PROLOGUE

Their chests heaved as their muscles relaxed against the stained hard floor of the kitchen. Their view was the ceiling and the fan that whizzed around hypnotically; the beautiful views of the rolling hills just outside the large windows that overlooked the countryside were ignored. They allowed the coolness of the floor beneath them to enter their clothes, their mind noticing the slickness of their skin and not knowing whether it was from perspiration or from blood.

They moved their heads to the side, equally taking in the state the other one was in with a raised eyebrow. Their bodies ached from the relentless exertion, their minds relaying the ambush from the beginning, taking note of what they had done right and what they had faltered on. There had been so many of them, all filing in as if on a conveyor belt with men stronger than the last. And it had been just the two of them against them, fighting their own and assisting with each other when needed.

"Are you okay?" John's deep voice filled her ears and she stared at him for another moment before a nod came from her.

"Are you okay?" she repeated his question to him and watched as he nodded also. John pulled himself up off the floor, feeling his body and aching bones protest against him as he reached his full height, whilst she remained sprawled out on the floor among the dead men that had attacked them.

The scent of death hung heavy in the room. The once pristine white units, floors and walls were now awashed with a crimson red liquid, soaking into every fibre of the furnishings arranged delicately around the house.

To an expert eye, every spot of blood would be removed from the house. No sign of an attack or an ambush would be evident; new furnishings would be ordered and would replace the damaged or stained ones. As John looked around at the once lavish house, he couldn't truly fathom the state in which the house had become as the mere memory of the clean and pristine house they had arrived at just a few hours before.

The unrelenting golden sun was beginning to descend behind the hill, trying to prise the last of its amber limbs over the rooftops and rolling hills that surrounded them. Warm tones replaced the brightness as the sun inched closer and closer to the edge before being swallowed up by the hills.

Their phones beeped simultaneously, and both pulled them out of the respective pockets, seeing the deposit placed into their bank accounts. They sighed almost in sync before Emily placed hers back into her pocket, though her position made it hard for her to truly place it back with ease as her muscles made it difficult to move. John kept his phone out, scrolling through the limited numbers in his contact list before he came to the number he wanted: the trusted clean up company he had used for the last decade. Emily peered up at him as he started talking.

"Wick," he began. "The usual service. Yep… charge it to the usual account. Thanks."

Emily peeled herself up from the floor then, and groaned as her body seemed to struggle against the most simple and easy task. She noticed John's presence move towards her and she felt as he lifted the jacket she was wearing aside a little, enough so that he was able to see the bloodstained rip in her cotton shirt and the gash across her skin.

"You've been hurt," he responded, a hint of worry laced in his voice. She glanced down at it, and shrugged. She had felt a hot flash against her skin, but she just assumed the assailant had hit her in the stomach with his fist, and not a knife. As John inspected it further, his dark eyes brooding over the wound, he furrowed his brow. "It's not that deep, just a flesh wound. You'll feel it more when the adrenaline wears off."

He disappeared into one of the many bathrooms, and Emily took a seat at the kitchen island. Her mind raced at the fact that she hadn't been more careful, one small movement and she would've been stabbed, the knife ripping through her skin, and then it would've been a different matter. Every movement, every attack, every single defence move was tested in moments of combat, and even though she had received extensive training over the years, she had made the mistake of not protecting herself the way she had been trained to do so.

She removed her jacket, discarding it upon the floor next to her. Her cotton tee clung to her skin, a mixture of perspiration and blood coating her body. As she glanced down at the wound, it looked far worse than it actually was. Which in her case, she accepted with a little pinch of anger mostly at her own defences.

John returned a short time later, carrying with him a first aid kit he'd found on his travels. As he neared her, he placed upon the kitchen counter and opened it up. An array of familiar objects was displayed to him and he picked up the alcohol gel first.

"Don't," John warned. "I know that look."

He'd seen it many times before, and it was always a look that unsettled him deep down. The sheer panic that would flash across her face at the thought of their mission having a difficult outcome always seemed to descend upon her once the adrenaline would begin to wear off. Everything counted. One action could mean life, with him or the two of them getting out alive. And another action would mean death, with him or the two of them finding their demise in that moment. It didn't matter if you came prepared for the fight, it's how you handle it in the moment.

"It…" she began but her voice failed her. "One inch to the left and it would've been it."

John shook his head once. "Well, it wasn't. Just be careful next time."

Emily fell silent then, her eyes watching as John took control of the situation and cleaned and patched her up. She held her tee up for him so that he was able to see better. Her mind was invaded with images of their demise. If she had been severely injured, that would've been the end of her and him. One sign of weakness shown to the enemy was enough for them to take control of the situation, and it could've been a different story.

As John placed a large adhesive bandage over the wound, carefully pressing around the sticky edges, Emily released a sigh. "You ever think about having a normal life?"

