John Wick - Chapter 43: John's Fight (Patreon)

Several gunshots rang out from the dance floor upstairs. Even through the pounding music, Nate heard them clearly.

He swapped magazines and stepped out from behind the bar, keeping his rifle trained on the stairwell as he moved toward the stairs on the opposite side.

Every so often, a couple of shots came from behind cover near the entrance, but no one dared show their head. They simply stuck their guns out and fired blindly, with no accuracy whatsoever.

Nate emptied another magazine and returned the HK416 to the [System Backpack].

The instant the HK416 vanished from his hands, the suppressed Rattler appeared in its place.

Keep up the pressure.

Another burst tore into the stairwell across from the bar, and no one dared peek out anymore.

Five or six bodies lay scattered across the floor, blood pooling beneath them. The few men still alive behind cover occasionally let out cries of pain.

Nate stopped paying attention to them.

Without turning his back on the entrance, he kept his weapon trained forward and backed up the stairs.

Nate entered the dance floor.

The moment he pushed open the fire door, deafening music crashed into him like a physical wall.

The bass made his chest vibrate, while colored lights swept across the room, cutting the entire space into shifting fragments of red, blue, green, and purple.

Some people had already realized there was a shooting. They were crouched off to the side, clutching their heads and screaming.

But most of the crowd was still packed onto the dance floor.

Some were even moving to the beat.

Seriously?

There was a gunfight going on and they still weren't running?

Were they all high?

Men shouting and women screaming blended into the music until Nate could barely tell one from the other.

Four or five bodies lay motionless on the floor. Pools of nearly black blood reflected dark red beneath the flashing lights.

Nate scanned the room.

At the far edge of his vision was a staircase leading to the second floor.

There was blood on the handrail.

Rhythmic gunfire echoed from upstairs.

John had gone after him.

Nate pushed through the crowd toward the stairs, shouldering several people aside. Someone cursed at him, but immediately shut up when they saw the gun in his hands.

He crossed the dance floor and entered the stairwell leading to the second floor.

Shell casings littered the steps.

There was blood.

Two bodies lay on the ground, both killed by clean shots to the head.

John had to be just ahead.

Nate took two quick steps forward.

Then stopped.

Wait.

According to the movie, John would keep fighting his way upstairs and engage the guards on the second floor head-on.

Then the skilled fighter would be waiting for him near the private booths.

Meanwhile, Iosef would take the staircase on the other side down to the first floor and escape through the club's main entrance.

If Nate simply followed John's route, he'd never catch Iosef.

He turned and ran back downstairs.

Once he reached the first floor, he quickly crossed to the staircase on the opposite side and took up position with his gun ready.

He remembered the layout of Red Circle.

There was a staircase on either side of the first-floor dance floor.

John had gone up the east staircase to hunt his target.

So Nate could take the west side and cut Iosef off.

At the top of the stairwell was a metal door.

He pushed it open.

Beyond it was a corridor lined with gray carpet.

Rapid footsteps and heavy breathing came from the far end.

Someone was coming.

Nate stepped back twice and slipped into the shadows behind the door, pistol in hand.

The footsteps drew closer.

A young blond man wearing a bathrobe came stumbling around the corner.

A throwing knife was still buried in his shoulder, and blood had soaked half his body.

Iosef Tarasov.

His face was deathly pale, his eyes wide with panic. He was muttering something in Russian that, judging by his tone, was probably profanity.

Two bodyguards in suits followed close behind him.

Both carried pistols and cautiously scanned either side of the corridor.

Nate waited.

Iosef ran past.

Then both bodyguards passed his hiding place.

Bang. Bang.

One shot to the back of each head.

Blood sprayed across the corridor.

Neither man even made a sound before collapsing.

If there was one thing Nate was good at, it was ambushing people.

Iosef spun around.

His eyes landed on the two dead bodyguards, and his mouth opened to shout.

Nate stepped forward and slammed the pistol into his temple.

Iosef's eyes rolled back.

His body went limp.

Nate needed to get back to John.

He was probably running low on ammunition by now.

But leaving Iosef here wasn't exactly safe either.

So Nate hauled him over one shoulder and ran toward the sound of gunfire.

Iosef was thin and didn't weigh much.

With the strength Nate had built up through years of working a wok, carrying him wasn't much of a problem.

He pushed open the metal door leading toward the east staircase.

Rhythmic gunfire echoed from the other side.

The moment Nate stepped through, he saw shell casings scattered everywhere and wooden wall panels torn apart by bullets.

