Butcher And Blackbird Quotes

I didn’t gouge them out, Butcher. I plucked them. Delicately. Like a lady.

I would kill for you, and I have. I would do it again, every damn day. I’d turn myself inside out for you. I would die for you. I don’t just like you, Sloane, and you fucking know it.

Maybe I was right. We’re not normal people. We are monsters. But if we’re monsters, we’ll thrive in the dark. Together.

There's art in our scars. There's wonder in the way we can heal.

Boobs plus murder don’t equal a relationship, Lark. That math ain’t mathin’.

For those of you who read the trigger warnings and said “Accidental cannibalism?! Count me in!” This one’s for you.

You might be psycho,” I say with a grin as her eyes narrow, “but you’re my psycho, and I’m yours. Got it?

You have never been unlovable. You were just waiting for someone who will love you for who you are, not for who they want you to be. I can do that, if you'll let me.

Did you just propose on a napkin with a ring you stuffed in a guy’s eye hole?

Being a serial killer who kills serial killers is a great hobby… Until you find yourself locked in a cage.

I want to ruin her so that she’s mine, my beautiful disaster. My wild creature. My goddess of chaos.

He’s Rowan,” Sloane says, gesturing at me again. Rose narrows her eyes as though this is insufficient information. “He’s my f-fr…boy. Guy. A man-guy. I’m…with. Here.”  I snort a laugh as Rose’s face scrunches. “Man-guy,” I echo. “Real smooth, Blackbird.

I just want to be tossed around a bit. Manhandled, you know? Call me a dirty little slut and I’m all for it.

I think we’re officially best friends now,” she says.  “Oh yeah? Do you want to go do karate in the garage?

You know what they say, Blackbird. ‘It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,’” I whisper. “And that’s when the real fun begins.

You’ll love me one day,

No boys allowed unless they have scales and a breeding kink.

Pick a safe word. Do it now.” I swallow. Hard. “Chainsaw.” He huffs a laugh, a burst of warmth against my core. “How fitting, love. Now be a good girl and find something to grab on to…” he says, then passes one long, slow lick over my center. “...Because I’m about to destroy you.

Did I get the raven you left on the table tattooed on my back?” His smile is teasing, but there’s a hint of shyness in it as he finishes my thought. “Yeah. Appears to be the case.

Come on, Blackbird. I need some dragonman DP.

Because I ‘like you’...?” Rowan cackles an incredulous laugh. “Like. You. Seriously…? Christ, Sloane. You are fucking brilliant but also the most willfully oblivious person I have ever met. Do you really think I just like you when I framed a drawing you left for me on a scrap of paper you tore from a notebook? The one I hung it in the kitchen so I can look at it every day and think of you? Do you think I just like you when I tattoo it on my skin? I play this fucking game every year and tear my heart out watching you walk away, only to do it all over again, and I like you? You think I just like you when I fuck you like this?

Lobotomy,’ I mouth at him, trying to make it look like I’m scratching my forehead when I tap it and nod toward David. Rowan’s head tilts and I roll my eyes, gritting my teeth. ‘Lo-bo-to-my.’ Rowan’s head tilts in the other direction, his brow still furrowed but a hint of a grin playing at his lips. He subtly points at me, and then at himself. ‘You love me?’ he mouths.  I smack my head.

And sometimes the best things come out of the fire.

I thought I told you once not to let your prettiness get to your head,” she says.   “Just had to check that you still think I’m pretty.

Something caught your eye, pretty boy?” I whisper.  “Yes,” he says, his voice pained. “God, yes, Sloane. All of you.

But finding someone who could understand me for all the shattered pieces beneath the mask? I needed that. Before you came along, something was missing. You, Rowan. You were missing. You made it safe to feel seen. Safe to play on our terms. Safe to have fun, even though our fun might not be everyone’s idea of a good time.

What are you doing?” I hiss. Rowan rests the handle of the ax against his shoulder and huffs before giving me a wink. “Getting revenge for hurting my girl, of course.

I’m not taking the most beautiful girl of the night to the social event of the year in a fucking Honda Accord.

You’re all the best things to me, Sloane. No matter how many bruises are in your heart or on your skin.

You fucking tell me, so that you know when I ruin you for all other men, it’s what you asked for.

I had to dig human ass out of your mouth.

That woman you were watching…?” My fingers tighten around his throat as he desperately nods. “She is mine.

Maybe I was right. We're not normal people. We are monsters. But if we're monsters, we'll thrive in the dark. Together.

No. Christ. Now give me that dragon dick, Blackbird.”  “No way.” I manage to slip out of my chair with the e-reader before he can grab me, waving it toward him in a taunt as I back away toward our rooms. “Goodnight, weirdo. I’m going to bed. Early bird gets the worm, you know. Might plan myself a solo hiking trip to Davis Creek. No boys allowed unless they have scales and a breeding kink.”  “Of all the times to forget my dinosaur onesie at home.” Rowan sighs,

No one competes with Sloane.” Rowan’s eyes anchor on mine, dragging me into the depths of a navy sea.  “She just hasn’t realized it yet.

