Chapter Text
When Helen agreed to a blind date, she didn’t expect to be stood up. She supposed no one ever does, but it was still awkward all the same to have been nursing the same glass of wine for the better part of an hour. Not to mention the three baskets of dinner rolls she’s devoured. With a sigh, she sipped her red again. It was honestly very tasty but that was to be expected of one of the premier restaurants in town.
The venue of choice, The Sky Loft, was located at the top of a skyscraper hotel. Helen’s roommate, Rachel, having grown increasingly concerned over Helen’s state of singleness, arranged for some guy to meet her for a nice time. At the very least, Rachel assured her, free food. Helen was in the habit of only ordering food she could feasibly pay for herself. It made her feel icky to expect someone else to shell out money for her.
She glanced a moment towards the wall clock. Eight-thirty at night and still no one. She would have already left if it weren’t for the fact her waiter had apparently vanished. For that matter, the entire restaurant seemed oddly vacant. Save for herself, some men dressed nicely as though for a business dinner, and one couple who seemed more interested in eating than in speaking to each other.
Helen rose, preparing to leave, and hoping the waiter would materialize from nowhere to bring the check for the wine. With no one approaching, and no one glancing up towards her, she simply grabbed a twenty from her wallet and laid it on the table.
There was a noise from the fire escape much like a scream of help. Helen shot her attention in that direction. The steel door swung open and every patron stood to stare at the man who slumped forward against the handrail bleeding from his gut profusely.
“Boss,” his voice was labored and thickly accented in a British manner. “It’s fucking Wick.” He fell against the floor. Either passed out cold or dead. The other woman present screamed.
“Baby!” She clutched the forearm of the man who was eating with her. “We need to call the cops!”
“No fucking good that’ll do ya’.” One of the Black Suits who was having a business dinner spoke up. Pulling a pistol out of his jacket. He too, spoke with a strong British accent. Helen assumed this was the boss. Or associated with said boss. “This is Wick we’re talking about Billy. We got five minutes, tops.”
“You’re all insane!” Helen interrupted. “I’m calling the cops.” She went to grab her phone. A gray suited man with a shaven head grabbed her by the forearms from behind.
“Like Hell you are!” It seemed everyone but Helen in here tonight was British. “I’ve got warrants out on me bitch.” He released her with a pained groan as she dug her stiletto into his right shin. He bent forward, eyeing the now growing red stain where her heel managed to pierce skin. “Why you little cun-“ He pointed his own pistol at her.
“Enough of that! We’ll deal with her later. We have a much bigger problem.” The Boss’ eyes were trained on the fire escape. All eyes narrowed in on the looming black figure back-lit by the oddly blue emergency lights of the stairwell. Helen could see that his body was nearly the height of the door frame. Gray-Suit snarled.
“Figures Tarasov was too chicken shit to come himself!” The Figure, Helen supposed Wick, moved into the room. He looked like Death himself. Dressed in a black Italian cut suit that tapered wonderfully over his body. Well-tailored and oddly sophisticated. His face looked as though honed by a jack knife with a jawline and cheekbone that could probably slice. His beard was dark and trimmed and styled in a goatee that met his mustache. His hair hung to his shoulders in loose black waves that seemed slicked back by fingers. His eyes though. Helen saw a sharks eyes set in his face. All predator and this was a room of nothing but prey. Helen noticed that when Wick stepped forward, everyone else seemed to lean visibly back. The very aura of this man striking terror into their bones.
“Billy Hughes.” Wick’s voice was low and exact. Purposeful with his tone. It was a voice people listened to. “Tarasov didn’t take to kindly to your busting up his floating crap game.” The Boss swallowed at his statement.
“So he sends me the Reaper.” The Boss, Billy, tucked his girlfriend behind his body and fired a shot into Wick’s shoulder. Wick sagged a little forward but Helen could hear the shot ping off what she assumed was body armor. Sensing she was way out of her depth, Helen kicked over a round dining table to hide behind. Shots rang out all around her. Her ears were starting to ring. Screams and cursing were heard all over. A spray of blood shot across the tablecloth she was near. She let out a panicked scream at the sight.
Gray Suit ended up within view of her hiding spot. He was panicked. Struggling with his gun to reload it. Judging by his angry grunts, it was probably jammed. Wick strode from nowhere. Covered now by spatters of blood. In a half assed attempt to kill Wick, Gray Suit fired his gun. There was a flash from the muzzle. A misfire. Wick quickly took advantage.