At the far end of the corridor was a small circular dance floor surrounded by booths and glass walls.

The place had turned into a battlefield.

Sofas had been overturned.

Coffee tables lay shattered across the floor.

The glass partitions were riddled with bullet holes.

At least a dozen security guards lay dead.

The gunfire was coming from behind a pillar on the right side of the small dance floor.

Nate peeked out.

John had just taken two rounds.

Thanks to the bulletproof suit, he was still standing.

He ducked behind the pillar and emptied the P30L toward the men ahead of him, killing one bald guard.

Click.

The slide locked back.

Empty.

John stayed behind cover, tucked the empty pistol into his belt, and drew a knife from his boot.

One of the men ahead of him stood out immediately.

Tall.

Wearing a suit.

His posture and presence were completely different from the ordinary guards around him.

He advanced toward John's pillar with a pistol in hand.

He wasn't moving particularly fast, but every step was stable, his center of gravity kept low.

Nate recognized him.

This was the man who had given John serious trouble in hand-to-hand combat in the first movie.

A boss-level enemy.

Shit.

John was out of ammunition behind that pillar and was about to fight him with a knife.

Nate dumped Iosef off his shoulder, drew his pistol, and opened fire.

A rapid burst tore through the air.

Two bodyguards trying to flank John from behind took rounds to the chest and dropped.

Targets without body armor were easy.

Hit them almost anywhere and they'd go down.

The fighter reacted instantly and ducked back behind cover.

“Mr. Wick!”

Nate kept firing, pinning the man behind the pillar and preventing him from raising his head.

Then Nate pulled out a pistol with a full magazine and threw it toward John.

With Nate's accuracy, the throw was perfect.

The pistol sailed past the fighter's position and flew straight toward John's face.

John had already noticed it.

He raised one hand and caught it cleanly, then glanced toward Nate and gave him a slight nod.

Nate continued firing from behind cover, keeping their opponent pinned.

Now they had him caught between them.

John moved in from the side.

Three quick shots punched through the back of a sofa.

A man hiding behind it took a bullet to the shoulder and rolled out screaming.

John put another round through his head.

A second man raised his gun and barely exposed half his face.

A bullet tore away part of the back of his skull.

Then the fighter exploded out from behind cover and charged John.

John reacted immediately and fired twice.

Both rounds hit.

Neither penetrated.

The man was wearing a bulletproof suit too.

Even with his speed reduced by [Intimidation], he was still fast.

John slipped past the first punch.

The second clipped his cheek and sent him stumbling sideways.

He took two steps back, regained his balance, and raised the pistol.

The fighter was already on top of him.

One hand seized the barrel and shoved it upward.

Bang!

The shot went into the ceiling.

At the same time, the man's other fist slammed into John's ribs.

A dull impact echoed through the room.

John grunted, but didn't retreat.

He released the pistol, caught the man's wrist, and the two locked together.

Nate didn't interfere.

Instead, he turned toward the last two enemies hiding behind pillars on the first floor and emptied a burst into them from the second-floor platform.

Both men went down.

Red Circle finally fell quiet.

Only John and the fighter were still moving.

They crashed to the floor, trading punches and elbows, both of their faces quickly becoming smeared with blood.

Truthfully, John's hand-to-hand fighting wasn't that impressive right now.

Five years away from serious training had clearly taken its toll.

Nate walked closer.

The fighter was still fast despite John's [Intimidation].

But John wasn't the only one with that Trait anymore.

Nate had max-level [Intimidation] too.

The instant the fighter came within range of both of them, his speed dropped sharply again.

John caught the opening.

His fist slammed into the man's throat.

Then he rolled on top of him and hammered the magazine well of the pistol into his face four or five times.

Finally, the man stopped moving.

John climbed to his feet, breathing heavily.

There was a cut on his face and blood at the corner of his mouth.

He looked at Nate.

Then his eyes shifted toward the unconscious Iosef lying in the hallway.

John nodded.

Nate holstered his pistol and walked over to Iosef.

He bent down, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him across the floor like a sack of garbage until he was lying at John's feet.

“Your prey,” Nate said. “Mr. Wick, you owe me one.”

“Yeah.”

John paused.

“Thank you.”

Nate could see that he meant it.

John lowered his gaze toward Iosef, curled helplessly on the floor.

The red immediately returned to his eyes.

John picked up a pistol from the floor and checked the chamber.

The slide snapped back into place with a crisp click.