The noise here was much louder. Blood churned in enormous glass vats that lined the room. The swish of liquid danced through brass tubes like the rush of a river, and the enormous filtration devices thundered beneath the vats, their engines vibrating. How much blood was there? Kincaid's gaze slid up the nearest vat. What did that represent in terms of blood taxes, and people who were still forced to donate four times a year?
A hand slid over his armored forearm. Malloryn. A swift glare told him to focus, and he nodded.
The first glimpse of their adversary flickered between brass pipes. A man strode through the room, calling out to others. Excitement licked through Kincaid. Here they were. The Sons of Gilead. The bastards who'd tried to murder Ava.
Malloryn gestured to him and they peeled off, leaving Charlie and Gemma to head in the other direction. Byrnes and his team should be entering shortly, coming in via the front entrance. Sweat slid down his temple. It was hot as hell in here, steam from the filtration devices misting the air.
"Let's find Ulbricht," Malloryn breathed in his ear, before scurrying along the far side of the filtration vats.
Kincaid followed. Cut the head off the snake, and they'd shut down the Sons of Gilead for good.
Half a dozen red-robed figures slipped through the main floor of the factory, kneeling at certain places, and carrying crates. Some of them wore faceless silver masks with only eye slits for expression.
But one of them wore a black robe, and he left his face bare.
"That's him," Malloryn said, his glittering eyes locked on the lord. He smiled. "Got the son of a bitch."
Lord Ulbricht was a big man, almost as tall as Kincaid himself. His hair swept back from his face in distinguished silver wings, and he carried himself as though he were a king.
Ulbricht yelled at one of his followers, and Kincaid wanted to plant his fist in the bastard's face. While he might have reconsidered his stance on most blue bloods, Ulbricht was exactly the type he hated. Pompous, arrogant, and so certain of his superiority and his right to crush everyone else beneath his heel.
"Move out," Malloryn said through the communicator, and then the duke was crossing behind the simmering blood vats, his pistol held low as he pressed his back to the metal base of the enormous filtration device below the glass vat.
Kincaid followed. Every step of his Achilles suit made him confident. Pistons hissed, leaving him lighter on his feet than he'd been in ages.
A faint grunt sounded through the communicator. Kincaid looked at Malloryn, and then they both looked up as a body sailed from the mesh walkway above, slamming into the heavy floorboards.
"Sorry," Gemma muttered.
"We're not alone!" Ulbricht bellowed, and a dozen of the red robes scrambled to form a circle, back to back.
"Who's there?" Ulbricht called, brandishing a pistol.
"It's over, Ulbricht!" Malloryn yelled. "I've got the factory surrounded by Nighthawks, and none of you are making it out of here. If you throw your weapons down and surrender, I'll take that into consideration."
"Malloryn," Ulbricht spat. "Of course you'd be here to ruin the party."
"Destroying your petty schemes is the highlight of my life," the duke riposted, stepping out and pointing a pistol at him. "Step away from the gathering vats before I'm forced to shoot you."
There was a faint flicker of movement behind them, and Ulbricht's eyes shifted in that direction, just as all the hairs down the back of Kincaid's neck rose. "Look out!" he shouted, slamming into Malloryn and crushing the duke to the ground beneath his heavy mech-suit.
Bullets ricocheted off his back armor, and Kincaid swore under his breath, rolling them out of the way beneath one of the enormous vats of blood. More of Ulbricht's men appeared in the shadows at the back of the factory. Ava! Jaysus, where was Ava? He caught a glimpse of Charlie sprinting across the factory floor with Ava in hand, shoving her behind the filtration system in the corner.
Their eyes met, and Kincaid ducked his head back down as more bullets rained toward him and Malloryn. Safe. For now. Charlie would keep her out of the way, and it was clear Ulbricht's focus was on Malloryn.
"Son of a... bitch." Malloryn sucked in breath as though he was winded. He pushed at Kincaid's breastplate, but lacked the strength to shove him away.
"You hit?" Kincaid demanded, easing off him.
"By a small freight train by the feel of it," the duke rasped, sitting up and swaying.
"Better that than a Firebolt bullet."