Brooklyn
The night was alive with the roar of engines and the pulse of adrenaline. On a closed stretch of road, two cars lined up for a street race. The crowd pressed in, hungry for the thrill, the smell of burning rubber thick in the air.
Engines revved, wheels spun, and black tire marks streaked the pavement. One of the muscle cars spat blue flames from its exhaust, surging forward to catch up with the sleek luxury car ahead.
Inside the luxury car, Roman grinned at the rearview mirror, watching the muscle car close in. His eyes sparkled with excitement as his hand hovered over the console.
"All right, baby, let me see what you're capable of," Roman whispered, pressing a switch.
The car, which looked like an ordinary sedan, suddenly dropped lower, its engine roaring with new life. The acceleration was instant and fierce. Roman's grin widened, white teeth flashing in the neon-lit night.
He pressed another button, and the muscle car behind him could only watch as the luxury car surged ahead, left in the dust. Roman let out a cheer, taking his hands off the wheel for a moment and raising them in triumph.
The crowd went wild as the luxury car crossed the finish line first. Street racing always brought a different kind of excitement, more raw and dangerous than anything on a professional track.
Roman's car slid to a stop in front of a bikini-clad beauty. He stepped out, all swagger and confidence, his smile never fading.
The tall woman leaned against the car, her skin glowing under the streetlights. She raised an eyebrow. "You drive really well."
Roman smirked, his voice playful. "I can go even faster."
He looked around, feigning disappointment. "It's a shame. No one here can really challenge me."
"Really?" The woman reached into her top and pulled out a card, her movements slow and deliberate. "Then are you interested in something more exciting?"
Roman took the card, bringing it to his nose and inhaling the faint scent of perfume. He looked at the card and read, "Death Race? Hell's Kitchen?"
His heart skipped a beat, but in front of the beautiful woman, he remained calm and tucked the card away. "Death Race, huh? I'm interested."
He smiled, approached the woman, and put his arms around her waist. "But I have something better. Do you want to try it?"
She laughed, pushing him away with a teasing smile. "I prefer people who can really keep up."
Roman spread his hands, feigning shock. "Am I not fast enough?"
"You have to prove yourself," she replied, turning to leave.
For men, a woman's challenge is often irresistible. Roman, stung by the provocation, called after her, "Fine, okay, I'll participate! I'll join that Death Race!"
Fresh from his victory, his confidence soared. He collected his prize money, stuffed it into his pocket, and opened the car door for her. "Come on, beauty."
She extended her hand, her smile dazzling. "Call me Sophia."
"Sophia," Roman repeated, his grin stretching from ear to ear. He had completely forgotten who the real owner of the car was. Who could blame him, faced with such a captivating woman?
He did not see the glint of cunning in Sophia's eyes. The Death Race was no ordinary competition. Blood and danger were part of the thrill, and tonight, the luxury car that should have gone home was headed straight for Hell's Kitchen.
Ferdinand was a bundle of nerves the entire night. He prayed his brother would finish the race and return the car in one piece. No one else knew, but Ferdinand understood exactly what kind of person the car's true owner was. The memory of the last time his hand was pierced still ached.
He drove his battered pickup through Brooklyn, heart pounding. At home, Mrs. Pierce was in the middle of a tirade. Both her sons had run off in the night, leaving her alone and worried. She was proud of their success but furious at being left behind.
The doorbell rang, interrupting her complaints. She opened the door, still grumbling, only to find Ferdinand standing there, trying to signal her to stop.
"Ferdinand, where have you been, you bad boy?" She scolded, not noticing his desperate look. "Your brother Roman hasn't come back either. He called just now to say he's off to Hell's Kitchen to compete. What a worrying little brat! I worked so hard to raise you, not to leave your mother behind and go out and be happy on your own! If you bring back a woman, I swear I'll chase you with a slipper!"
After a barrage of complaints, Ferdinand finally interrupted, "Mom! Let me introduce you. This is my boss, Mr. John Wick." His words finally made Mrs. Pierce pause. "This is Lawyer Foggy Nelson."
