Chapter 2

March 2016

Matilda's alarm went off at five am, waking her with its shrill pronouncement. She groaned and rolled over, tempted to close her tired eyes, and go back to bed. The king-sized bed was more inviting than it had any right to be, her comforter wrapping her in a warm and downy cocoon. However, she knew if she gave up her morning workout routine, she would soon find herself off the rails completely. Back in London, her exercises had been one of the few things keeping her sane. Begrudgingly, but proud of herself, she got out of bed and put on yoga pants and a long-sleeved athletic top. She half-heartedly tossed the comforter back over the bed.

She quickly brushed her teeth and put on her socks and sneakers, just remembering to grab her phone, a water bottle, and her room key before she left. She had a feeling Charon would be disappointed if she needed another room key this soon after telling him he could trust her with Winston. If she couldn't be trusted with a piece of plastic, how could she be trusted with the manager? She wanted him to trust her, and to have earned that trust herself.

She slipped her room key into the hidden pocket of her pants as soon as she got on the elevator. She pressed the button for the second floor and watched as the doors slid closed, and she made her way down. In a normal hotel gym, she might have been one of the only occupants looking to work out this early. In a gym made up of some of the world's best assassins, however, it was already packed. The fluorescent lights shined brightly, and the musty smell of sweat permeated the air. Matilda wrinkled her nose a little as she stepped into the room.

The only open machine she saw was a treadmill; the man on the left of her seemed like he had been there for a while already and was putting up a brutal pace. His gray shirt was soaked with sweat, his dark brown hair curtaining his face. She stepped up onto her machine and got herself ready; small stretches, water bottle in its spot, and her earbuds in place, workout playlist queued. She shot the man a shy smile when he glanced over, before she started her own machine at a light jog. She raised her head to stare out the window in front of her, taking in the neon glow of New York, lighting up the dark sky of early morning.

†

John woke up a few short hours after heading to bed. He had not slept well, tossing, and turning throughout the night, and he knew a quick workout and a coffee was the only way he would be getting through a full day. He still had a drive home, and a night of picking out his newest target from a stack of files in his office.

It was a different kind of freedom, being able to pick whom he targeted. He had total control over what jobs he took and how they were handled. John was also better paid for his time and effort. No one else was taking a slice of his pie. The currency of the underworld was gold, but John was a man of the real world too. He always insisted on half in cash and half in gold; he had amassed more than a small fortune in both. Never leaving it one place, he was careful to check his hidden caches when he traveled. He had also invested in stocks recently, hiring a stockbroker to keep an eye on his accounts for him. John had become a wealthy man.

Ever since Helen had died, and he had killed Iosef in revenge for the loss of Daisy, something in John had gone. His desire to live had left and he spent his days wandering like a ghost. He knew Winston was concerned, had seen Charon give him longer sideways glances than usual. John did not have the energy to care. He was still here, functioning as regularly as he knew how. For John this was enough. It was all he could be anymore. Anything else required effort he wasn't sure he had in him. Work kept him moving, kept him functioning. It was easy to slip into a tailored suit and call himself Baba Yaga. The role was one he had played for years to perfection – he could perform even on an off day. Two years of grieving had left him tired, broken. He wasn't sure where he wanted to go from here, so he filled his days with as much of the job as he could, to keep his mind off the question.

Tiredly, he shrugged on an Under Armour shirt and some running shorts, heading down to the gym. He knew that at this time of the morning it would be packed, and he would just have to grab a free machine. The ride down from the eighth floor was a short one, and when he arrived, he grabbed a towel and complimentary water bottle. There were only two treadmills open, so he snatched one. John gave a polite nod to the man on his left before starting up his machine.

His calves screamed at him only a few minutes into his workout. He had been running all weekend, chasing his quarry. He pushed himself harder, hoping it would help him sleep better that evening. He could afford to take a few days off this week and let his legs rest. It was the last thing he wanted, but he also wanted to pass out tonight and sleep deeply. That desire won out. He turned up the incline and told himself he could do a slower speed if he was climbing. It wasn't long before his shirt was slick with moisture, his hair plastered to his face from the sweat.