He was unbelievably fast. His long leg kicked out at Gray Suit. His foot connected against his chest. Gray Suit struggled to rise from his winded state. Wick stepped on the wrist fumbling for a knife. The arm not held down by the Reaper, Gray used to swing a punch into Wick’s left knee. Wick yelled out and stumbled backwards. Gray Suit leapt to his feet, swinging another punch into Wick’s kidney.
“Fucking! Aggggh!” Wick grit his teeth. Gray Suit went for a blow again. Helen could make out the thick outline of gold on his knuckles when it caught against the light. Wick now had a trickle of blood coming out his mouth. Wick leaned most of his weight on top of his right side now.
“Not so tough now, huh, Reaper?” Gray Suit flung his punch forward but Wick caught his wrist this time. Wick swung his body to the right. An amazingly graceful arc that pivoted all his body weight on the point of his grip. Gray Suits wrist made a sickening snap. Flung to the ground, he screamed clutching his wrist. Helen could see it was bleeding badly as his bone pierced through the skin. Wick stared down at him. A cold and feral stare.
“Go back to Hell, Wick!” Gray Suit sputtered. A single shot ended his writhing.
The noises had faded into silence but Helen knew Wick probably heard her scream. She fumbled her hand on the ground and wrapped her fingers around a discarded steak knife. Her chest was starting to heave from her panic. The table kicked out from behind her and she spun in place. The knife pointed blade towards Wick against her breasts. She licked her dry lips and attempted calming down her breathing as she stared up at this killer.
His gun was trained towards her. There was a slight confused tilt of his head. Helen felt incredibly exposed in this low cut burgundy dress that went down to her sternum. The push up bra that made her cleavage look amazing now made her self conscious as she frantically tried to calm her nerves. The black stilettos that made her legs look miles longer would do her no good if she had to run. Fear rose in her throat as Wick just continued staring.
“If you want to hurt me with that, you’ll need to hold it better.” He broke the silence.
“Aren’t you gonna’ kill me too?” She stood to her feet. Knife still ready.
“You’re not with the Billy Boys.” He holstered his pistol. “I came for them.” With a sudden rush of stupidity or bravery Helen swiped the knife towards him. He caught her wrist expertly. He tightened his grip and she dropped the knife with a small whimper. “Not smart of you. But I don’t blame you.” She didn’t much feel like caring about whether it was smart or not and kicked towards his injured knee. He twisted her arm behind her back. His front behind her now. She slumped forward with a pained moan.
“Let go!” A useless cry but it made her feel better all the same.
“Only if you quit trying to fight me.” A slight movement of his hand still on her wrist and she felt a muscle twinge. Helen knew in her gut if he so much as tugged a certain way her arm would be broken. “I think you can tell it won’t be a fair fight.”
“I am so calling the cops.” She huffed but relaxed her shoulders so he could feel she wasn’t going to attack him. He released her. She turned to face him. He was holding his weight up by gripping the upturned table. The leg that was injured seemed a little skewed. The foot of it hanging above the ground slightly. A dislocated knee. He angled his leg so that his dangling ankle was pressed against the ground. He forced his knee back into place with a loud shout. He muttered words that sounded oddly Russian below his breath. Most likely all expletives given his rapid fire delivery. Helen was oddly peeved that he viewed her as not a threat. She could try something right now if she wanted. She quickly dismissed the thought because it was impractical. He was allowing her to stay alive simply by virtue of non-association. She’d take her wins as she got them.
Wick was still holding himself up with the table. She realized he was on the phone with someone. His voice was steady despite having just killed a room full of people. Helen wasn’t sure if her panic had come full circle into calmness or if she was processing it on a much longer span of time than was to be considered normal. A steadily growing puddle of blood approached her shoe and she backed away from it towards where Wick was. His eyes were focused entirely on her, despite the nonchalant way his tone was speaking Russian to the person on the other end. He hung up and simply sighed heavily. He tilted his head towards her.
“This place was privately rented for tonight. How’d you get in?” Wick’s voice was low and resonant. Deep like a shadow and sharp as a knife.
“Privately rented? So, they could all be easily killed?” There was an air of disdain in her tone.
“Let’s not change the subject.” He smiled. It was not a nice smile. His face quickly returned to being serious. “Answer the question.” He stood now, no longer leaning against his brace. “You’re not really in a position where you can negotiate.” Helen figured as much. He just single handedly took out a room of armed men as easily as buying groceries. “Well?” His tone grew slightly impatient.
“I’m here because my friend got me in.”
“So you are with the Billy Boys?”
“No! God, no.” She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed heavily. “Look. I was supposed to be on a blind date tonight.”
