The Hunt

Viggo and several bodyguards stood in the garden in front of the church, surrounded by the stench of burning.

Viggo asked hoarsely, "How much can still be salvaged?"

The bodyguard lowered his head. "All the documents have turned to ash. There isn't a single intact page left."

Viggo's gaze swept over the empty street. The only thing in sight was a rusted garbage truck parked some distance away. A cleaner in a reflective vest was slowly emptying the trash cans by the roadside, seemingly indifferent to the commotion at the church.

"What about the gold coins?" Viggo looked away.

The bodyguard swallowed. "They're all gone. We didn't find a single one in the ashes."

Viggo roared, "Then what the fuck are you still doing here?"

That bastard who called himself Paull Ostrovsky hadn't just stolen his gold coins—he'd also burned down the empire of power he'd spent years building. Rage churned in Viggo's chest, and he could almost taste blood at the back of his throat. The goddamn son of a bitch had reduced half a lifetime of his hard work to ashes as if it were garbage.

He yanked open the car door and dropped heavily into the seat.

The bodyguards sprang into action. A string of terse orders came through their earpieces. The red taillights of four black SUVs lit up, and their engines rumbled to life.

The lead scout vehicle turned around first, its tires crushing the carefully trimmed lawn. The tender tulips burst with sap under the rubber, their petals and soil caught in the treads, leaving several black tracks across the grass. Viggo's car followed close behind, the church's spire reflected in its rearview mirror, smoke billowing above it.

As the convoy left the garden, it came face-to-face with the slow-moving garbage truck.

As they drove past, not one of the bodyguards gave the old garbage truck a wary glance. After all, the only person in the cab was a stooped, white-haired cleaner who looked completely harmless.

Just after the lead vehicle passed the garbage truck, everything changed.

As Viggo's car was about to pass, the garbage truck suddenly turned. Its massive steel front slammed into the left front wheel of Viggo's car. With a screech of twisting metal, the car spun around, leaving the driver's side completely exposed to the truck.

The garbage truck's engine roared deafeningly as it shoved Viggo's car sideways into the brick wall by the street.

Viggo's car was crushed like a sandwich, all four doors buckling under the pressure. The two SUVs behind it slammed on their brakes. The third crashed into the garbage truck's right side, and the fourth rear-ended the third. The lead vehicle skidded to a stop more than ten yards away, its tires leaving four charred streaks on the road.

The garbage truck's driver's door swung open, and Beta leaped out, firing his AK-Alfa rifle. The four bodyguards climbing out of the lead vehicle dropped where they stood.

He turned, aimed, and pulled the trigger again, all in one fluid motion.

Three spiderweb cracks bloomed across the windshield of Viggo's car. A bodyguard fell behind each bullet hole, all shot in the head. Inside, Viggo curled beneath the back seat, both hands clamped over his head. His expensive suit was filthy with splattered brain matter and shards of glass.

Using the garbage truck's enormous body for cover, Beta quickly circled around to the rear.

He left Viggo trapped between the garbage truck and the brick wall for now. The old fox wasn't going anywhere.

At the rear corner, he came face-to-face with an armed bodyguard. Beta's gun was almost pressed against the man's chest.

The bodyguard's finger had just reached the trigger when—"Bang!"

The gunshot erupted in the narrow street. The bullet struck with a dull thud as it tore through the man's chest. He staggered backward into a fire hydrant, then slowly slid to the ground, leaving a horrifying streak of blood behind him.

Using the blind spot at the back of the garbage truck, Beta attacked again.

His muzzle flashed, and another bodyguard clutched his chest and dropped to his knees, blood pouring through his fingers.

The bodyguards in the two vehicles behind them recovered and unleashed a hail of bullets.

Beta retreated behind the garbage truck, lay flat, and braced his shoe against the rear wheel hub. Keeping low, he aimed through the gap beneath the truck's chassis.

"Bang, bang, bang!" Several precise shots rang out. The bullets screamed through the undercarriage, shredding the bodyguards' ankles and calves. Amid their cries of pain, the men lost their footing and toppled to the ground.

Seizing the opportunity, Beta quickly finished off the fallen bodyguards with follow-up shots. Spent casings clattered onto the asphalt.

Beta rolled toward the front of the garbage truck, using its heavy engine compartment as perfect cover. He removed the empty magazine, pulled a fresh one from the back of his waistband, and loaded it. The crisp metallic click of the bolt sliding into place rang out clearly.

As he raised his gun and moved toward the SUV, crushed out of shape, he realized the car was empty. Its trunk lid was flung wide open, swaying slightly in the wind. Through the shattered window, Beta saw the last two bodyguards helping Viggo escape.

Without hesitation, Beta pulled the trigger. The bullet passed through the car and struck one bodyguard squarely in the back.

The other shoved Viggo toward the mouth of the alley, then turned and fired back. But Beta's rifle spat flame first. A 7.62 mm round sent the man sprawling, blood spraying across the wall in a glaring fan.

By the time Beta's muzzle reached the alley's entrance, Viggo had disappeared around the corner.

The next second, a piercing engine roar erupted. A black Dodge Charger slammed into Viggo, pinning him to the hood, and burst out of the alley with its V8 engine roaring.

The tires screeched against the road as the Dodge braked hard. Viggo was flung off, tumbling several times across the asphalt before coming to a stop.

Beta raised his rifle, but lowered it when he recognized the driver.

John Wick stepped out of the driver's seat. His trademark black bulletproof suit glinted in the streetlights, and he held his P30L pistol in one hand.

John strode over to Viggo, who was sprawled on the ground. He hauled him up and slammed him onto the Dodge's still-burning-hot hood. Metal struck flesh with a dull thud. Viggo groaned in pain, only to meet John's blazing eyes.

John pressed his pistol to Viggo's forehead. "Viggo, where's your son?"

Beta kept watch around them. His rifle barked short bursts now and then as he put down the bodyguards still crawling on the ground, spent casings raining onto the pavement.

Viggo raised his trembling hands over his head, cold sweat trickling down his temple. "Can you promise you won't kill me?"

"Where's your son?" John snarled, jamming the muzzle into Viggo's skin and leaving a dent in his forehead.

"434 Franklin Avenue! The abandoned mineral sorting plant!" Viggo shouted in desperation, then added, "They—they've already set an ambush for you."

John replied coldly, "Yeah."

Viggo slumped over the hood. Its lingering heat burned his back, but it did nothing to dispel the chill seeping into his bones.

Beta returned to John's side, wisps of smoke still curling from his gun. "Did you get it out of him?"

John nodded briefly. "Yeah."

Beta raised his gun and fired.

"Bang!" A bloom of blood opened between Viggo's brows. His body slid slowly off the hood, leaving a smear of blood behind.

John visibly hesitated. "You didn't have to kill him."

Beta removed the magazine, the metal clinking crisply. "You think he'll just accept it when we kill his son? He's already sent Perkins to kill us. Were we supposed to say 'sorry' and invite him to afternoon tea?"

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Illustration, to help all you readers get more immersed.