John Wick - Chapter 42: Revenge (III): Unexpected Trouble! (Patreon)

John moved silently ahead, with Nate following behind him just as quietly, though a little slower.

The two passed through the staff corridor on the first basement level and reached the ventilation ducts overlooking the underground pool on B2.

Through a glass panel fogged with moisture, they could see the entire pool area below.

The pool was brightly lit, its surface glowing an eerie blue.

White marble tiles surrounded the water, while security guards in black suits were positioned at every important access point.

In the middle of the pool, Iosef Tarasov lounged in the water with an arm around each of two scantily clad women, enjoying both the massage jets and their company.

Several large men in swim trunks were fooling around nearby. Two bottles of champagne sat in an ice bucket beside the pool, crystal glasses sparkling beneath the lights.

“Nine total, including the patrols,” Nate reported quietly.

John nodded.

He drew the HK P30L fitted with a compensator from his waist and checked the chamber.

Then he glanced at his watch.

9:10 p.m.

Right around the pool area's shift change.

“Comms check,” John whispered as he fitted the earpiece.

“Loud and clear,” Nate replied softly.

John nodded and silently climbed down the fire ladder from the ventilation shaft, stepping onto the stairs leading toward the pool.

Nate had the high ground, plenty of cover, and a clear view of the entire area.

If John was exposed, this was the perfect position to provide support.

The first kill happened without a sound.

On the second-floor balcony, blood suddenly burst from the throat of an armed guard.

The man's body sagged against the railing. His pistol slipped from his hand, only for another hand to catch it cleanly.

John's.

Nate hadn't even noticed him getting there.

The nighttime presence reduction from [Baba Yaga], combined with John's own stealth skills, was terrifyingly effective. By the time Nate spotted him, the guard was already dead.

John was watching his next target through a window when another security guard suddenly rounded the corner behind him.

There was no time to warn him.

Nate's knife flashed through the air like a silver streak and buried itself cleanly in the guard's skull.

John had already sensed the danger.

The guard's eyes widened as his body began to collapse, but John caught him silently and pulled the corpse behind the corner.

John glanced back toward Nate.

There was a trace of surprise in his eyes.

He gave a slight nod, then continued forward.

John circled along the balcony toward the opposite end of the pool while Nate surveyed the entire area from above.

The guards below still hadn't noticed anything.

The music around the pool drowned out every faint sound.

One guard was walking when his movements suddenly became visibly slower.

To Nate's eyes, the difference was obvious.

The guard himself didn't seem to notice.

John's [Intimidation] had taken effect.

Even at half strength, anyone within ten meters who had been locked onto by John's killing intent suffered a 15% reduction in agility.

John clamped a hand over the guard's mouth and drove his knife upward beneath the jaw, straight into the brainstem.

John stared into the man's eyes as his pupils slowly dilated.

Then he gently propped the corpse against the wall, pulled the knife free, and wiped the blood off on the dead man's clothes.

Three.

John crouched, vaulted over the railing, and landed silently beside a palm tree near the pool.

The tree's shadow concealed half his body.

Three meters away, a security guard in a black suit stood smoking with his back toward John.

Smoke curled upward through the blue light reflected off the water.

The man squinted lazily, completely unaware that someone had appeared behind him.

John didn't move quickly.

Every step simply matched the beat of the music.

His left hand covered the guard's mouth.

His knife slid diagonally between the ribs, pierced a lung, and reached the heart.

The man's body went rigid.

A muffled grunt escaped his throat, smothered beneath John's palm.

John twisted the blade half a turn inside him.

When he pulled it free, blood poured from the wound.

He dragged the body into the shadows.

Four.

From above, Nate could see everything clearly.

He swept his gaze over the area.

Two guards by the pool.

One behind the bar.

Two at the pool entrance.

John signaled to him.

Nate understood.

He climbed out of the ventilation opening and descended the side fire ladder without a sound.

He landed directly behind the bar.

The guard there had his back to him and was looking down at his drink.