“Sorry, I probably killed him.”
“No, he didn’t even show up.” She saw Wick’s eyes trail down her figure for a moment. Truly a weak statement when his stare seemed to carve a path down her curves. He met her gaze.
“Shame.”
“Wonderful. I’ll add that to my resume.” She held out her arms as though displaying a scene. “Helen Jones, attractive to killers.”
“So, it’s Helen, is it?” She crossed her arms over her chest. Meeting his stare. “Well, Helen, how does your friend know Billy?”
“Listen here, Wick.” She spat out his name. His eyes raised with what seemed to be amusement. “We don’t know this Billy guy!” She glanced at the puddle and shuffled a little away again. “Ex- Billy guy. She told me tonight was special but her cousin is the Head Waiter and she bribed him to add my and my dates name on the list.”
“Tonight is special. Tonight marks Tarasov’s acquisition of new turf.” Wick finally moved forwards into her space. Looming above her. She swallowed hard. This is how she dies. Stood up and surrounded by dead bodies.
“Make it quick.” She breathed low. A silent plea.
“Kill without a reason?” Wick looked astonished at the suggestion. “No. Sorry if that’s what you were hoping for.” She exhaled a shaky sounding breath as he sauntered over to the bar. Grabbing a previously opened wine bottle and uncorking it. He waved a hand in front of him towards the bar stool. “Have a seat.” Helen felt whiplash course through her veins as she sat across from him. He poured with a heavy hand a dark red. One glass for her and one for him.
“I’m waiting for the clean up crew.” Wick explained, sipping his drink.
“Is that who you were talking to earlier?” He simply nodded as a response. He swallowed thickly.
“I’ll be straight to the point. You’ve seen too much.”
“So you are going to have to kill me.” Wick shook his head no.
“I can’t make that call. I’m an Executioner not a Judge. My contract was put out for all in attendance tonight in association with the Billy Boys.” He shrugged and drunk again. “Since you’re not with Billy, I can’t touch you.”
“But, I’ve seen too much.” Wick nodded. Catching in her tone that she was getting to his meaning.
“Yeah.” The word hung in the air a moment. “So, basically, you need to come with me to see a De Facto Judge.”
“Like Hell I will!”
“It wasn’t really a suggestion.” A cough from the fire escape made Wick turn his eyes razorblade quick. An older gentleman stood in the doorway with a crew behind him.
“John Wick. Glad to see you.” He smiled with teeth. He jerked his chin towards Helen. “Who’s the broad?”
“Not your concern.” The old guy held up his hands in mock surrender and motioned his head for men in garbage man uniforms to come in. Helen watched the men clean up bodies and blood with the calmest professionalism she’d ever seen. The Old Guy stepped up to Wick, well John, she supposed. He held out his palm to John. He in turn procured 3 gold coins. “Two for your service, Charlie, one for your silence.” He pointedly tilted his head towards Helen.
“Of course, John.” Charlie smiled again. “Always a pleasure.” He snapped and the crew followed him out. The room was immaculate, like nothing criminal happened here at all. John turned his attention to Helen again.
“Well, come on. Can’t leave you here.”
“I drove myself here. I’ll drive myself away.” John simply tapped his fingers on the bar top as he finished his glass. Licking his lips he eyed her over for a second.
“Considering you watched a room of men get killed by me, it’s in your best interest to come with me.”
“Are you threatening me, Wick?”
“I’m reminding you, Helen.” She stood. He came around from behind the bar. In her heels she was nearly eye to eye with him.
“You’re going to regret this.” She held a veiled threat in her voice. In her eyes a promise. Killer or not she wasn’t going to be bullied by anyone.
“Yeah. Probably.” John didn’t even acknowledge it. He simply strode purposefully to the fire escape. Helen followed behind.
The parking garage attached to the lobby smelt like most New York parking garages. An odd mixture of old oil stains, piss, and vomit. The big city was such a joy to live in. John’s stride was hard to match when she was walking on four inch stilts.
“Can you please slow down a bit?” she finally begged after they rounded the first set of hills. John glanced back, observing her struggle and slowed his pace to be beside her.
“Sorry.” He muttered softly and pushed his right elbow towards her. He nodded towards the proffered joint. A gesture of gentility. A white flag of truce. She eyed it warily.
“This doesn’t make you in good graces.” She remarked. Wrapping her hands around the bend of his arm. Warm and firm in her grasp even through the suit jacket.
“I don’t expect it to.” He said with acceptance. “Not too much further now.”
“Good. Because I was beginning to think you were parked on the top level.”
