“Park behind that piece of shit pickup truck,” he told the warrior doing the driving. This part of Revere was tight with houses and run-down businesses, thick clusters of humanity clinging to the outskirts of Boston and a briny stretch of the Chelsea River. “We’ll hoof it the rest of the way. Go in nice and quiet so we can get a good look around.”
“You got it.” Brock, a towering nightmare of a fighter recruited out of Detroit, was as smooth behind the wheel as he was with the ladies. He swept the vehicle over to the side of the snowy curb and killed the engine.
Next to Brock in the front seat, Niko’s other trainee pivoted around and held out his hand for the refreshed weapon. Kade’s wolflike silver eyes were still glowing from the night’s earlier action, his black hair spiky and wet with melted snow. “Think we’re gonna find something out here?”
Niko grinned. “I sure as hell hope so.” He handed pistols and fresh clips to both of them, then pulled a couple of silencers out of the leather duffel bag at his feet and slapped them into the warriors’ palms. When Brock arched a brow on his dark forehead, Niko said, “I’m all for cooking a bunch of Rogues with some 9mm high-test, but there’s no need to wake the neighbors.”
“Nah,” Kade added, flashing the tips of his pearly white fangs, “that would be just plain rude.”
Nikolai grabbed the rest of his gear and zipped the duffel shut. “Let’s go sniff around for some Crimson.”
They climbed out of the Range Rover and skirted the residential area on foot, all three of them keeping to the shadows as they navigated back to the old warehouse lot where Niko’s tip had led them.
The building looked like shit from the outside—a 1970s industrial eyesore of concrete, wood, and glass. Steel posts from what had once been part of a chain-link fence poked out of the perimeter lot at various angles, not a single one of them straight, not that it mattered. The place had a derelict, keep-out quality about it, even amid the snowglobe flurries that were filling the night sky.
Niko and the guys stepped onto the loose gravel of the empty lot, their boot heels cushioned by the fresh fall of snow. As they neared the building, Niko spotted a dark ash trail on the ground. The large, irregular shape was still visible, still smoldering and hissing as the delicate white flakes fell on it and melted on contact. He gestured to the pile of disintegrating remains as Brock and Kade came closer.
“Someone smoked a Rogue,” he told them, his voice low as a whisper. “Still fresh too.”
Gideon hadn’t mentioned sending in backup, so they’d be wise to be cautious of what else they might find. Rogues were basically savages, and it wasn’t unheard of that they took one another out over turf or petty disagreements. It was all good as far as the Order was concerned; saved the warriors time and effort when the Bloodlusting bastards lost their cool and offed their own.
Another suckhead had taken a lethal hit of titanium near the entrance of the building. A large padlock lay in the cellular goo, and Brock motioned toward the battered steel door. It was slightly ajar, just a thin wedge of darkness behind it.
Kade shot Niko a look of question, waiting for the signal to act.
Nikolai shook his head, uncertain.
Something wasn’t right here.
He heard a faint rumble from somewhere deep inside the place, a rumble he felt as a slight vibration in the soles of his feet. On the night’s soft chill, he caught a whiff of something sweetly cloying, chemical. It was…kerosene?
The rumble got deeper, stronger. Like gathering thunder.
“What the fuck is that?” Kade hissed.
Niko smelled the tang of hot metal—
“Oh, shit.” He glanced at the other two warriors. “Go! Move it! Go, go, go!”
They all sprang into a dead run, hauling ass across the lot as the rumble became a roar. There was a deep percussion—sharp, violent—as the explosion erupted from within the bowels of the old building. Glass blew out from the top floor windows, shooting flames and thick black smoke in its wake.
And as the three of them watched in awe, the front door of the place banged open, tearing clean off its hinges. Not by the force of the blast, but by the will of a single individual.
Rolling orange fire silhouetted him from behind, backlighting the warrior’s broad shoulders and casual, long-legged stride. As he strolled away from the inferno, the ends of his loose black coat winged out behind him like a cape befitting the prince of darkness himself.
“Holy hell,” Brock murmured. “Tegan.”
Niko shook his head, chuckling at the blatant awe in the newbies’ faces. Not that it wasn’t deserved. They didn’t come much more impressive than Tegan, and this display was going to go down as legend, he was sure. Behind him now, the warehouse was engulfed in flames, throwing off heat like hell’s own furnace. It was incredible, really, a thing of roaring, violent beauty. By the blasé flatness of Tegan’s expression as he approached, he might as well have just come back from taking a piss.