Nate drew his combat knife.

One hand clamped over the man's mouth.

The other drove the knife through his neck and twisted hard.

He felt the cervical vertebrae snap through the man's body.

Five.

Nate stuffed the corpse into the cabinet beneath the bar.

When he turned around, John had already reached the pool entrance.

Two guards stood side by side there.

One was looking at his phone.

The other stared idly toward the dance floor.

John signaled again.

Two targets.

One each.

Nate took the left.

He slipped out from behind the bar, using the counter for cover.

He and John struck almost simultaneously.

Nate's knife flew from his hand and buried itself directly in the left guard's temple.

The man collapsed without making a sound.

John wrapped an arm around the other guard's neck from behind and dragged the knife across his throat.

The wound opened like a zipper.

At the same time, John caught the head of the man Nate had hit with the top of his shoe, preventing it from striking the floor.

Six and seven went down almost together.

Nate walked over to retrieve his throwing knife.

Just as his fingers touched the handle, the radio clipped to the corpse's waist suddenly erupted with a harsh burst of static.

“B2, report.”

The voice was deep and rough, carrying a Russian accent.

John froze for a fraction of a second.

He looked at the radio, and his expression changed.

He quickly crouched, picked it up, and answered in a low voice in Russian.

“All clear.”

Silence from the other end.

One second.

Nate's stomach tightened.

Bad.

Then the voice returned, faster now, suddenly tense.

“Who are you? Wick! It's Wick!”

Static exploded through the radio.

Then someone shouted.

“He's here! Wick is in the underground pool! Everyone alert! Seal every exit!”

An alarm began blaring.

Every light in the pool area snapped to full brightness.

Rapid footsteps thundered from the far end of the corridor.

Nate looked toward the center of the pool.

Iosef had already scrambled out of the water.

Two shirtless bodyguards in swim trunks grabbed him and hurried toward the staircase leading to the dance floor.

His face was twisted with terror.

Water streamed off his body, leaving a long wet trail across the tiles.

John raised his pistol and fired.

One of the bodyguards spotted him and moved into the line of fire.

A bullet struck one of the shirtless men in the chest, dropping him instantly.

The other bodyguard grabbed a table and raised it as a shield, then shoved the terrified Iosef forward.

Iosef stumbled and scrambled into the stairwell.

A glass wall separated Nate from the entrance.

Nate threw his knife.

The blade spun through the air and punched through the glass.

But passing through it altered the knife's trajectory and robbed it of some force.

The throw that should have buried itself in Iosef's back instead struck his left shoulder.

Iosef screamed, clutched the wound, and fled upstairs.

“I'm going after him.”

John was already moving before the words had finished leaving his mouth.

He burst from cover and sprinted toward the backstage passage.

A barrage of gunfire erupted from the other entrance.

Reinforcements had arrived.

A group of security guards in brown suits flooded into the pool area, firing their pistols at once.

In such an enclosed space, the overlapping cracks of unsuppressed gunfire were deafening.

Nate's head buzzed from the noise.

John rolled beside the pool as bullets chewed chunks from the marble behind him.

He returned fire.

Three shots.

The first three men through the entrance went down.

But the incoming fire was too heavy.

John was forced behind a pillar and couldn't even raise his head.

Nate crouched behind the bar.

An HK416 appeared in his hands.

He braced the rifle against the counter, aimed toward the stairwell on the opposite side, and held down the trigger until the magazine ran dry.

At least five guards dropped.

The gunfire from that direction abruptly died.

There was nothing fair about bringing a rifle to a pistol fight.

Especially when none of their suits were bulletproof.

The rounds could pass straight through the man in front and kill the one behind him.

A gap opened in their field of fire.

John seized it immediately.

He exploded out from behind the pillar and sprinted up the stairs toward the upper level.

Before disappearing, he looked back at Nate and pointed sharply toward the ventilation shaft.

They had agreed on that signal beforehand.

Retreat.

Retreat?

Not happening.

I'm fighting my way through.