John moved his dark gaze to her for a moment before turning away and closing the medical kit. He felt her gaze on him as he slid off the seat next to her and moved to the other side of the island. She furrowed her brow and narrowed her gaze at him. She could see it in the way his shoulders tensed at the mere mention of a normal life, the way he physically moved away from her as if scared to open up to her.

Emily bit her lip and, after a moment, continued, sensing hostility in his body language. "I have," she began. "I think about it all the time. I'd like to be a teacher or a doctor. I've patched myself up enough to know my way around a human body."

"I don't think that would count for anything, Em," John smirked. "I don't think your patients would find that comforting."

"Well… I mean, maybe not a doctor. An EMT," she explained further. "Imagine the adrenaline rushing to a patient and knowing that you are there for them in their moment of need."

She had grown tired of killing people. Over the years, she had claimed a vast amount of lives. And though she was skilled in doing so and protected in many ways, it often kept her up at night knowing that she had taken someone's life. All she would be given was a name, addresses and a photograph, and that would be it. She would then be on her way to track down the individual and she would spend weeks setting everything up so that the kill was meticulously planned and didn't involve any innocent bystanders. The people she was hired to kill were bad people; but even so, she still had a conscious.

"But truthfully, I'm in this for a long time," she analysed, her own voice faltering at the realisation at how hard it would be to leave this world behind. Her departure would cost her, and she wondered just how big the cost would be.

After a moment of silence between the two friends, John took a breath. "I have thought about what a normal life would be like, and… I do want a normal existence that doesn't involve going away for weeks, months, years on end, hunting and tracking down people who have wronged other people, and killing them in ways to ensure their demise. I never believed that I would consider turning my back against this world but leaving her behind is becoming harder."

"Her?" Emily's brows furrowed, and her heart dropped. She noticed he refused to look at her then, and she felt her skin prickle with cool anxiety.

John looked at her then, his chest heaving with a heavy breath. "I… I've met someone. Helen," he explained. "She doesn't know anything about me or what I do. All she knows is that I go away for periods of time and I come back."

"Do you love her?" Emily asked, and she tried with all her might to not drop her calm and collective façade. She pressed her lips together to stop her bottom lip from trembling, she clasped her hands tightly together to stop her hands from shaking uncontrollably. His gaze never wavered from her and she was grateful that she could see his true answer from the way his eyes spoke the truth.

"I do," he nodded. "It's a strange concept, isn't it? Love. I never thought I would be worthy of love seeing as I hurt so many, but…"

"I'm happy for you," Emily said honestly. She was even shocked that the comment had escaped her mouth, but she was, underneath it all, happy for him. He loved someone who loved him back, and she couldn't be happier that he found someone.

John was silent, before he nodded in her direction. A silent thank you, a silent sign of gratitude. He had been afraid to tell her for many reasons; and now as the dust settled from his exclamation, he didn't understand why he had been fearful of telling her. His job required a cool and hard exterior, but she was his friend and had been for many years. They had worked together more times than they could count, and though there had been things neither of them knew about the other, they still talked about a lot of things. Their childhoods, school, their dream vacation, their first kills, the kills that kept them up at night…

"I don't want to see you back, Jonathan," she said after a moment. "You get out of this job, and you make a life for you and Helen. You hear me?"

John ran a hand through his hair, and glanced around at the death that surrounded him. He knew what he wanted deep down, but it put everything into perspective when someone else said. He watched Emily for a moment, noticing the cuts to her face, the dark bruises forming on her face, the guilt of her actions weighing her down. She was young and had done and seen so much in her career. And he had done things he regretted even to this day, and over the years, he had come to accept them because he had to move on. But this life… he didn't always want to be a part of this world. His choices had changed, and his life had shifted thus bringing him something he never thought would be possible: love.

John nodded slowly. "You get out, too…" he whispered, and watching as a small smirk formed on her lips and a small chuckle emitted from her, he knew that it wasn't an easy feat to leave such a world behind.

As a knock sounded on the door to the grand mansion, and seeing the familiar faces of the cleaning team, he couldn't shake the darkness that clambered after him. The cleaners restored the house to its previous state; the marble floors having been dulled and stained with blood and cluttered with bodies were now glistening as if they had never been touched.

Emily and John walked out of the house together, side by side. Before they moved to their respectful cars, Emily turned to John and offered him a soft smirk. "Promise me you'll never come back to this world."

"I promise," John nodded, a soft smile forming on his lips. He thought of the potential life he could have with Helen, and his heart swelled with love for her. She didn't know this part of his life, and she didn't have to. He didn't want her to either. Helen knew the kind, quiet and loving man, and that's all she needed to know about him.

Emily extended her hand out to him, and feeling his strong hand envelope hers, she spoke: "It was nice working with you, John Wick."

And as they parted ways for seemingly the last time, neither one of them could ever predict the events that would transpire.