Page 129 of The Sterling Acquisition
“And you thought—”Crack.”—you could—”Crack.”—fucking—”Crack.”—rape me?!”
The rock kept falling. Leo’s pleas dissolved into wet gurgles, then silence, but Orion didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not until Leo’s skull cracked like an eggshell and gray matter spilled out onto the rocks beneath him.
He raised the rock again, vision tunneling, when strong hands caught his wrists.
“Baby, it’s okay.” Dante’s voice, calm and steady despite the gunfire still echoing across the valley. “He’s dead.”
Orion looked down at what remained of Leo’s face—or what had been his face. The rock tumbled from his numb fingers as Dante pulled him into a fierce embrace, one hand cradling the back of his head.
“It’s okay,” Dante murmured against his hair. “You’re safe. I got you.”
Orion pressed his face against Dante’s neck, leaning up to scent him and breathe in the comfort of black tea and cherries and sweat that smelled like safety. A wave of relief washed over him, so powerful it made his knees weak.
“I couldn’t stop,” he whispered, voice muffled against Dante’s neck. “I wanted to keep hitting him until there was nothing left.”
“I know, baby. I know.” Dante’s hand stroked his hair, gentle despite the blood coating both of them.
They held each other in the sudden quiet, the distant gunfire fading as the last corporate operatives fell or fled. Then Dante pulled back, glancing down at Leo’s mangled corpse.
“Well,” he said conversationally, “at least he’s finally useful for something. The carrion birds will appreciate the easy meal.”
Orion laughed—a broken, hysterical sound that turned into something closer to a sob. “You’re terrible.”
“I’m practical.” Dante’s thumb brushed across his cheek, wiping away blood and tears. “And you’re magnificent.”
For one perfect moment, they were the only two people in the world. No corporations, no contracts, no one trying to own or break or use them. Just Dante’s steady presence and the knowledge that Leo would never touch him again.
From the corner of his eye, Orion caught a flash of movement on the ridge. The Regulator with the spotting scope shifted position, now aiming something longer, sleeker toward their position. The realization hit him a fraction of a second too late.
Not a spotter.
The crack of a high-powered rifle echoed across the valley.
Dante’s expression went blank with shock. He looked down at the spreading red stain across his chest, then back up at Orion with something like surprise.
“Well,” he said mildly. “That’s unfortunate.”
Then he toppled to the side and hit the ground like a felled tree.
“Dante!” Orion dropped to his knees beside him, hands pressing against the wound. Blood welled between his fingers, hot and slick and far too much of it. Terror gripped him as he felt Dante’s life slipping away beneath his hands. “Dante, stay with me!”
Gray eyes found his, already going unfocused. “Sniper,” Dante whispered. “Gensyn. Left ridge. You need to—”
“I need to stop this bleeding!” Orion’s voice cracked. “Don’t you dare die on me, you corporate asshole!”
Footsteps crunched on gravel. Orion looked up to see six figures in Gensyn tactical gear approaching, rifles trained on both of them. Their leader—a severe woman with dead eyes—spoke into her radio.
“Package secured. Subject is wounded but stable. Request immediate extraction.”
Chapter forty-eight
Unlikely Allies
Dante
Theworldwaspainand the taste of copper.
Dante tried to focus through the gray haze clouding his vision, chest burning with every shallow breath. Blood pooled beneath him, warm and sticky, seeping through his shirt where the sniper’s bullet punched through his lung. Each breath produced a wet, sucking sound—the telltale indicator of a pneumothorax. Without intervention, he had perhaps twenty minutes before respiratory failure.
