The Hash Slinging Slasher Quote Novels & Stories

Speaker B. “Once bitten, twice shy. I have seen the side of him that none of you got to know. So you will give me as many lectures as you can. I warned you not to touch his girl. But you won't listen. Now all of us will automatically go on his list. Once we meet even his shadow, we are finished.” Speaker A. “Okay then go and lick his shoes and beg for mercy. I don’t need a spineless person like you as my friend anyway” - Speaker B (sadistically)

The trusted advisor attempted to dissuade Slav from embarking on the perilous journey. Slav deftly evaded a strike, acknowledging Zar's concerns. "I understand your apprehension," he replied with a sidestep. "But trust me, I won't be caught. I'll return unscathed, bearing a wolf-blood as proof. You'll see," he reassured his companion, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

All right, let’s start over. My name is Sarah Killian, and I am a professional serial killer. No, goddammit, I am not a mother-fucking assassin, goddammit. Sorry. Again. That was my Tourette’s. I just have issues with assassins. They’re jackasses. Every. Single. Last. One. Jackasses. Let’s just say that it’s no coincidence the word starts with two asses, because one ass is not enough for those douche bags.

Next to it, a quote read: The best way to find out if you can trust someone is to trust them. “That’s the work of Black Crimson,” I said. “You like it?” “It’s breathtaking,” she murmured. “And the quote sounds like someone famous should’ve written it.” “Someone famous did write it. Ernest Hemingway,” I said. When she glanced at me, I shrugged. “I had to look it up after the first time I saw the painting.” Nodding, she glanced back over her shoulder to take in the last of the masterpiece before we’d driven past it completely. Turning forward again, she asked, “Who’s Black Crimson?”

Swift said thinking something and was about to turn around when he heard her banging the iron rods with the cutlery. "You. Let’s see how many suns your Alpha would see. Alive". She shouted and that was the last thread to Swift's patience. He turned swiftly and held her by her throat through the bars. She was by now hanging a few feet above. "I said, as long as I am here. No one and nothing can even touch the Alpha. Keep it in your mind rather than thinking from the hole between your legs. And Trist, make sure to end all her frustrations before you pull them in the evening". Swift dropped her back as she was coughing profusely.

“Why? Isn’t this fun? Your dolls will be a beauty.” Marking a sinister smile as her excitement overflowed. She raises the knife as she lodges it in between their neck, one at a time. Laughing contently with a giggle as the fountain of blood squirts muffling the loudest scream as it slowly faded right after on the count of six stabs she made. “Finally,” she remarked, laughing sinisterly as she bid her happiest farewell. “See you both in hell.”

Otherwise, he would have been shot to hell now. “Kill! Kill that b*tch! “Kill Harvey York! “Or else, we would have to die!” Fletcher was about to go crazy at this moment. He unconsciously grabbed Trisha’s shoulder, gritted his teeth, and said. Slap! “Presumptuous!” Trisha slapped him to the ground with a cold expression. “Madame Cloude, kill her! Kill Harvey! “As long as she and Harvey are dead, I will give you whatever you want!”

Her eyes flashed with fury, her voice slicing through the tension. “Are you kidding me right now?” she snapped, her tone dripping with venom. “You’re actually accusing him of being some creep who stalks girls in the night? Do you even hear yourselves? Jace Salvador…serial killer? Please.” She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “The man barely has time to think with the press breathing down his neck, let alone dump bodies on the side of the road.”

I say succinctly and dawning lights his eyes. “I knew I liked you. You’re a psychopath whisperer, aren’t you?” “I wouldn’t say that,” I grumble. “Handle me please,” he rasps breathlessly. Oh, fuck, fuckity, of all fucking fucks! I groan inwardly. This guy is going to get me and him killed by Ransom. Boundaries need to be made quickly. “You did not just ask someone else to ‘handle’ you, Camden Harlan McCoy,” Slater Zen asks Camden in Spanish. He slams his palms down on the table hard enough to make it rattle.

Less than 10 seconds later I receive a text. SLONE: Holy hell, girl, he’s FIIIIINE! ME: But is he a serial killer? SLONE: Nah, he’s way too hot! ME: So was Jeffrey Dahmer. SLONE: Would Jeffrey Dahmer let you take his photo? ME: Fair point. SLONE: If you don’t take a slice of that beefcake I will! ME: OMG!! SLONE: He he! (winking devil) Taking a deep, steadying breath, I cautiously step outside.