John had been there for about twenty minutes when the treadmill on his right started up. He glanced over surreptitiously, startled to see a young woman he had never seen before. She started off slow but over the course of the next few minutes had worked herself into a brisk jog. Wick had a hard time keeping his eyes on the monitor in front of him. His legs were burning, he was covered in sweat, and there was a frankly stunning new guest on his right. He caught the gaze of another older Continental regular, Brian Taylor, and could tell by his expression that he didn't know her either. Brian shrugged a shoulder at John from his place on the woman's right. He turned back to his own workout and John turned towards his own display, lost in his musing.

The underworld was a large place and getting larger every day. It wasn't possible to get to know everyone. Some of the old guards were still close, those who were still alive. The truth of the matter was that assassination was quickly becoming a young man's game. You had a short life expectancy once you became a part of life, and someone quicker, younger, and smarter was always waiting to take your place. Not just any two-bit thug could stay at a Continental, however. There were rules in place, one of them being that to stay at a Continental, you had to sit under the Table. You were a part of a family, could trace your lineage back to someone in a Seat. If you weren't serving, then you weren't of service. Services were not provided to you unless you served a function.

Winston had never gone into the specifics, but John was aware that the Continental at one time had attempted to operate differently. You didn't have to sit under the Table, just prove your worth as a criminal who could be trusted. But sometime after the establishment of the hotel, his partner had sold them out. The Continental had been a beacon in the underworld, a refuge. She still was, but there were more rules now. More bars made up her gilded cage.

He stayed on the treadmill longer than he had intended; his legs would be sore all day tomorrow as a result. He couldn't help it; he had to steal glances at this new arrival: the way her calves were straining as she ran, the beads of sweat that ran down her creamy pale skin. At some point she pulled a rubber band off her wrist and used it to tie back her long red hair, bangs still brushing her brows. Her cheeks puffed with air as she jogged, oblivious to the world around her, just staring straight ahead.

John shook his head and wiped his face with his towel. This was the first time he had really looked at a woman since Helen had died, and he felt a hot flash of shame deep in his gut. This woman appeared so much younger than his forty-five years. Helen had been his age, appropriate. And he still missed her. The ache wasn't quite as sharp, but it was still there, dull and pounding with every beat of his heart. It was present enough that he had kept his gaze down for years now. No one ever shared what an appropriate mourning time was, and John had been starting to think that the rest of his life would be appropriate.

Powering down his machine, John took note of his progress. He scowled down at it, at the thought that it had taken him forty-five minutes to run six and a half miles. Even with his legs on fire he should have done better. He sighed and bent down to massage his calves. Maybe I am getting too old for this, he thought. He stole another quick glance up at the redhead, using his hair to hide his face. Or maybe I'm just too easily distracted this morning.

John stood and loped to the other side of the room, intending to join Brian in some free weights. The man was older than John by a few years, but the two had known each other for ages. Brian Taylor was something of an enigma. Most assassins were not able to live comfortably outside of the underworld, have real lives with civilians. Brian, however, had a partner in New Jersey, and they shared a set of twin girls who had just turned seven. Part of his good fortune was who he called his employer.

"John Wick." Brian smiled as the younger man came to join him. "Boy it has been a while." He hugged the man, not caring that they were both covered in sweat and stinking from their workouts.

"Brian how have you been?" John asked as soon as he was free of the embrace.

"I've been doing alright." He answered, grabbing weights off the rack, and proceeding to do some arm workouts. "Julian is great, the girls are doing great. Still have the same job, working for the big man."

"Caspar? He's still working?" John asked, grabbing his own weights and mirroring Brian's movements. "I thought he was grooming his son to take over?"

"Yeah, Lauren Caspar." Brian put a dumbbell down and brought the one he still held behind his head, launching into a set of overhead presses, his muscles rippling through his thin shirt. "Just a few years ago the boy was drinking every night, gambling, was taking pleasure in whatever company he could find. He wasn't good to anyone like that, let alone his father." Brian grunted as he took a rest. "So, Caspar sent him away for a couple of years. Now the boy is making the top of People and Esquire magazine's most eligible bachelor lists. He's doing better than his father could have hoped. Lauren's really cleaning up his act." Brian launched into another set of workouts. "He's still away, but he's expected to return soon, and his dad seems happy." Brian sounded impressed, happy to see his future was taken care of by someone who would be his boss one day.

