screen. It’s lead and blood." Studying him, the relaxed posture and the quiet confidence, a different question forms. "Why Saint? Because you have the patience of one?" He chuckles, a low, rich sound. "Because I deliver miracles on the asphalt. When an op goes to hell and the bullets are flying, I’m the patron saint of getting the team out alive." "Modest." "No need for bullshit modesty when you know you’re the best. Besides, Butcher took a scary name, and Kirill doesn't need one. He just walks into a room and people start praying."

“As per the… ‘treat me like a royalty’ thing. I am kind of sick of it. I never had any friends before and to be honest, you guys are fun to see bickering and such. Makes me laugh.” “Do you want to be a part of the gang gang then?” Bob asked, a smirk written on his face. “Umm...Sure I guess?” “Okay, first you need to say the word ‘fuck’” “BOBERT!” Austin and Liam said in unison. “What?” Bob chuckled. “I mean if good ol Greg can’t do it, then we’ll think of another!” “I can say it,” I said. They all look at me shocked and confused, even Bob.

then grinning, “Entiendo (I understand). Fix the bike, keep the saints focused. You got it.” Grunting, I tossed him the vintage Haitian Brotherhood MC patch from my pocket, “Stick that under the seat. For… luck.” Storming off, but I yell over my shoulder, “And polish the chrome! Looks like caca de poule (chicken shit)!” Dru’s voice sliced through the grease-thick air, fists white-knuckling the porch rail, “Chrome’s fine, Uncle D!” Without turning, I barked, “You don’t get a say!"

"It wasn’t even hard. You took the bait like a dog." His grin was pure malice. I simply smiled. "Of course. Is that the only thing you’ve managed to accomplish? If so, I feel sorry for you." His grin dropped. He punched me hard in the stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. Fuck, that hurt. Badly. “Mr. Dain Saints here would like to have a little one-on-one chat with you,” Dante said. “And then, I’ll kill you. Be a good little wife.”

Brendock stopped short at the words, thinking that he had heard the wrong thing. What did this peasant say? Asking him to apologize, did he think he was the savior of the world? Amidst his rage, Brendock flashed a murderous smile. "It really seems like you don't know your place, huh! I'm telling you now, beating you to an inch of your life will be as easy as crushing an ant." "Motherf*cker, how dare you interrupt my fun! To hell with you!"

Bоnnіе’ѕ hеаrt wеnt оut tо him. “If уоu fееl so ѕоrrу fоr hіm,” Vivian said, wеll іntо hеr fоurth vоdkа mаrtіnі, “Whу dоn’t you tаkе hіm іn thе bасk раrkіng lot and suck hіѕ cock?” The two men lаughеd аt Vіvіаn’ѕ ѕеmі drunk comment, аnd Lеѕtеr сhіmеd іn.

“Palooka — necesitas encabezar una entrega. El Don insiste.{Palooka —you need to lead a delivery. Don insists}” Antonio exhaled hard, frustrated. He looked at Nevena— raw hunger and promise. “We’re not done,” he murmured. He lowered her to the floor, grabbed the towel, and stalked toward the bathroom. “I’m coming right back.” Then back to the phone: “Hazte cargo tú — bastardo,” {Handle it yourself — Bastard}” he growled. “Y a menos que alguien se esté muriendo, no me vuelvas a llamar {And unless someone is dying—don’t call me again}”