"Mercy? This blood-soaked rhetoric has no persuasive power at all." Martin felt disgusted. Is this the face of a great lawyer? He thought if he were in this position, he would never be like this.
"Meiqin, it's up to you." Tang Zheng poured himself another glass of wine.
"What? Made up your mind? Untie my pants first!" Seeing Pang Meiqin enter with a smile, Federer turned his chair toward the Beautiful Leg Stewardess, leaning back against the chair.
Suddenly, Pang Meiqin lifted her leg, stretching it straight out, then chopped down like a battle-axe, heavily smashing onto Federer's head.
A sound like an egg breaking resounded, and Federer, like a pig waiting to be slaughtered, tumbled off the chair, screaming in agony, his face distorted.
The secretary and Martin, watching Federer curled up in pain, felt a chill down their spines.
Pang Meiqin casually grabbed one of Federer's arms, pressed it onto the table, and then pulled out a dagger, positioning it atop his pinky finger.