"I'm sure the CEO of Caspar Financial is very proud." John intoned.

Atticus Caspar and his family were an outlier to the way business usually ran in John's world. They were an affluent Wall Street family and had much pull amongst the social elite in certain circles. Very few people knew of the other side of Caspar's business, of the shady dealings he put together in the underbelly of the city. Only those he paid well, and paid well to have killed, were aware of that side of him. Brian had been on his security detail, and private hit squad, for years. He was often assigned to personally guard him while in New York on business, or while traveling abroad.

John had made sure to avoid Caspar, never taking a job from him or anyone directly associated with him. It was dangerous enough working with known criminals. Working with a criminal who lied to you about being one…seemed the wrong way to do business in John's book. He was always honest and upfront, and expected the same from his employer's.

Brian was about to affirm John's thoughts on the CEO's pride when his attention was diverted elsewhere. Directly across from the free weights, on the other side of the room, was a worn tumbling mat. The regulars hardly ever used it except to stretch. Few of them knew any real gymnastics, and the ones that did were old enough now that they didn't practice regularly. But standing at the edge of the mat, doing some preparatory stretches, was their new ginger mystery.

"Do you know who she is?" Brian asked quietly, launching into a set of shoulder presses.

John shook his head. "No idea." He followed Brian's movements with his own weights. His eyes followed the mystery woman as she finished up her stretches, then stepped up to the mat with a light bounce in her step. "What family do you reckon she is?"

Brian shrugged. "Seems to matter less and less these days. Used to be you could judge a person by the character of their house. Now, everyone's a mess. The families of the Table all bicker the line of succession and worry a lot less about the important stuff than they used to." Brian took a moment to rest, weights set down on the mat. "She's cute though. Very pretty."

John's head turned to stare at his friend, surprise written clearly on his face. A blush tinged his cheeks; he'd been thinking the same thing.

"What?" He turned an amused eye to his friend. "I may be an old queen, but I know beauty when I see it."

John shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. The urge to laugh with Brian came and went as the young woman stepped onto the mat and began a series of somersaults, her contact with the mat making noise whenever her hands met the pad. Once at the other end, she did a few backflips before twisting into a double back handspring, finishing where she had started.

While uncommon, Brian noticed that he and John were the only ones staring so openly at the woman. Well, John was certainly openly staring. It was good to see his friend have some life back in him. Brian shook his head in amusement before nudging John with his elbow, drawing his attention back.

"I know you're checking out today, but that's not until eleven. Tell me you're staying for breakfast with an old friend?" he asked playfully.

John thought for a moment, resuming his workout. "I hadn't thought about it. But for an old friend, I could be persuaded."

"I'll save you a seat in the dining room." Brian said with a smile.

John nodded his head and smiled. "Let me finish up here, and shower. Meet you for breakfast at seven?"

"Sounds good." Brian put his own weights away, cleaning them with the hotel provided solution before he stepped away. "See you in a bit." He threw his towel over his shoulder and walked towards the exit.

John finished his workout a short while later, toweling off his face and neck as he walked toward the gym exit. He dropped the towel unceremoniously in the provided bin, and strode into the hall, and towards the elevator. The clean scent filled his nostrils and he inhaled gratefully. As he looked up, he noticed a certain redhead just ahead of him, waiting with the 'up' button already lit. If he were lucky, they'd be sharing an elevator. He increased his stride, his legs protesting, and reached the elevator just in time, the doors sliding quickly closed behind him.

"Someone really wanted the elevator." She joked lightly, not looking up from her phone.

He punched the button for the eighth floor, his brow shooting up as he noticed the lit '10.' Only Winston stayed on the tenth floor. John was aware of another suite being on the floor, but to his knowledge no one had ever stayed there. Charon had never filled the room in his time as concierge. He shot a glance down and towards her out of the corner of his eye, thought he saw her doing the same and looking at him. Curiosity won out in the end, and before he could think better of it, John blurted out his thoughts.