“Well it wouldn’t have mattered if I was by myself.” He kind of sighed.
“Again, I could just turn around and leave. Look, I’ll make a blood pact with you if I have to for a vow of silence. You know, Omerta and all that.”
“Did you really just say, Omerta?” There was a huff of breath from him that could be mistaken for a chuckle.
“Isn’t that what you mafia types do?”
“If they’re Italian.” He scoffed. “Not every group is the Godfather you know.”
“No. I don’t know. Because last I checked, John, I wasn’t a criminal.” He looked over at her. He shook his head with some astonished disbelief and looked away. Helen was about to retort but was distracted by the sound of a car unlocking. It was a gorgeous car. Helen was one of those girls who really liked cars. She knew that silhouette anywhere.
“Oh my God.” Her stride slowing as she admired it. “The ’69 Boss.” John made a noise of acknowledgement in his throat. “429 or 302?”
“429.” There was a gleam of pride to his tone.
“Damn.” She breathed out in awe. She released her grip, pulled by the magnetic aura of pure American muscle car. She ran a few fingers down the hood. Admiring the nastiness of raw power and the exposed engine.
“Does this put me in good graces?” She looked back over to him. Hands in his pockets with a slightly smug little smirk.
“No. I’m still being forcibly taken to a second location.” She looked back at the car longingly “It does however mean that I have to begrudgingly accept you have one of the coolest cars in existence.” He shrugged and walked to the driver’s side door. Opening it so it bumped gently against her hip.
“You’re in my spot.” He cocked his head in the direction of the opposite side. She also cocked her head towards that side.
“So do something about it.” John pulled back and opened that door for her.
“Awful sassy for a captive, aren’t you?” He closed her door when she was seated. Helen answered when he cranked his car. Well, after she admired the sound of it coming to life of course.
“Look, if you people decide I’m dying tonight then I’m going out with a fight.” John nodded softly. Acknowledging her grit.
“I’ll be honest,” he said turning the wheel in that one handed way that shouldn’t be attractive but it is “Your defiance is kind of admirable.”
“So, am I allowed to know where I’m going?”
“Sure. It’s the Continental.”
“That exclusive hotel!?”
“Yeah.” And he left it at that for the remainder of the drive. He pulled up to the valet and tossed him the keys. Opening Helen’s door, he let her out by his arm. The valet stared at her with the most accurate impression of a grocery store fish she had ever seen. John shot him a look and he hurriedly made his way to park the Boss.
Inside, the marble floor clacked against her heels attracting many more eyes than she was accustomed to drawing. They seemed to be more interested in looking at John though. Some even looked pointedly away from her when they noticed her escort. John strode single-mindedly towards the concierge.
“Is the manager in?” He asked brusquely pulling Helen a little closer beside him.
“The manager is always in.” He replied with a secretive smile. His teeth startlingly white against the gorgeous dark complexion of his skin.
“Tell him I need to speak with him.”
“And the nature of your stay?”
“Personal.” The concierge picked up a phone and dialed a number.
“Yes sir. I apologize for interrupting but a matter of personal business has been brought forth. Yes sir. No, not a common caller but a usual guest. It is Mr. Wick, sir. Of course, sir.” He hung up. “Take the private elevator, he’s taking business in his office today.” He nodded with a low bow and John grunted his thanks. Helen was pulled along towards the stylish brass doors. She saw eyes following her again. Eyes peering around columns as the doors finally closed on she and John. She exhaled harshly. Panic rising in her chest again.
“You’re breathing hard. You alright?” John spoke up from his place leaning against the handrail. The polished glass interior cast their images all over the place. She could see her reflection starting to sway. All the events of the evening seeming to catch up with her at once. Her chest began to flush red and she could hear harsh breathing echoing in the space. Distantly she could make out John saying Helen but it was foggy. Like her head was under water. She remembered falling but never landing.
She came to on a couch. Her eyes groggily wandering around the unfamiliar surroundings of what seemed to be a bourbon room. She could distantly make out a voice with British intonation tell John that she was waking up. John’s figure came forwards and pressed the back of his fingers against her neck.
“Yeah. She’s not as clammy anymore.” The other guy stepped forwards now.
“Good evening, my dear. I see you’ve met Johnathan.” He smacked John’s shoulder lightly. “Well help her up you dolt.” Helen could finally tell the man speaking was a white haired gentleman with an aura of authority. He was clearly the Judge she was supposed to be meeting. John took her hands to pull her upright. They were very warm despite the coldness of his mannerisms. Very rough too. As though ages of callouses had been working their way into his flesh.
