Chapter 871 Make Her Suffer

A faint smile shadowed Brendan's lips. "Thank you."

He meant it.

Madame Brighthall said nothing. She left.

But the controversy did not end there. Mr. Jensen's speech had kicked up a storm. As Brendan shut his laptop, Sam remarked, "I have a feeling Mr. Jensen planned all of this down to the little speech he gave. He even had pictures of Miss McKinnon living in the villa so he could strike at the affair's angle." "It's that coward's only way to stay alive after the grave he dug," Brendan growled frigidly. The pain seemed to be drilling into his temple, emboldened by the sheer torrent of imbroglios that were all rebelling against Brendan's control.

"And Deirdre?" "Miss McKinnon should be released today, but... I think she's still in there." "I see. I'll be going to see her then. She must be so scared."

caressed the clothes she had been folding and waited for the police. The door opened,

clothes with her, and followed the police. Instead of heading toward the station's

shock. "I thought I was supposed to be released today!" "After Charli McKinsey accused you of homicidal intent and the whole Internet storm you spawned, you really think we're gonna let you out? As if! Nobody's leaving until someone gets to the bottom of this. In the meantime,

storm? What was that

bars-its metal nipping to the skin-until she turned around

McKinnon I've been hearing so much about? No wonder she got to stay in that private suite in this sh*thole. I know you're Brendan Brighthall's lover, but sh*t, you look meh." "Look at her squeezing into the corner! Wait, she's blind? F*ck me. I didn't know Brendan’s into power plays! Kinky-kinky, Mr. Brighhall!" "Why the h*ll

so she knew exactly what was entailed in their remarks. Immediately, she shrieked at the

her hair before smacking across her cheek. "Shut the f*ck up, b*tch! You get the warden in, and I'll f*ck you up even harder!" "Shove a rag to it!" 'Words are she's pregnant, so don't cause her kid to go, or she'll get to leave here with a

themselves out. Deirdre had been curling into herself at the corner, trembling, but her hand had been firmly guarding her abdomen throughout the ordeal. It seemed to have fueled the women's rage-they kicked and stomped her on her legs, arms, and

undress her... The wounds

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