"Are you staying with Winston?" he asked.

†

Matilda had been aware of John's presence in the gym. She was vaguely mindful of his reputation, once she had realized who he was. She had not known it was the John when she'd been running next to him. She hadn't realized until she'd heard his friend's loud exclamation of his full name. But she hadn't been able to ignore the man who was sprinting beside her. His hair had curtained his face in a distractingly beautiful way, even if some of it was plastered with sweat. His calves no doubt screaming as they pumped relentlessly on his own machine. Watching his muscles ripple as he had lifted weights while she had stretched, had been almost enough to turn her mind to thoughts of sin. But she knew that getting involved with anyone, in her head or not, was dangerous. Her bruised heart was still paying the consequences for London and the last couple of years.

Seeing him in the elevator next to her, she felt her heart flutter as it hadn't in almost a year. She resigned herself to ignoring him, taking half stolen glances as she looked up at him through long lashes. Consider it part of your penance, she thought glumly. Punishing herself wasn't accomplishing anything, but it did make her feel a little better.

"Are you staying with Winston?" The question was innocent, and abrupt. Matilda knew by the flush of color high on his cheeks that he had meant to bite his tongue. He turned forward, not expecting her to answer.

It seemed there was something about her that made John Wick curious. She couldn't keep quiet, faced with this scenario. A man like this, so revered in legend already, was interested in her? Or at least interested in her sleeping arrangements.

"I'm staying in the other room on the tenth floor." she replied coolly, angling her torso towards him.

John turned towards her; mild surprise written in his muddy brown eyes. He extended his hand towards her. "I'm John Wick."

Matilda grasped his warm hand and gave it a firm shake. "Matilda Baier." She said with a hint of a smile. His brow rose infinitesimally at her introduction. Baier wasn't a common last name in their line of work, and she could see in his eyes that he was working on the puzzle he'd just been offered. "It's nice to meet your Mr. Wick."

"John please." He told her, his gruff voice filling the small space. He let go of her cool hand, almost as an afterthought. "Is this your first visit?"

"It is yes; I'm moving to New York from London." she said, dropping her hand back to her side. "I've never been to New York before, so I'm hoping to have some time to familiarize myself with the city." She smiled. "Maybe take in some sights."

A thin smile tugged at John's lips. "The Continental Club is the best place to start. You will learn quickly enough who is good company, and who to avoid."

A frown tugged at Matilda's lips. "I'm curious how it works." She paused a moment to gather her thoughts.

John, having turned forward again, gave her a short side glance. "Oh, it works the same way in London. The Continental follows the same set of rules all over the world, and so does the club."

Matilda shook her head. "This is my first trip to any Continental. But that's not what I meant."

John turned to face her again, his full attention on her. "I'm sorry to have assumed then." His face was open, an expression indicating that she should continue.

"You spend Friday evening having drinks with a man, maybe are polite the whole weekend. But when Monday morning rolls around, if his name comes up, you'll kill him. No matter the illusion of intimacy this hotel creates, it is just that – an illusion. We'll all go back to trying and killing one another if the money's good enough." She absentmindedly started cracking her knuckles. "How does anyone keep friends?"

John straightened at her assessment. "Most of us, yes, that's true. Some of us form friendships here. Ones that exist off Continental grounds. Even criminals need companionship." He answered, his gaze bearing down on hers. Brown eyes staring into pools of amber.

"Which one are you?" She asked, right as the elevator dinged their arrival at the eighth floor.

John just smiled, said, "It was nice to meet you Miss Baier," and exited the elevator.

Matilda shifted her weight as the doors closed, gripping her elbows as she crossed her arms, a grin plastered on her face. John Wick seemed different than the few stories she had heard. Which, admittedly, Winston had told her. She was intrigued to see when business would have him calling again. The Continental was her home, and she couldn't wait for him to come knocking at the door again.

With a childish grin, Matilda stepped off the elevator and into her room. She had to get ready for her own breakfast. Letting out a breath and trying to calm the racing tension of her heart, she started the water for her shower.