Hash Slinging Slasher Quotes Novels & Stories

Shayla says, turning to face Josh, looking at her questioningly. “When you say, ‘hit her where it hurts,’ you don’t mean in the literal term, I take it?” Josh questions warily, and Shayla looks at me before she shrugs and faces the front again. “Please tell me you’re going to slap the bitch around a little bit?” “I’ll decide when I see the deranged bitch.” Shayla mutters acidly, her hands fisting in her lap.

“What kind of nonsense is that, Sly? Do you think you're the only powerful man in town? I would make certain that your body was transported from here as a dead person.” He glared at me, threw his cigar at me, and said, "If you want your death, I'll give it to you. You signed your death warrant by raising your filthy hand on my guards. Sly, you filthy creature, you dare to raise your hand to me. Have you not heard of me? I swear I'd kill you here today and no one could stop me. He extended his hand and released his sword. Haven’t you heard about me? I swear I would kill you here today and nobody could stop me.” He raised his hand and released his sword. And leaped into the mid-air.

Brief, steam-like hisses accompany the repeated sound of nail guns punching, as the inverted collar spikes sink into human necks, drawing blood and forcing the new slaves to start pushing the huge money bags along. “Sub-level 5: Child-killers, mass murderers and random shooters. Those who bullied the weak. Also the slothful and the morose. If you look to your right, you might catch glimpse of the abominable River Styx.” I smell something like sewer gas and before anyone can scream “God have mercy,” a tidal wave of some nasty liquid has engulfed the elevator. I savor a few precious seconds of peace thinking how like a blessing it would be to finally die in the intangible hands of the element

I did not fancy my chances. "Think what you want about the old gal, but she knows how to give a killer blow job," one of the guys chortled. Keyword: killer. Throttle slapped his hand against my shoulder, nudging me forward. "Come back when you've busted a nut, and we'll talk s'more 'bout tonight." R.I.P. dick. I'd rather shove it inside a blender.

Each dent is a plus to my part. The satisfaction of not doing much work, yet things are going according to your plan. "Hazel has always been a fool! Alright then, let's add more fuel to the fire they've created. I want you to be creative, maybe drop a sneaky letter and all," I grinned, my eyes beaming with cruelty. Slasher gave me a devious gaze. "That's a brilliant plan. I love it. We could also drop a piece of clothing here and there," he hinted.

I can hear the sarcasm in the chef’s words, “So you brought your friend with you here, huh? Don’t worry. You won’t even escape from here, you pests! I’ll make sure that neither of you will ever catch the sunrise!” “Dream on, you monster!” Harris fights back with all his might. His blood is gushing out from his arms and it keeps on painting the white tiled floor red. “None of you even deserve to survive. We do not know how many people you have killed. Yet we will make sure that none of you will ever victimize another set of souls again!”

"I sent the burn command from the terminal at the station. The Silas legacy is a graveyard of zeros. You've got nothing but a pile of old stones and a brother you can't sell." Abram’s laughter was a wet, rattling sound from across the table. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the concrete. It splashed near Sloane’s designer heels. "She outplayed you, little sister. She took the toys away. Now what are you going to do? Rule the dirt?" "Shut up!" Sloane shrieked. She turned toward the shadows where the Petrov hitters stood like stone statues. "Kill them. Kill them both right now! I want their brains on the floor!"

I stumbled back, shock and pain rippling through me. “What the hell?!” I shouted, rubbing my aching face. The taste of blood filled my mouth, sharp and metallic. “Slade! Was that you?” “That was me,” he said, his voice cold and unapologetic. “Say another bad word about Snowy, and I’ll do it again. And just so we’re clear, I don’t feel the pain—you do. So keep pushing me, and we’ll see how far I go.” I glared into the empty air like an idiot, hating how smug he sounded. “You think punching me is going to change anything? You’re delusional. I’m not going after her.”

From several accounts, I see hate, lies, and full-fledged threats emerging. I quickly scan the lines of text before me. “She looks like a cheap hooker.” “Her voice reminds me of a screeching monster.” “Flat-chested bitch.” “No talent, don’t understand what people see in her.” “The ugliest person I’ve ever seen.” “She’s definitely after the Slater’s money. Someone please tell Asher to kick her ass!” “Someone should shut her up.” “I’ve been thinking about how I’d kill you.” “Someone call SVU because we’re about to have a crime on our hands.”

Line after line of text streamed across my vision. My jaw dropped. Thinking my eyes were deceiving me, I rubbed them hard several times. The comments stayed right where they were, stubbornly refusing to vanish. More warnings continued to flood in. "It's over! Jess is almost home! She's walking straight into the trap!" "Jess, your husband is going to find an excuse to leave you alone with Marianne so he can frame you! Whatever you do, don't go inside!" "At exactly 7:10 pm, Marianne will fall to her death. They're setting you up to shoulder the blame for her murder."