The gunfire drew two enforcers toward the bathroom.
One grabbed the handle.
The other raised his weapon.
Their plan was obvious—catch Caine off guard from the side.
But they had overestimated themselves.
The moment Caine emptied a burst that dropped one of them, he didn't hesitate.
He yanked the corpse of the man he'd stabbed through the throat, spun, and rammed it against the bathroom door!
BANG!
Ratatata!
The impact slammed the door into the wall as bullets roared through.
The enforcer holding the door was crushed between wood and wall, head spinning, body wracked with pain.
The other enforcer opened fire—
But every round struck the corpse Caine was using as a shield.
Caine dropped into a crouch.
Left hand: Glock 17 carbine.
He swung it past the corpse and squeezed—
Ratatatata!
Bullets cut the gunman down in seconds.
Sword flashed—
Piercing back through the bathroom door.
The blade pinned the first enforcer to the wall, dead.
Caine withdrew the sword, kicked the corpse aside, slammed the door shut.
Ratatata!
Gunfire hammered the wood from two more enforcers outside the adjoining bedroom, shredding the door in a hail of bullets.
Caine hugged the wall, raised his weapon—
Bang! Bang!
Two shots dropped the last wounded man inside the bathroom.
Then—
One step forward.
Sword thrust.
Another throat pierced clean through.
Blood sprayed as Caine slipped behind the dying man, wrenching his rifle free.
BOOM!
The bathroom door blasted open—two enforcers rushing in with rifles.
Caine opened fire first.
Ratatatata!
Rounds tore through one enforcer's armor, shattering ribs. Several bullets punched into his face, killing him instantly.
The other man screamed as bullets tore through his torso. Not enough to kill him—
But enough to leave him doubled in pain, unable to raise his weapon.
Caine rose calmly, sword in hand.
Step by step, he closed the distance.
One slash.
Throat severed.
Elsewhere—
John Wick had already eliminated three enforcers and retreated into the restaurant.
Using the bar, dividers, and tables as cover, the Baba Yaga put on a masterclass in violent artistry.
He raised his MPX.
The moment the first enforcer stormed through the door—
Bang! Bang!
Two rounds dropped him.
The muzzle swept to his rear—two more men charging in.
Bang! Bang!
One clutched his arm, another his thigh, both collapsing as weapons clattered to the floor.
John shifted back to the doorway.
Didn't wait for the third man to fully enter—
Ratatata!
The last of his rounds shredded the threshold.
He advanced as the magazine emptied.
Tossed the carbine aside.
Drew the TTI Combat Master.
Bang! Bang!
Two rounds, two headshots—finishing the wounded.
He crouched, scooping up a fallen Winchester M1897 shotgun.
At the same time, his pistol swung toward the last man struggling to lift his weapon despite a ruined leg.
Bang! Bang!
Two more rounds ended him.
John turned, shotgun braced.
BOOM!
A shot blasted the next enforcer through the doorway.
He calmly ejected the shell, loaded more.
Two more shells slid into the tube.
Another chambered.
BOOM!
Another kill at the door.
John advanced.
This time, out of the restaurant, shotgun braced, hunting.
Top Floor – Alex Cross' Suite
Anna and Fox sat on the sofa, eyes locked on the surveillance feed playing across the television.
Live footage of John Wick and Caine, two of the deadliest killers alive, cutting through squads with surgical brutality.
Alex sat aside, whiskey in hand, silent.
He didn't disturb them.
Because this—
This was intentional.
Fox's golden-grade talents—her trick shooting and adrenaline surges—were powerful, but her close-quarters combat was lacking.
Tonight, she would watch masters at work.
Anna had reached top-tier assassin status, but compared to Alex's other elites, her skill was still raw.
Before her promotion, she had trained in John Wick's Mozambique Drill.
And now—
She watched him apply it live.
It was the ultimate lesson.
Real combat.
Real death.
Teaching better than any training ever could.
Alex's motives ran deeper.
His alliances with John and Caine were strong for now.
But the future was never certain.
Anna and Fox, however, were loyal beyond doubt.
By letting them study John Wick and Caine up close—
He was ensuring they'd inherit their strengths, while Alex himself prepared for the day when loyalty, not alliance, might decide survival.
The massacre continued, every shot and every blade stroke both a lesson and a warning.
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If you're interested, you can read advanced chapters:
pat reon .com / Samorash