Are you going to leave that sticker on your face?”  Rowan scoffs. “Of course. Makes me prettier.

I have an eggplant face. That’s basically a dick face. A mushy dick face with a Carhartt logo.

What does my nervous little Blackbird like to read, I wonder?

I’m going to steal your e-reader. I want to read about the two-dick dragonman.”  “I’m sitting on it. Touch my ass and I’ll break your hand,” I say, failing to contain a laugh as he rhythmically prods my arm.  “I won’t. I’ll push you over and grab it, then cackle maniacally as I run to my room in triumph.

I love you, Rowan,” I blurt out. I take only a moment to register the shock in Rowan’s expression before I barrel into him, wrapping his solid body in my embrace. His heart hammers beneath my ear as I press my face to his chest.  His arms fold around me, one hand threading into my hair as he lays a kiss to the crown of my head. “I love you too, Sloane. So fucking much. But the restaurant was probably a giant clue.

Rowan, you feckin’ eejit,

There’s art in our scars. There’s wonder in the way we can heal.

What’s your angle, pretty boy?” “To make you blush, of course.

Maybe that’s why I like you,” he says with a wink.

Being a serial killer who kills serial killers is a great hobby … Until you find yourself locked in a cage. For three days. With a dead body. In the Louisiana summer. With no air conditioning.

He looks at me in a way that no one else does, as though he’s not just trying to decipher my thoughts and motivations. It’s like he’s trying to memorize the smallest details in my skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind my flesh.

Did you know it was a rump roast? I tortured Thorsten until he told me. I had to dig human ass out of your mouth.” “At least you didn’t fucking swallow it, Sloane. Why the fuck didn’t you stop me?

What the hell. Is this a new phase in your Crossfit indoctrination, walking around with raw root vegetables?”  “Beta carotene, motherfucker. Antioxidants. I’m helping my body eliminate free radicals.”  “Take a vitamin. You look like a douche.

The Orb Weaver. I’m sitting across the table from the fucking Orb Weaver.  And she’s fucking beautiful.

There's relief knowing I can love and be loved, after years wondering if I was so broken that there was only room for vengeance and loneliness in my heart.

You’re my friend. Maybe someday my best friend.

The sentient dragonman has two dicks and he knows how to use them. A forked tongue too. And a very talented tail. So don’t make fun.

How do you still have the energy to take the piss out of me?” “I always have the energy for that. Your suffering is my number one priority.

It physically pains me to admit that, by the way. But don’t let it get to your head, pretty boy.”  A smirk creeps across my lips. “You think I’m pretty.

I’d teach you a lesson about wanting. About wanting to come so badly you have to beg for it.” My cock hardens as Sloane’s blood surges against my fingertips. “And once I was sure you’d learned that lesson, I’d teach you about wanting to stop coming so badly you beg for that too.

I didn’t gouge them out, Butcher. I plucked them. Delicately. Like a lady.” Sloane sticks her finger in her mouth, pressing it against her cheek as she wraps her lips around it only to snap it out with a pop. “Just like that.

You have murder too, he likes that.”  I roll my eyes and stare her down through the screen. “Boobs plus murder don’t equal a relationship, Lark. That math ain’t mathin’.

And then, in red text as though it was added at a later date: IMMEDIATELY. I AM NOT FUCKING AROUND.

This man. Sometimes it feels as if he’ll never stop cracking my heart to fit more of himself inside.

Being a serial killer who kills serial killers is a great hobby…

You are the thing I most look forward to, Rowan.

That’s so cute,” Lark says as she lays her chin on my shoulder and reads the note, pointing to the red text. “It sounds like he’s going to cut people up for you. That’s so Keanu-mantic.

Well, well,” Lachlan says through his shit-eating grin. “Fuck. Off.

Now let’s go do karate in the garage.”  “By ‘karate’ do you mean I’ll bend you over the hood of Doctor Stephan’s Porsche and fuck you blind until you beg me to stop?

I miss the way he makes me feel like I'm not an aberration, but unique.

You're all the best things to me, Sloane. No matter how many bruises are in your heart or on your skin.

Getting revenge for hurting my girl,

Sloane in the only person in the world who can look at my monster and find a friend.

I told her I'm no angel. I don't think she believed me. But she's about to discover that I'm the devil she never knew she needed.

What are you doing?” “I’m boobing boobily, Rowan. What does it look like?” “You’re … what?” “Chasing that motherfucker down, that’s what.

And across the full front of the restaurant, stretching over the door and the awning, a massive sign in block letters.  Butcher & Blackbird.

I’d rather watch you make skin ornaments and eye baubles than go to the kitchen and check on Lobotomy David. Let’s just go with that.

Wider.

