Page 125 of The Sterling Acquisition
“Enough,” Dante replied, which wasn’t encouraging.
They’d made it perhaps fifty meters into the valley when the first voice rang out across the open ground, amplified by some kind of corporate-issue speaker system.
“Dante Ashford, you are ordered to surrender the stolen corporate property and submit for disciplinary review.”
Gensyn. The voice carried that particular brand of clinical authority that Orion learned to associate with people who thoughteuphemisms could make atrocities sound reasonable. Somewhere to the northwest, a tactical drone hovered, its red recording light visible even at this distance—documenting their capture for official records.
“Stolen corporate property,” Orion muttered. His fingernails dug into his palms hard enough to leave marks. “I do love being referred to in asset management terminology.”
“Could be worse,” Dante said, not taking his eyes off the surrounding positions. “They could have used ‘malfunctioning equipment’ or ‘damaged goods.’”
The second voice came from a different ridge, with the rougher edge that marked it as SVI rather than Gensyn’s sterile professionalism.
“Orion, you will return to your contractual obligations immediately. Failure to comply will result in enforcement of penalty clauses.”
And there it was—confirmation that both corporations decided to coordinate their mutual embarrassment into a joint recovery operation. SVI wanted their research back, Gensyn wanted their rogue operative, and apparently, they discovered that sharing resources was more efficient than competing.
“Penalty clauses,” Orion echoed. His neck prickled with heat-induced sweat as he recalled Leo’s early attempts at “behavioral realignment sessions”—being chained to the bathroom fixtures for days, meals withheld until he performed basic household tasks with appropriate gratitude. “I wonder what those involve.”
Before Dante could answer, a third voice cut across the valley—one that made Orion’s blood freeze in his veins.
“Orion! Thank God you’re safe!”
Leo.
Leo was here, with the SVI team, his voice carrying that particular brand of desperate relief that suggested he’d managed to convince himself this was a rescue operationrather than a manhunt.
The sound of his voice hit Orion like a physical blow. His heat-sensitive skin felt too tight, his heart rate spiking as primitive fight-or-flight responses activated. His anxiety morphed into something darker, more violent—turning fear into rage with chemical efficiency.
“I’m here to bring you home,” Leo continued, and Orion could hear the edge of hysteria underneath the false confidence. “I know what they did to you. I know how they manipulated you into leaving. But it’s going to be okay now. We’re going to fix this.”
Orion felt something cold and violent surge through his chest—not fear, but the kind of rage that came from being reminded of exactly how much Leo had never understood about anything. The man who spent a year trying to break him, who bought his debt like livestock at auction, who treated him like a malfunctioning appliance that just needed the right combination of violence and persistence to work.
The man who’d once chained him to a radiator for three days because he’d “shown disrespect at dinner.” Who forced him to sleep on the bathroom floor for a week after a failed escape attempt? Who paraded him through SVI facilities with a muzzle when other methods of control failed.
And now he was here, talking about manipulation and rescue, as if Dante had somehow brainwashed him into preferring competent predators over incompetent ones.
“Fix this,“ Orion repeated, his voice carrying enough venom to make Dante glance over in concern. His skin felt feverish, the heat magnifying every emotion until rage was all he could process. “He thinks you manipulated me into leaving him.”
“Corporate programming,” Dante said, and there was something almost like sympathy in his voice. “Gensyn operatives are trained inpsychological manipulation. From his perspective, the only reason you’d choose me over him is artificial influence.”
Orion mentally mapped potential retreat paths, each more suicidal than the last. The narrowing of the valley behind them created a natural choke point that would be even easier to control than their current position.
“Orion,” Leo’s voice echoed across the valley again, and this time there was no mistaking the edge of threat underneath the false concern. “I know you can hear me. I know you’re scared and confused. But this ends now. You’re coming home with me, and we’re going to work through whatever they did to your head.”
Orion knew what that meant—isolation, restraints, and whatever creative breaking methods Leo had been researching during their absence. The man had invested 2.7 million in his ownership, and he wasn’t going to accept that investment as a loss.
“I want to kill him,” Orion said quietly, the words coming out more matter-of-fact than emotional. “I want to kill him more than I want to escape this valley.”
Dante nodded. “That’s probably not the most strategically sound—”
“I don’t care about strategy.” Orion checked his pistol, noting ammunition count. He had twelve rounds for the handgun—not nearly enough for the forces arrayed against them, but maybe enough for one specific target. “I spent a year listening to that man explain how he was going to fix me. I’m not spending another minute of my life being anyone’s property.”
“Final warning,” the Gensyn voice called out across the valley. “Surrender the asset and submit for processing, or we will be forced to use necessary intervention.”
“Necessary intervention,” Dante mused. “I love how they make execution sound like a therapeutic procedure.”
“Corporate speak is an art form,” Orion agreed, settling into a defensive position. “Right up until the moment you put a bullet in it.”