Hearing the word "lawyer," Mrs. Pierce's tone changed instantly. "A lawyer?" She remembered her younger son had driven away a million-dollar luxury car. "Roman was just confused for a moment."
"Mom, please," Ferdinand said, urging his mother to let them in.
She stepped aside, flustered. The house was small and cluttered, the garage filled with wrenches, car parts, and wheels of questionable origin.
"That belongs to Ferdinand and his brother," Mrs. Pierce explained, but Ferdinand quickly hushed her.
John did not mind. He glanced around and asked, "Is your brother in Hell's Kitchen?"
"Roman said he had a game called Death Race," Mrs. Pierce replied, her anxiety mounting.
Foggy frowned. "That's an illegal race."
Mrs. Pierce tried to backtrack, "Oh no, it's not the Death Racer," but it was too late.
John looked at Foggy. "What is that?"
Foggy hesitated, then answered honestly. "It's not a good place. It's an illegal competition organized by a group of Russians in Hell's Kitchen. The prize money is very high, but basically no one ever gets it. The game is full of blood."
Seeing Mrs. Pierce about to faint, Foggy added, "There's a betting market for Death Racer, but now this business is in another bar."
John's eyes narrowed. "So my car is in danger now. I thought it would be a simple race."
Ferdinand and his mother both broke out in a sweat.
"Let's go," John said, heading for the door. "Foggy, maybe we'll meet Matt."
"Matt?" Foggy echoed, forcing a smile. "I hope he's not in the arms of some woman."
If there is no female assassin, it probably will not happen.
Hell's Kitchen
Matt returned home to tend to his wounds. As a boy, he had patched up his boxer father; as a man, he stitched himself. His senses were sharp, letting him gauge the extent of his injuries with a touch.
That car accident had brought disaster but also gifts. Even as he cleaned his wounds, Matt never stopped listening to the city. The sounds of Hell's Kitchen were a constant storm in his mind. He had learned to filter out the noise, to focus on what mattered.
Tonight, he heard a cry for help. A boy had been kidnapped, his father beaten. Matt worked quickly to tend to the wound, sutured it, and put on his mask.
Daredevil of Hell's Kitchen appeared again at night.
Pickup trucks were never stylish, but John sat in the passenger seat without complaint. "Can't you just change to another car?" he asked.
Ferdinand coughed. "Boss, I haven't been paid yet this month."
He had an old mother to care for and a few bad habits, like spending money on flashy things. The gold he had sold went to showing off for his brother. His biggest splurge was a luxury suit, now hanging in his closet.
"I'll talk to you about all this when the car is back," John said, turning his gaze outside.
"Where's that bar?" he asked.
"On the street in front," Foggy said, rubbing his hands nervously. "That's for members only. Are you sure we want to go?"
Foggy did not want to go, but John just laughed. "As a lawyer, don't you think these gray areas are a good experience?"
"I think as a lawyer, going to a place like this is more likely to cause trouble," Foggy replied, forcing a laugh.
His law firm had litigated many lawsuits for poor people, and in Hell's Kitchen, many of the targets of those lawsuits were operators of illegal businesses.
They parked the pickup on the street. A cold crowd gathered outside a bar with a neon cobra sign glowing red above the door. This was the mark of the Hell's Kitchen gang, the Viper. Their logo was stamped on every package of contraband in the neighborhood.
John strode to the entrance, Foggy and Ferdinand trailing behind.
"I don't think we should go in alone," Ferdinand muttered. "It's not safe, boss."
"Would you prefer to go in there by yourself?" John retorted.
Ferdinand went quiet. As much as he dreaded what was ahead, going in alone was even worse.
Standing at the door, John opened it and walked in with confidence. This door led to an underground passage. On the other side, four men in floral shirts turned to look at them.
John's hand came out of his pocket, holding a thick stack of bills.
"Who can help me qualify for entry?"
The moment the banknotes appeared, the atmosphere went quiet for a few seconds.
Foggy took a deep breath. Having such a powerful employer was both terrifying and exhilarating.