I’m on a dry spell. You’d think there would be some hot musician types on the road but they’re all way too emo. I just want to be tossed around a bit. Manhandled, you know? Call me a dirty little slut and I’m all for it. These cry-into-the-mic types aren’t doing it for me.

See? Right there. Carhartt. Why couldn’t he have just punched me in the face like a normal person?”   “Probably because he wasn’t a normal person, love. I thought the chainsaw was a big clue.

Oh my God. I knew it. I fucking knew they had it wrong. It had to be a woman. The Orb Weaver! Such a cool name. The intricate fishing line, the fucking eyeballs. Amazing. I’m such a huge fan.

My art was never so tarnished that I couldn't bear to create it. It makes me wonder what would strip art from Sloane so thoroughly that she can no longer paint or sculpt, reduced to monochrome.

Rowan doesn’t move for a moment that feels stretched thin. When he approaches, he stops behind me, the weight of his gaze so heavy on my reflection that I can feel it through the glass. “Beautiful.

What the hell. Is this a new phase in your Crossfit indoctrination, walking around with raw root vegetables?”  “Beta carotene, motherfucker. Antioxidants. I’m helping my body eliminate free radicals.

Because just like as much as I might appear quiet and spooked on the outside, I am also a serial killer who enjoys vivisection and a bit of cartography. And I also enjoy an annual murder competition.

I wish you would have stayed, Blackbird. I would have taken you back into the kitchen. We could have made something together.”  “You were busy. I was…intruding.”  “I would have made time for you. You’re…” I swallow before I can say more than I should. “You’re my friend. Maybe someday my best friend.

He looks like a Picasso,” she continues as she nods toward Francis’s destroyed face. Her hand flows in his direction with bird-like grace. “Eyes over here, nose over there. Very artsy, Butcher. Embracing your Cubism era. Cool.

She likes to remind me not to let my prettiness get to my head, but I know what I am and what effect I can have. I’m muscle and scars blended with scripts and swirls of black ink. The same way I look at her and find beauty in the marks that are only temporary, she looks at me and I know she feels the same. There’s art in our scars. There’s wonder in the way we can heal.

You’re right about all those worries that are circling around in your head. Maybe all of them are true. But maybe it shouldn’t matter, because everyone messes up. We all let each other down once in a while. And sometimes the best things come out of the fire.

I’m guessing you made it your business too, judging by the quality of the hunting knife stuck in his throat. Handmade Damascus steel. Where’d you get it?” I sigh. My gaze lingers on the body and my favorite blade before I press my cheeks to my drawn-up knees. “Etsy.

Since you asked so nicely, I’ll give you this one and let you come. But you’d better find your voice quick, little bird. Because we’ve only just started, and I will keep this up as long as it takes until I’m satisfied that you’re not hiding from me. By the end of this, you’ll scream. That’s a fucking promise.

The need. It's like an itch. Irritation beneath my skin. Nothing I do releases the constant whisper of it in my flesh. It crawls into my mind and doesn't let go. It becomes pain. The longer I deny it, the more it drags me into the abyss. I must stop it. I'll do anything. And there's only one thing that works. Killing.

I wish you would have stayed, Blackbird. I would have taken you back into the kitchen. We could have made something together.

I did not cheat. And besides, I lost. Miserably, I might add. I still can’t eat ice cream.

Then you’d better kiss me,” I whisper back.

Don’t be. Wouldn’t have wound up here if everything hadn’t happened the way it did,

Art is long, and time is fleeting, and our hearts, though stout and brave, still, like muffled drums, are beating funeral marches to the grave.

This is one game you won’t win, Blackbird.

But you have a standing reservation at 3 In Coach,

That can-can motherfucker stamped my fucking forehead. I can even see the Carhartt logo on it,

Now that we’ve established that everything I told you is a fucking promise,” he grits out as he intensifies the rhythm of his thrusts, “we should probably clear up your other question.

It’s a competition, Butcher,” she says as she reaches the corner of the hotel. She doesn’t even look over her shoulder as she gives me the finger and leaves me with two parting words: “Get fucked.

Sloane Sutherland, my beautiful Blackbird. From the moment I met you, you changed the course of my life. I can’t remember anything being fun or exciting or new without you. I can’t remember feeling anything but numb until you burst into my world in your smelly little cage of orzo pastas … I can’t envision the future without you in it. And I don’t want to, not ever. So marry me, Sloane, and we’ll go on crazy adventures forever and fuck shit up, and be best friends and do karate in the garage and make love every day and grow old together. Because I can’t imagine anyone I’d rather spend all those moments with than you.

An electric charge surrounds us. The aroma of hot blood perfumes the air. Candlelight flickers on the web. Every detail sharpens, as though the universe has narrowed to this single room. And Sloane the goddess of chaos at the heart of it all.

I just saw a woman walk by with her groceries,” I say. “She does not want to see that. No one does.” “Of course they do. And even if they didn’t, there’s an important detail that you might be missing: I don’t. Fucking. Care. So are you using your safe word?”  “No.