The Warden of The Witches

Chapter 13:

Chapter 13:

Even My Father Never Hit Me Before

"What are you doing?" The proprietress was taken aback, instinctively trying to pull her hand back, but the police officer firmly held onto her wrist and pulled her towards him with brute force.

"Be honest, you don't want your husband to come out, do you?" The man impatiently reached for the apron the proprietress was wearing.

"Let go of me! I've already given you the money, don't be too much!" Realizing the man's intentions, the proprietress struggled fiercely.

"Damn it, are you trying to act all high and mighty!" The man was once again reminded of Veronica rejecting him in the past, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of anger.

He grabbed the proprietress hair and yanked her down to the ground, then pressed down on her, muttering incoherently,

"You run this kind of establishment by using your looks to attract customers, don't you? I don't even know how many men have been with you... one more won't hurt... show me some respect, letting me sleep with a woman like you is like doing you a favor!"

"Get off me, you son of a bitch! Don't touch me!" Being Insulted by a drunkard like this, the proprietress was immediately furious.

The smell of alcohol from the man's mouth made her nauseous. In her anger, she slapped his face hard, leaving a dark red palm print on it.

The man felt a sudden buzz in his head, and the last thread of his already precarious sanity snapped.

This bitch dares to lay a hand on me... damn it, not even my father ever hit me!

The proprietress cursed as she tried to grab and free herself, struggling to get out from under him. She got up, lifted her skirt, and ran towards the back door, planning to call for help.

The man, infuriated, tried to get up to pin her down again, but his body unexpectedly felt heavy, and his legs were unresponsive.

The only thing he could still move was his hand. When he snapped back to reality, he found the gun that should have been hanging at his waist was now in his hand.

The palm print on his face still burned painfully. In his rage, he raised his trembling hand and aimed it at the proprietress back.

As He was about to threaten her, the deafening sound of gunshot startled him. The recoil shook his wrist, making it ache.

With a muffled sound, the proprietress fell forward, as if she had been kicked from behind. She struggled in pain, trying to move her hands, but soon, She stopped moving. A pool of blood gradually spread beneath her.

The pool of blood partially sobered the man up, and the gun in his hand felt uncomfortably hot.

His mind went blank, as if a piece of his memories was forcibly ripped away. He couldn't remember whether he had fired the gun in a heated moment, or if his finger had twitched and caused it to go off. The only thing clear to him was the body before him.

I Can't stay here...

Fear injected newfound strength into his body that has been weakened by the alcohol. He got up, stumbling as he rushed out of the back door of the tavern. He ran wildly along the dark alley, knocking over a few empty crates near the door.

Outside, a heavy rain was pouring, completely drenching him within a few steps.

A gust of night wind blew, causing him to shiver and suddenly fully awake.

He looked at the gun in his hand, finally realizing the severity of the situation.

He had used a police-issued gun to kill someone. The police-issued gun for the mounted police was specialized, and if it was checked, they would quickly trace it back to him.

How about Going back to the scene now? No, this street had several taverns, and even in the middle of the night, there were still quite a few people around. They surely heard the gunshot earlier... going back now might result in being caught on the spot.

Gun... I have to deal with the gun... Damn it, if I don't return the issued gun on time, there will definitely be suspicions.

He hastily pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time — twelve thirty-seven, he didn't have much time left to hesitate.

He gritted his teeth, his steps feels empty as he headed towards the police station.

"Mr. Jialong, thank you for your hard work, it seems you've also been caught in the rain... what a hardship." Bruce, the rookie on duty in the armory, greeted him.

After the greeting, Bruce furrowed his brows slightly. There was a distinct smell of alcohol emanating from the man — though this guy often drank while on duty.

Jialong nodded with a stern face but didn't make a move.

Bruce stared at him for a while, somewhat puzzled. "Um, sir, you... are here to return the issued gun, right?"

Only then did he stiffly unfasten the gun and hand it over to the rookie.

Bruce was taken aback as he took the issued gun — he caught a faint whiff of gunpowder.

"Please allow me to check..." Bruce tried to keep his voice calm, but his eyes were locked onto Officer Jialong in front of him.

Seeing the other party start to inspect the bullets, Jialong finally couldn't hold back, he reaching out and grabbing Bruce's hand.

"What are you doing!?" Bruce was startled.

"Kid, help... help me out!" Jialong struggled to force an awkward smile on his face.

"You... fired a gun?" Bruce glanced at the remaining rounds in the handgun, his voice rising in alarm. "Where?!"

At that moment, several mounted police officers rushed past the other end of the corridor.

"you guys stop having late night snack and get on duty now! Someone's has been shot in the Lower District!" someone shouted loudly.

Jialong trembled in fear and instinctively reached for the gun in Bruce's hand, attempting to hide it.

Bruce realized what was happening. He shot his head up to look at Jialong's face, his expression filled with terror.

"You just need to do me a small favor... Help me figure out how to deal with this gun! I'll repay you! My father is a senator! I have connections to help you get promoted..." Jialong urgently spoke in a low voice.

"What are you talking about?" Bruce shook his head stiffly. "You used bullets... How can you hide something like this? Go turn yourself in!"

"Use someone else's bullets to replace them! Or directly switch the guns with someone else!" Jialong gasped for breath.

The crisis made his usually sluggish mind quickly start working. Suddenly, a bright idea struck him. "Right! Veronica! Didn't she have a dispute with that woman this morning? She must have returned the gun. Let's use hers! Yes, use hers!"

Bruce's face immediately changed. "N-no! Senior Veronica... she's my benefactor! I could never do something like this!"

He reached for the alarm button on the table as he spoke. As long as he pressed it, the on-duty mounted police would swarm into the armory.

"You!" Jialong hurriedly reached out to stop his other hand, his expression becoming somewhat fierce.

"If you refuse, my family won't spare you! Understand? You're a rookie who just joined the force, we can deal with you easily..."

"No, put that idea out of your mind!" Bruce replied firmly, his hand already near the button.

"I'll give you a hundred pounds!" Jialong became desperate, shouting out.

Bruce's hand froze.

After a long while, he asked with a trembling voice, "Are you... serious?"

Jialong was momentarily stunned, then quickly realized that he had grasped a lifeline.

"Of course!" he assured.

Bruce nervously cleared his throat, staring at him intently. "And the money?"

"Well..." Jialong cursed inwardly at the other man's lack of sense.

How could a normal person carry so much money with them? But with his life now in the other man's hands, he could only take out his most valuable possession, a gold pocket watch.

"Here! This is worth at least fifty pounds. I'll give you the rest later!"

Bruce's gaze immediately locked onto the pocket watch. He reached out with trembling hands and grabbed hold of it.

Seeing this, a sinister smile appeared on Jialong's lips.