In the dark and relentless world of assassins bound by codes, hidden allegiances, and unbreakable oaths, Blood Oaths and Shadows offers a thrilling collection of interconnected short stories set within the legendary universe of John Wick. These stor...
They say when you're about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. But as I crouch in this darkened warehouse, listening to death approach one measured footstep at a time, I see only the mistakes that led me here.
My name is Luka Volkov, and I am being hunted by the Baba Yaga.
Three weeks ago, I betrayed the High Table. It wasn't greed or ambition that drove me—it was exhaustion. Twenty years of wetwork, of blood and markers and endless death. I just wanted out. So I took what I knew—account numbers, safe house locations, operative names—and tried to bargain my way to freedom.
I should have known better. No one leaves the Table's service. Not alive, anyway.
The footsteps pause outside the warehouse door. I check my weapons again—custom Sig Sauer, backup Glock, three knives, garrote wire. An arsenal that would make most assassins feel safe.
But John Wick isn't most assassins.
I first heard the whispers about him two years ago. A new enforcer, methodical and unstoppable. They called him Baba Yaga—the Boogeyman. Not for his brutality, but for his focus. His absolute dedication to completing his mission, no matter the cost.
The door creaks open.
I hold my breath, finger tight on the trigger. The first trap—a claymore mine rigged to the entrance—should buy me time to...
The explosion rocks the building, but I hear no scream, no sound of impact. Just those measured footsteps, moving through the smoke.
My phone buzzes. A text from the one person who might still help me:
*Third floor. Service elevator. Five minutes. - M*
Marcus Shaw. The Debt Collector. We'd worked together years ago, before he specialized in markers and betrayals. He's young, ambitious, but he has resources I desperately need.
More footsteps. Wick is checking the ground floor methodically. He knows I'm here—this whole setup was too obvious to fool him. But that's the point. While he clears the building level by level, I just need to reach that elevator.
I move silently through the darkness, years of training taking over. The warehouse is a maze of shipping containers and old machinery. Perfect for ambush tactics, if those worked on the Baba Yaga.
A shadow shifts two aisles over. I freeze.
Wick moves like liquid darkness in his black suit. Even at this distance, I can feel his focus—a predator's intensity that makes my combat instincts scream. He's scanning methodically, his custom Heckler & Koch ready.
I remember the first time I saw him work. Prague, 2005. He'd been sent to eliminate a Russian crime family that had crossed the Table. Fifteen targets, heavily defended. They found his car outside their compound at 10 PM.
