AN: Bonus chapter as promised.
[One Week Ago] [This takes place between John killing the assassins in Hawaii and killing the CEO of Blackstar Studios]
The rain fell in sheets, gentle yet unyielding, cleansing the blood from the cobblestones like an unwanted baptism. In a city filled with secrets, rain was a frequent visitor. Perhaps the streets were aware of the events that had unfolded. Maybe they wished to forget.
John Wick stood in the middle of a warehouse lot on the Brooklyn waterfront, a pistol in one hand, the barrel still warm. Bodies lay around him in a circle, like petals dropped from some corrupted flower: Throats cut, heads smashed, holes in hearts, and severed body parts. They had come for him in waves, and he had sent each one to hell.
But he hadn't done it alone. He used Rachel's marker and received more than enough help to pull off the impossible task. She provided him information, lured in the enemies, and even provided enough snipers to take down half of the names on John's list.
Rachel stood a few steps behind him, dressed in all black, her expression unreadable. Two girls, dressed in all black, were standing behind her, one holding an umbrella over her head. Behind her, three others moved through the aftermath, collecting weapons, dragging corpses, sweeping the field. They are professional cleaners.
John glanced over his shoulder at her, his face streaked with water and something that wasn't rain.
"Last one's down," he said.
Rachel nodded once. "Viggo's list is done. All of them. One night."
John exhaled, his breath fogging the air. His chest heaved not from exhaustion, but from the realization of what it meant.
"You can walk now," Rachel said, her voice low. "It's over."
That word lingered. 'Over.'
John let the pistol drop to his side, running his free hand through his soaked hair. His heart wasn't racing; it hadn't all night. Not during the firefight at the harbor, not during the ambush in Chinatown, and not even when he set fire to the safe house in Red Hook with twelve men still inside.
He'd moved like a ghost, an old god walking one last time among the mortals. But even gods bleed. Even gods get tired.
The impossible had been done. Viggo Tarasov's enemies were erased from the board in one night. The debts were wiped clean. The blood accounts are settled.
Rachel stepped closer and handed him a towel, a silent gesture.
He didn't take it right away.
"I wasn't supposed to win," he said finally. "This was a suicide mission."
"I know," she said. "And he expected to wake up to the news that you were dead. Well, you better make that call and put the final stamp on the deal."
He pulled a phone from his pocket, a cheap burner. No contacts saved. Just one number memorized. He dialed it.
The line clicked on the third ring.
"Yes?" came a voice on the other end.
"It's done," John said.
There was a pause. Then the sound of a long breath exhaled through teeth.
"All of them?"
"Every name on the list."
Another pause as he checked things, just to be safe, and had his men do a few calls. Then a small, disbelieving chuckle. "You actually did it."
John said nothing. He just waited.
"You have no idea how many people bet you'd die tonight," Viggo Tarasov continued. "But not me. I told them, 'If anyone can make it out, it's John Wick.' You're a fucking monster, my friend."
John still said nothing.
"Alright," Viggo said, voice softer now. "A deal is a deal. I'll make the announcement. You're retired. Official. You walk clean."
Silence held the line for a moment.
"Congratulations," Viggo added. "Enjoy the quiet life. Drink something for me."
John ended the call without saying goodbye.
In a private room above a luxury lounge in Brighton Beach, Viggo Tarasov slowly set down the phone. He sat in a leather armchair, holding a half-finished glass of vodka in his left hand. With his right hand, he rubbed his temple, as if trying to relieve a headache.
His son, Iosef, leaned against the marble bar behind him, drinking.
Viggo sent the word out about John's retirement.
Then, he poured himself another drink. He still couldn't believe that all his enemies were gone in a single night. The task was impossible, yet John pulled through.
The glass reached his lips.
The bullet arrived first.
A single shot cracked through the room like lightning through bone. The back of Viggo's head erupted in a spray of red and bone. His body spasmed once, then collapsed sideways out of the chair. The vodka glass shattered on the rug. His blood soaked into the expensive fibers.
Iosef screamed.
But the lights went out before he could move.
Gunfire erupted in the dark. The strobe of muzzle flashes lit up panicked faces, chaos, and blood. Men tried to draw weapons but died before their fingers found the trigger. One by one, they were cut down.
Fifteen minutes later, it was all over. Viggo, Iosef, their guards, their lieutenants, and their legacy had vanished. The mystery hung in the air like smoke. There were no witnesses, survivors, footage, or any indication of who had pulled the trigger.
[Back to John]
As John disconnected the call, Rachel stepped closer. "There's one more thing."
He raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak.
"There's someone who wants to meet you," she continued. "Someone with the kind of power most people don't believe exists."
"I just finished cleaning up a list with more security than Fort Knox," John said. "If they're real, they'd already know where to find me."
"They do," Rachel said. "And they're giving you something no one else ever has."
John didn't answer, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. The quiet suspicion. The disbelief.
Rachel uncrossed her arms.
"This could be your only chance at true freedom," she said. "Not just from contracts or the bodies in your rearview, but from everything... the High Table, the markers, the debts, the ghosts. All of it."
John's eyes narrowed. "It is not an easy task to erase a Marker. Let alone the others. That kind of weight doesn't just vanish. There are rules and consequences."
Rachel's mouth twitched, hinting at something like a smile. It wasn't warmth, but more like a secret slowly revealing itself. "For someone above the High Table," she said, "nothing is impossible."
Before he could respond, headlights sliced through the rain.
A black SUV rolled into the lot, silent despite its size. Its windows were tinted black. It stopped a few feet from them.
John turned toward it.
Rachel didn't move. She just nodded toward the vehicle.
"Go," she said. "They don't wait long. And they don't ask twice."
John studied her face for a moment, searching for any hint of deception or a sign that this was just another game or trap. But Rachel's expression remained steady and unchanged.
He turned away, the sound of his boots crunching on the wet gravel as he walked toward the SUV. Rain dripped down his jacket, and the wind picked up slightly. As he neared, the tinted window on the passenger side slid down.
Inside sat a woman.
Her red hair fell in a perfect sweep across one side of her face, and her lips matched the shade of her tailored crimson suit. She looked like a photograph pulled from a forgotten decade, preserved perfectly in time: regal, dangerous, and unmistakable.
She studied John for a moment. These were eyes that had witnessed power being given and taken, lives erased, and cities moved like chess pieces.
"Mr. Wick," she said, her voice smooth and resonant. It was neither cold nor warm, just certain.
John remained silent.
She nodded once, as if confirming something to herself.
"Thank you for your work in Hawaii," she continued. "You eliminated every name that needed to vanish. You made my son's life easier without even knowing who he was. I know, she used your marker; regardless, you have my thanks."
Her fingers, tipped in crimson polish, rested lightly on a closed folder on her lap. She tapped it once.
"Tonight is your last night in that world. When the sun rises, your name, your records, your contracts, your markers, all of it will be burned. Not erased. Burned. Gone from the ledgers and the memory of those who track them."
John finally spoke. His voice was calm as usual. "There's always a price."
"There is," she said. "And I've already paid most of it. You handled the rest. This task will be the cost of your freedom."
A pause.
"Protect Alex Wilson for the rest of your life. Rachel will arrange a stable job as the security head of Titan for you. You'll get paid like a normal person since you won't be able to use the coins like before anymore. But you will have access to our weapons, information, and technology. Your wife will also receive the best treatment possible."
"You know about Helen's illness?" John asked.
"Yes," She replied.
"Is there a cure?" John asked again. His voice trembled a little.
"Yes. The procedure is hard, but not impossible. So, Mr. Wick," She looked at him as if she already knew what was going through his head. She extended her right hand out of the window toward John. "Are you ready to start a new life?"
"I am," John took her hand and gave a shake.
"Now, kindly send Rachel to me, please," She said with a smile.
John stepped back from the vehicle and walked toward her. He stopped just in front of her, water dripping from the edge of his coat.
"She wants to see you," he said simply.
Rachel approached the car and stopped near the open window.
"You're just going to leave without seeing him?" Rachel asked, her voice quiet but sharp.
The woman tilted her head slightly. "Yes."
Rachel frowned. "At least talk to him. I'm sure he'll understand. He already knows about the past. So..."
"You know that's not going to happen," the woman replied. Her tone didn't shift, but there was something harder underneath now. "He needs to be safe. That's what matters. He built everything from the ground up. Titan, the studios, the brand. Every deal, every risk, every win. All of it. He did it with no one at his back."
A moment of pause before she continued.
"Now, we don't want to step into his peaceful life. We want him to live a happy life far from our shadows." She looked up at her with a lonely smile. "We have no right to call ourselves his parents. We didn't do anything parents like for him. We only caused him pain and suffering. All we can do is keep him safe from the shadows."
"Fine. Do what you wish," Rachel said with a heavy sigh. "But one day, I'm gonna drag you two to him and make both of you apologize."
"Hahaha! Yeah, maybe one day. Take care of him, Rachel."
"Always."
...
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