The Runaway Groom

Chapter 342

There was a small white bottle, a switchblade, and a lighter.

None of them were particularly deadly, but with a little work, it could still inflict damage to the human body.

Quincy therefore had to act calm. “We’re in a police station.”

Stan chuckled. “We know that, so we won’t do anything stupid. That said, I’m quite close with that officer just now, so he’s willing to give us some space.”

Quinc’ys face paled, even as Stan took off his tie and stuffed it into her mouth.

Isaac rose to his feet as well, picking up the switchblade and ejecting the blade-it was not particularly huge, but very sharp.

“I can do it, sir,” Stan said, walking up to him.

Isaac, however, stayed silent as he walked around the table toward Quincy and pressed the blade against Quincy’s face.

He just needed to apply little pressure, and the blade would cut through Quincy’s skin.

whimper, her pupils

on the butcher’s table, and it was even more

all, death was easy-one would not

hand, spiritual torment certainly

slid the switchblade from Quincy’s face to her

the blade cut through

since he avoided any arteries-but it

because he had been sneaking glances while Irene studied her medical books, which described

the jugular, there was a spot one

face turned pale. Her pupils dilated even as she felt death loomed, but

had been standing aside, appeared worried that Isaac would get butterfingers and slit her throat. Walking up,

looked up at him, his

trying. “She may be heinous, but she’s not worth getting your hands dirty

switchblade into

it out, he gave Stan

whimpering miserably, her

help shuddering

that Quincy deserved it, he pretended to look sympathetic. Picking up the white bottle, he said, “Oh, poor you. Don’t worry-I’ll