These people—there’s no point in reasoning with them, and being polite is useless.

With them, only strength matters!

This is something Edward York has always been keenly aware of.

“Police?”

The raspy-voiced leader was momentarily stunned; clearly, he hadn’t expected to run into the police here. He couldn’t help but exchange glances with his three companions.

The rain was pouring down.

The lighting was dim.

But that didn’t stop them from communicating with their eyes.

“Franklin, what’s the point of talking to him? Take them out!”

The thug on the far left growled in a low voice, raising his hand to reveal a switchblade. He didn’t look very old, his hair dyed yellow, but he was unexpectedly fierce—knowing full well he was facing the police, yet still daring to pull a knife.

This, too, was a “specialty” of Ping’an City.

Ping’an City is the mining base of Jingjiang Province, a major resource city with many coal mines and other mineral deposits. In recent years, all kinds of private mining companies have sprung up like mushrooms after the rain, rushing into the mountains to “claim their turf” and extract resources.

Anyone who’s worked in the mines knows that, whether it’s coal or other minerals, there’s always a certain primitive “violence” to the business. If you want to survive in the mines, it’s unimaginable without some muscle to back you up.

Every few days, someone comes to your mine to cause trouble—injuring your managers and workers, sabotaging your equipment. If you can’t even protect yourself, how can you keep the mine running?

That’s how things have always been in this world—where there’s demand, there’s a market.

The highly developed mining industry in Ping’an City has also given rise to gangs of thugs and criminal elements. These gangs collude with some unscrupulous mine owners, forming their own little “fiefdoms.”

Fights between private mining companies, and between private and state-owned companies, break out from time to time, leading to frequent cases of violence and making public security in Ping’an City exceptionally poor.

Whether it’s the city bureau, district branches, county bureaus, or local police stations, every month they have to handle countless assault cases related to the coal mines.

Guys like Blondie, who’ll pull a knife and try to kill at the drop of a hat, are not rare in Ping’an City.

People who dare to pull a knife on the police, who dare to say they’ll take out the cops, are not rare either.

It’s already become the norm.

Edward York is long used to it.

Ever since he transferred back to Ping’an from the army and joined the police force, he’s lost count of how many such punks he’s dealt with.

“That’s right, Franklin, do it! The boss said, make sure that woman keeps her mouth shut and bring the stuff back.”

Blondie’s suggestion was backed up by another thug.

This one was tall and skinny, his messy hair plastered to his forehead, almost covering his eyes—he kept having to push it aside. His face was especially vicious and ferocious.

“Franklin, stop wasting time, do it! Take them out!”

The last thug also made his stance clear.

The raspy-voiced Franklin nodded, turned to Edward York, smiled, and said, “Officer, you heard them—my brothers aren’t very patient. I’ll give you one last chance. I’ll count to three. If you leave, I won’t stop you. Otherwise, pull your gun and shoot us all. How about it?”

“One.”

Edward York shook his head, pried off Grace Bennett’s hand that was clutching his clothes, and reached to his waist with his right hand—an expandable baton appeared in his grip.

Edward York is a detective, and today he was on a mission, staking out a fugitive—he was carrying a gun.

But right now, he had no intention of using it!

There are strict regulations on firearm use. Once you fire a gun, you have to write a report afterward. Eddie didn’t want that hassle.

To deal with these guys, a baton was more than enough.

“Two.”

Edward York flicked his wrist, and the baton snapped open with a “click,” locking into place.

It was a stainless steel, three-section seamless baton—long enough, hard enough, with good flexibility. Edward York was very comfortable using it. Since joining the force, he’d lost count of how many people had suffered at the end of this baton.

Edward York’s body crouched slightly.

Seeing this, Franklin knew there was no need to count to “three.”

Edward York had made his attitude perfectly clear.

To be honest, Edward York had no intention of letting them just walk away.

He felt that if he hadn’t just been struck by lightning and knocked down for a moment, he would have already found somewhere to shelter from the rain. In other words, he shouldn’t have been here, and Grace Bennett shouldn’t have run into him.

If that were the case, Grace Bennett would probably already be a corpse.

Just like the scene that suddenly flashed through Edward York’s mind—lying dead in the rain, stabbed a dozen times.

These four people in front of him were most likely the murderers.

Of course, since Grace Bennett wasn’t dead yet, they couldn’t be called murderers.

But Edward York was very curious—why did they want to kill?

Four grown men, chasing a defenseless woman through the rain at night—combined with what they’d just said, it was clear that the reason they wanted to kill Grace Bennett was anything but simple.

Edward York wanted to get to the bottom of it.

Chapter 3 Courting Death

“Blondie, eldest son, kill him!”