“Good evening to you as well, Mister?”
“Scott. Winston Scott.” He seated himself in a plush armchair across from her. John simply stood beside him. A hawk awaiting the falconer to release him. “I understand that you have seen things you weren’t supposed to?” She nodded. “Well, dear me, that just won’t do.” He poured himself a finger of whiskey from the decanter on the end table beside him.
“Am I going to die, Mr. Scott?” Helen was sick of this beating around the bush.
“Well that depends.” He sighed and took a sip. “What are you willing to give up to live?”
“That’s an odd question.”
“How shall I put it then?” He hummed thoughtfully a moment. “In our business, Miss Jones, you either are born into it or you become part of it. Once you know about it, you become part of it- whether you like it or not. Johnathan here was performing official business.” He casually waved a hand over to him. “He tells me you were a victim of circumstance, my condolences.”
“So my options are limited, I see.”
“Very good. You catch on quickly.” He gestured towards her glancing at John. “Learn something.” John simply made a low unamused scoff in his throat but otherwise said nothing. “Now there are three things you can do, Miss Jones. One is, obviously, to die. Don’t fear Johnathan is quite good at it you won’t feel a thing.” Helen cast a wary eye towards John.
“What’s two?”
“Well two is sacrifice. Giving up something precious to prove your devotion. At the very least, to prove how wiling you are to remain silent and alive.”
“And three?”
“Now this one is tricky. See, three means you stay alive but you must be under the protection of someone Under the Table. All is Under the Table.” He added with some emphasis. “However, being under protection means constant proximity and basically cohabitation. Now John here,” He once again motioned towards him but this time with the slightest slosh of whiskey in his direction. “Can grant you the protection since he has no one currently tied to him. But, for lack of a better term, you will essentially be married.”
“What?!”
“Now calm down, let me explain. It’s not in any legal way.”
“Oh I gathered that!” Helen said sarcastically.
“He will simply make a blood pact with you that is recognized by the Table. You bind yourselves in a permanent contract. The conditions of the contract being the constant vigilance on his part, or at the very least, the guarantee of his protection should you need it.”
“So I don’t have to stay with him?”
“Well, no. But, putting it bluntly my dear, it’s in your best interests to stay with him. John may be fearsome but he is not without enemies.” Helen thought back to the eyes in the lobby.
“And I was just brought here on display.” She slumped into the cushion dejectedly.
“I love how quick you are, my dear, so refreshing not to have to spell everything out.” An accusatory glance towards John.
“Fine. Get on with it.” Helen held out her hand. She glance towards it as both men simply stared at her. “Well slice my palm, or whatever the hell you do.” Winston stood with a solemn air and procured out a silver box adorned with a fanged skull and two keys crossing behind it.
“Well, both of you open it at the same time.” John grabbed one key and Helen the other. Turning them in opposing directions. The skull opened its jaws and a paper came out. Winston grabbed it and unrolled it. There was a space for signatures at the bottom. Helen glanced at the key in her palm to realize it was a ceremonial blade.
Winston pierced his thumb with a wince against the fang of the skull. He placed it against the spot on the contract for the officiant.
“John, since you are under the Table, the responsibility lies on you for the negligence in your duty. You understand the consequences?” John nodded.
“Helen, you are not yet under the Table, that will soon be rectified.” He addressed her more solemnly “Helen Jones, in the establishment of this Permanent Contract you allow Johnathan Wick to be your sole benefactor and protector for the length of your days. Should Johnathan Wick have enemies, they are your enemies. Should Helen Jones have enemies, they are Johnathan Wick’s enemies.”
“If you should ever require the services of the Table, you request them through the reputation and station of Johnathan Wick. Should Helen Jones offend the Table,” his gaze turned to John “Those who have Fealty face the consequences.” Winston gestured to both of them now. “Helen, you pierce John’s thumb and he will pierce yours.” Helen did so. Probably a little rougher than she intended to be but she hadn’t held a knife so sharp before. John winced a little but did a small grimaced smile that probably meant he forgave her lack of finesse. He however, as precise as a surgeon. She didn’t even register it happen until she saw blood well to the surface. “Sign, then.” Winston pointed to the contract where two empty spaces lay. One labeled for the Benefactor the other for Beneficiary. After pressing her bloody thumb against it, Helen half expected some kind of colored light to erupt from the page to prove that a spell was cast or the Gates of Hell to rise up for the Devil to take her soul. Neither happened. Winston simply wrapped the contract back up and slotted it in the jaws of the skull again.
“Congratulations, you two, on your Contract.” Winston smiled warmly.