บท 82: Chapter 82

I turned a stony gaze on Shorty. “Get these fucking cuffs off him.” He refused to move. “There’s some left in here…” I held up the syringe. “…and I can use this on you instead,” I growled.

“Gaston!”

“Va te faire foutre,” he muttered, but this time he obeyed, his teeth bared and his eyes muddy with fury. Then he stepped back, and I watched him without seeming to watch him.

The cuffs had bitten deeply into Quinn’s wrists, leaving them bruised and swollen, and he rubbed them. “Whatever you’ve injected into me, it isn’t going to work.”

“Five minutes, Mann. You’re gonna come to me. You won’t be able to help yourself.”

He grunted and clenched and unclenched his fingers, working to get the blood flowing again.

“Mr. Vincent, is this wise?”

“What, you think he can take on four of us? He’s Quinton Mann, not Superman.”