Ginny stood near the bar, her eyes following the silhouette of John Wick as he walked away and disappeared into the dim haze of New York's night. Her crimson lips curled slightly in amusement as she spoke, her voice soft but laced with curiosity.
"So that's the infamous Boogeyman?" she said, almost playfully. "It seems he turned down our distinguished assassin's invitation."
She let her words linger before adding with a glint in her eye,
"And from the looks of it, the legendary killer might've taken a beating too."
Her gaze shifted, landing squarely on Renji Mercer, searching his expression for a reaction. But Renji didn't falter. He simply chuckled, as though the thought amused him more than offended.
"He's been out of the game for four years," Renji said, his tone light but firm. "It's not surprising he got ambushed and roughed up a little. What matters is—he's not ready to get involved with us just yet."
He paused, letting the tension settle like dust before continuing,
"But that won't last long. Whether he likes it or not, John Wick has already caused ripples. He may wish to distance himself from the underworld, but this time… this time, the current is going to pull him under."
Renji 's voice dropped an octave—calm but laced with certainty.
"No one walks away from the life forever. And no one refuses Renji Mercer's goodwill. Not even the Boogeyman himself."
While they spoke, John had finished his quiet conversation with Winston. He had just collected the addresses of a few reckless punks from Addy, and without drawing attention, slipped out of the bar and into the cold night.
Ginny watched the door close behind him and smiled. "He's gone. Aren't you going to follow him?"
Renji gently shook his head. "There's no need. He'll come back to the hotel eventually. The story is only beginning. There will be other opportunities."
He finished the last sip of his drink and placed the glass down gently.
"Let me take you home," he offered. "New York at night isn't as charming as it looks."
With that, the two left the Continental and made their way through the city. Renji escorted Ginny back to her apartment. After seeing her safely inside, he stood outside her door, listening for the click of the lock before turning back toward the hotel.
Inside, Ginny leaned quietly against the closed door, listening for his retreating footsteps. Only once she was certain Renji had left did she let herself move, exhaling slowly.
She had known Renji Mercer for a decent amount of time now—long enough to know what kind of man he truly was beneath the tailored suits and polite demeanor. It had already been six months since she began working as his assistant.
Before this life, she had been a killer too—part of the Textile Guild, a lesser-known but brutal organization. She wasn't a registered member of the Continental. One botched job almost ended her career—and her life.
It was during that failed assignment that she broke ties with the Guild. Wounded and barely alive, she collapsed at the doorstep of Renji Mercer. He didn't ask questions. He saved her.
Since that night, she'd put her weapons down.
And when she discovered that Renji was not just a savior but an assassin himself, she didn't run. Instead, she made a choice. She became his assistant, quietly supporting him—gathering intel, managing communications, handling the work that didn't need a bullet.
For half a year, there was silence from the Guild. As if they had accepted her departure.
But earlier that evening, the silence was broken.
The Cross—one of the Textile Guild's top enforcers—had betrayed them.
Now she stood frozen in her apartment, unsure if she should trouble Renji with this… or if she should run.
Back at the Continental, Renji Mercer returned to his private suite at the far end of the hallway—ironically, right next to John Wick's room.
He removed his coat and sat quietly, the city sounds muffled by the thick hotel walls. He waited.
Time passed.
Then—click—the faint sound of a door opening.
Renji 's lips curled faintly. John had returned.
Moments later, a ruckus echoed through the adjacent room. A scuffle. Furniture creaking. Grunts. A struggle was happening just on the other side of the wall.
Renji didn't move. He didn't need to.
He already knew who it was.
Perkins.
A female assassin. Arrogant. Reckless. Foolish enough to violate the Continental's most sacred rule: no business—no killing—on hotel grounds.
And John Wick, though injured and freshly reawakened to the life he tried to leave, didn't hesitate. He pinned her, wrapped a bedsheet around her head, and beat her with calculated fury.
Renji could practically picture it in his mind.
He didn't bother calling the front desk. Someone else would do it.
But as always, the hotel's rules made him roll his eyes.
No killing on hotel premises.
The rule itself wasn't the issue—but the irony was. Someone could attack you within these walls, but if you killed them in self-defense? You'd be punished too.
That was the code. Break it, and the Continental would turn on you.
Even someone like John Wick had to follow it.
That's why he didn't kill her outright.
Eventually, the fight went silent.
John had won.
Renji rose from his seat, opened his door quietly, and saw her—Perkins—crawling down the hallway, bruised and humiliated.
He shook his head slowly, a sigh escaping his lips.
John stepped out moments later, dragging her by the collar. He pressed his gun to her skull and coldly asked the questions he wanted answers to.
When she gave them up, he knocked her out cold with the butt of the weapon.
Just then, another door opened.
Harry—an African-American assassin staying in the next room—peeked out, gun in hand, the click of his loaded pistol echoing softly in the corridor.
John paused. He didn't know if Harry was a threat. Was he after the bounty too?
He didn't turn, waiting instead.
Then came Harry's voice:
"Do we know each other?"
John recognized it and replied without glancing back,
"We probably do."
He raised his hands to show he wasn't hostile.
Just as he was about to turn, the door across from him opened as well.
Renji Mercer stood there, again, almost like a ghost, always appearing at just the right time.
John finally turned around, looked at Harry, and greeted him with calm confidence.
"Hey, Harry."
Harry's eyes swept over the three of them—John, Perkins, Renji —and lingered on Renji . His pupils tightened slightly at the sight of the man.
"You alright?" he asked John.
"I'm good," John answered simply.
"Then handle it," Harry muttered, turning to go back inside.
But John called after him.
"Hey, Harry."
Harry stopped.
"Want to earn a gold coin? Watch this sleeper for me."
Harry's face was expressionless.
"Catch and release, huh?"
John gave a half-smile.
"Exactly. Cat and mouse."
With a sigh, Harry accepted. He fetched a pair of handcuffs, locked Perkins' wrists behind her back, and dragged her into his room.
At the hallway's edge, Renji remained, holding a bottle of 1987 Chivas and an empty glass in one hand. He looked at John with a calm smile.
"John," he said gently, "care for a drink? You look like hell."
He gestured with the glass toward John's abdomen—where blood had begun to stain the bandages from Perkins' earlier assault.
John approached, took the drink, poured himself a glass, and downed it in one go.
"Not bad," he muttered after glancing at the label. Then he handed both the glass and bottle back.
Renji accepted them with ease.
"You're looking rough," he said. "Need help for what comes next?"
John shook his head, his eyes steady.
"Renji , I'm retired. This is personal. I'll handle it."
He didn't want to be dragged back into the mess. He didn't want debts. Not anymore.
Renji shrugged, a faint trace of disappointment in his eyes.
"Very well. But be careful, John. If the Boogeyman were to fall… that would be a true loss for the underworld."
With that, he turned and walked back to his room, closing the door behind him.
As for Harry—the man who now had to guard a volatile and furious assassin like Perkins—Renji didn't spare a second thought.
If that man lived or died?
It wasn't Renji Mercer's concern.
Not in the slightest.
End of Chapter