"I hope that you are well aware of breaking the main and crucial rule we have?" the man looked at her like he was about to say, that they can't do shit to him.
His black, quite too long hair was falling on his bruised and scratched face. It wasn't showing any emotions. Her right hand, in which she was holding a gun, slightly trembled once again.
It seemed like he noticed the slight movement. He fastened his hand grip on the fresh glass filled with bourbon and then he took a slow sip from it. And then John JUST smiled.
"Excommunicado" she said, looking at his hand clenched around the glass. She was struggling with analyzing the number of methods in which he was able to kill her.
Well, probably the glass he was holding wasn't made from tempered glass, admittedly it had two different cuts, but it wasn't a really solid work. All the effort you had to make was to squeeze it really hard and it will be shattered in pieces which you could easily use to stab someone right into their artery.
"Excommunicado" he repeated after her, which made her snap back into reality. "That's why I'm here now, not at Continental's bar. How did you found me in this total shithole?" he finally stopped looking at his drink and fixed his eyes on her.
He probably was thinking exactly the same stuff she was. The glass.
"You are well aware of the bounty that was made for your head. And as I assume you are as well aware about the fact, that anyone could show up here, not only me. So for the sake of old times..."
"Just do it" he interrupted her speech, drank all of the liquor from his glass and then throw it to the floor. He turned slightly to be right in front of her. Feeling the cold metal of the silencer from her Beretta he grinned widely.
Long fingers of her slim hand, ending in long, bloody red nails were still having a strong grip on the gun. On different occasion he'd probably feel jealous, "I know your dignity won't make you shoot me in the back. Do it. Pull the trigger" he grabbed the silencer and pressed it harder to his forehead.
"For the sake of old times, John Wick" the metal barrel slid off his head and the noise from a gunshot made him temporarily deaf. The glass pane that was located on the side wall turned into a sharp carpet.
Along with the pieces on the floor there was a now dead body of a man, with a bullet right between his eyes. The body looked like on of D'Antonio henchmen's, which could be proved easily by the locket he had around his neck.
"How...?" John started, but he never finished his question amazed by the shot the woman just made. He turned around on his heel and walked up to the corpse.
"Woman's intuition" she said while hiding her gun into a holster she was wearing on her hip, "those good old times, John" Isobel smiled with the prettiest smile he had ever seen and then walked out of the bar slamming the door behind her.
Wick, still stunned with the close gunshot, wasn't able to comprehend what the hell has just happened. All he did was repeating her words in his head: "for the sake of old times".
The old times, that she kept mentioning, happened long before John Wick got his famous Baba Yaga nickname.
They met long before his gun for hire career, both young, neatly trained in combat, connected with an elite military unit in their past. They tried to work together, maybe in the not-so-far future they'll end up as a great couple, but they had different views.
He believed a lot in principles, was fond of his mentor Marcus. She was an ideal being herself. Tall, with long red hair, which in times of duty she wore braided. Her eyes always bright and sparkling, every guy from their unit was in love with her.
After few she got the highest rank and became the commander of the most important battalion. He had no idea how much effort she had to put in this to achieve all of it. How big amount blood, sweat and tears were playing the lead role in her achievement. John had no idea how she really was, he always looked at her by the number of stars on her uniform beam.
Isobel was really really far from the ideal image he had of her in his mind. Of course she could whip as many ass as you could ever imagine, also she was the greatest shooter, but deep inside her soul she had an entire universe of her own.
Even with all the ass kicking and shooting stuff she still was a fragile being, who wanted to save every living creature they found on their way riding through the burned villages, which were overwhelmed with war.
He hadn't seen her for some years, after they took their own paths. He thought that she was looking more amazing then she used to. She was more rounded in some places, but she still looked like a full time model. Her red hair surprisingly blonde now, but it made her more bold. She wasn't the mean redhead type, she just had a tight grip on a reality.
The man still couldn't understand why she didn't shoot him. He was well aware that any assassin would just pull the trigger and kill the, yet still living, legend of the underground world. 14 million dollars. That was the price for his death. She could rule the world with all of this money.
Knowing that he was trying to live a usual life. That he gave his Signum to D'Antonio, because he was capable of making the impossible: to help John turn his back on the underground way of living. She was aware of the fact that he had a wife, which he's lost later in a tragic way. She knew what happened to Iosef Tarasov and his father. She knew fucking well what happened in Italy.
John had no idea that she had the same resources and power the italian man had. If he gave his Signum to her, Isobel would help him way better than D'Antonio did.
And it all wouldn't end with an excommunicado. She just simply wouldn't let that happen, especially after all those things they shared back in time. As every person she regretted many of her decisions, but one particular mostly. Those about no one knew, even her closest friends. There are some things you shouldn't say a single word about, because if you do your enemies will use them against you.
She was still standing in front of the bar, the heavy English rain drenching her right to the bones.
He was still wondering, analysing her every move, every wink of an eye. Maybe he should run after her, stop her? No, it wasn't John Wick's style...
The blonde jumped after hearing the door's squeak behind her.
