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“To pass the time, he hunted through the apartment, patting surfaces down with his palms in an attempt to find computers, extra phones, more goddamn guns. He’d just returned to the second bedroom when something ricocheted off the window.
Wrath unholstered his forty again and back-flatted it on the wall next to the window. With his hand, he sprang the lock and pushed the sheet of glass open a crack.
The cop’s Boston accent was about as subtle as a loudspeaker. “Yo, Rapunzel, you going to let down your frickin� hair, there?�
“Shh, you wanna wake the neighbors?�
“Like they can hear anything over that TV? Hey, this is the bat epi…�
Wrath left Butch to talk to himself, putting his gun back on his hip, pushing the window wide, then heading for the closet.
The only warning he gave the cop as he winged the first two-hundred-pound crate out of the building was, “Brace yourself, Effie.�
“Jesus Ch—� A grunt cut off the swearing.
Wrath poked his head out of the window and whispered, “You’re supposed to be a good Catholic. Isn’t that blasphemy?�
Butch’s tone was like someone had pissed out a fire on his bed. “You just threw half a car at me with nothing but a quote from Mrs. fucking Doubtfire.�
“Put on your big-girl pants and deal.�
As the cop cursed his way over to the Escalade, which he’d managed to park under some pine trees, Wrath headed back to the closet.
When Butch returned, Wrath heaved again. “Two more.�
There was another grunt and a rattle. “Fuck me.�
“Not on your life.�
“Fine. Fuck you.�

-Butch & Wrath”
― J.R. Ward, Lover Avenged