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.

Quincy could only whimper, her pupils dilating as her whole body stiffened.

she was meat on the butcher’s table, and it

death.

was easy-one would not know

spiritual torment certainly left

Isaac spoke, he slid the switchblade from Quincy’s face to her

it, and the blade cut through Quincy’s

much since he

he had been sneaking glances while Irene studied her medical books, which described at length about a human’s vulnerable spots, where it

especially given the jugular, there was a spot one could reach. there, free from blood vessels but rife with

pale. Her pupils dilated even as she felt death loomed, but her mind somehow remained

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

at him, his expression

may be heinous, but

plunged the switchblade into Quincy’s

it out, he gave Stan a look.

whimpering miserably, her facial features contorted from

help shuddering

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