"I think you can help me" he said, "I'm not the guy who is dead on the floor with a bullet in his brain, so it means…" John stopped, taking a step towards her.
"It means what?" her voice trembled just like she was, standing in the soaked clothes, cold, trying to save the word on her own without eating a proper breakfast.
"It means that you have the resources about which I have no idea."
"Old times, John. Two words: old times" she looked at him. It was just a moment right after he walked out of the pub and now he was just wet as she was.
His black hair... even though hers were red back then, everyone was still laughing at them, saying that they looked like siblings. When their path never crossed again, until now, she dyed her hair blonde, because she needed to separate herself from her past. Needed a new start. A new look.
"What happened between us back then?" his voice muffled by the heavy rain sounded differently to him and the question he asked echoed in his ears in an unpleasant way.
"It's a really hard question John…" she couldn't find the strength to look up at him now.
Wick followed her back to the car, which was located two blocks away from the pub. They both sat inside it and fastened their seatbelts. She started the engine which responded with a soft purring noise. He was sitting in the passenger seat and couldn't stop staring at her.
She was the lead of the convoy that was delivering parts for building the wells to another village that was only half a day ride from their base.
Why they've chosen her for the lead? She knew what to do if they'll ever get into a cross fire. She was extremely well trained for every possibility. She took John as her right hand, because he trusted him. They made the dream team. They could rely on each other in every kind of situation.
The convoy was taking place smoothly now. They rode on a hot asphalt, driving by single huts located by the road. The heat was really annoying. She had a tight grip on the steering wheel with her both hands. They knew the road, plus it was supposed to be checked earlier that day. Asphalt was smooth, easy to drive on.
When they were just outside the village, the hummer she drove jumped slightly. She thought it probably drove over some kind of branch fallen from a dead tree, but there were no trees near the road.
In a split-second she pushed the gas pedal right to the floor of the car and honked three times. Right behind her car she heard a massive explosion. She stopped three meters further on the road. She pulled the hand brake and got out of the car with John. He knew perfectly what just happened. When they walked behind their car they saw a huge hole in the road. It was bigger than four meters and ended right next to their car's back bumper.
"Is everyone okay?!" she shouted, and the falling dust revealed the car which transported the parts for the well.
Or rather what was left of it. The driver's part of the car was completely gone, replaced by an enormous hole. The concrete well parts were shattered all over the place, mixed with bloody stains and whatever was remaining of the two people who were sitting in that car.
"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" she cursed out loud. "Wick, we have to report this!" outside of the barracks she never called him by his name. The other form was exclusive to the moments in which they were the only couple in the room. She went around the hole from her right side. She thought she could find the tags of the dead soldiers, but with explosion that massive it was nearly impossible they'd stay intact.
She walked away from the road and stepped on the dirt. Then she heard a small clicking sound and was dragged backwards in a fast motion by man's arms.
Isobel turned her head and saw John who was pulling her closer to him. She didn't had the time to say anything, because there was another explosion right behind their back. The blast wave swept them off their feet and make them collide onto their car.
They fell onto the road right next to it.
With being unaware of what just happened the only thing she felt right now was a piercing back pain. She was lying on John with her breast pushed closely to his chest. She looked at his face and saw that there was blood flowing from few wounds he had on it. Also, she saw that in those wounds were some small silver balls. Balls from ball bearings.
It wasn't possible for her to see, but she had them in her back, her arms and in her thighs. And with them there were some nails and pieces of old tinplate.
Bomb with stuffing, as they used to call self-made explosives. Terrorists stuffed their bombs with anything that could possibly grant more damage than just regular TNT.
After few second she finally gained consciousness of what just happened. She felt some liquid running down her back. Blood. Was it hers? She took her helmet when she walked out of the vehicle, because its windows were made from bulletproof glass with high level of resistance. But now, this helmet, or more the lack of it, would decide about her being dead or alive.
It wasn't her blood.
It was John's.
She looked at John's hands. Soft, white marks were still visible on them, and reminded her about all the fights he had, but for her, there were a sign of a totally different thing. He took off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, revealing all of the scar-tattoos he had on his arms.
Knowing that if she decided to touch his arms, under her fingertips she'll feel great amount of them old scars, she stopped her hands from moving. He has sacrificed himself for her many times. She knew that she had to do the same for him now and thought that the one last time she saw him, was back in theirs New York apartment right before she walked out of it and never came back. But the fortune had another plan for them.
"I was there, at the Continental bar" she took a deep breath "when you killed D'Antonio. I spoke to Winston right after that. He was pissed at you. But I bet you are well aware of the aftermath" John looked at her surprised by all of the words that just left her mouth. Isobel found the courage to finally look him in the eye once again and caught his surprised glance.
So it was really her then. Those blonde hair, hazel eyes in whose he could just simply drown…
"I didn't tried to stop you, because I knew you will do it anyway. Damn it John! You will pull that trigger even if you'll get a revelation of god himself telling you not to!" she was sitting straight up, now with her eyes on the wet road in front of them.
If she'd only spoke at that time or reacted somehow... FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.
