Page 73 of The Sterling Acquisition
Focus. Extraction point. Neutral Zone. Safety.
Four more blocks to freedom.
If he could make it that far.
Chapter twenty-four
Private Tranpsport
Dante
ThemaintenancetunnelsbeneathSVI territory were a testament to the corporation’s commitment to cutting corners—wide enough for two people, lined with pipes that leaked various fluids, and lit by flickering emergency lighting that had been “emergency” for the better part of a decade. Dante had navigated worse, but never while supporting a semi-conscious Omega whose pheromones could probably be detected from orbit.
“I’m fine,” Orion muttered for the third time in as many minutes, his arm draped over Dante’s shoulders in a way that showed he was anything but fine. His weight shifted unpredictably as they moved, one moment leaning heavily against Dante, the next trying to pull away with the stubborn independence of someone who spent a year refusing to break.
“Of course you are,” Dante replied, adjusting his grip on Orion’s waist as they navigated around a particularly aggressive leak. “Justtaking a leisurely stroll through SVI’s finest infrastructure. Nothing says ‘perfectly functional’ like needing a human crutch.”
Orion’s response was cut off by a violent shiver that ran through his entire frame. Cold flash—Dante recognized it from his corporate training about unmedicated Omegas, though the clinical descriptions hadn’t quite captured the way it made Orion’s scent spike into something that bypassed every rational thought Dante had left. The air around them filled with the sharp sweetness of ozone and marshmallow and wind before a storm, underlaid with something warm and desperate that made Dante’s teeth ache.
Christ.He’d smelled plenty of Omegas in heat during his Gensyn training. This was different. This was Orion—defiant, brilliant, unbroken Orion—and it was taking every ounce of his rapidly failing conditioning not to pin him against the nearest wall.
“Stop l-looking at me like that,” Orion snapped.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re d-deciding whether to fuck me or eat me.”
Dante’s laugh was dark and too honest. “I’m deciding whether I can do both and still get us to the extraction point alive. Though if you keep making those little noises, I might not care about the alive part.”
That earned him a weak but genuine smile from Orion, the first real one since they left Leo’s apartment, painted in other people’s blood. It was worth the admission, even if it made Dante’s already precarious self-control that much more fragile.
Ahead of them, the tunnel branched, and Orion tugged them left with surprising certainty for someone who could barely stay upright. “Service exit,” he muttered, his voice weak but confident. “Leads to the m-maintenance alley behind theold st-student union.”
Dante followed his lead, impressed despite himself. Three weeks of corporate reconnaissance gave him a decent map of SVI’s infrastructure, but Orion had lived in this territory his whole life—every back alley, every forgotten maintenance tunnel, every route that smelled like decay and despair was burned into his memory.
Dante shifted his grip as Orion stumbled. “Try not to collapse before we get there. I’d hate to have to carry you bridal-style through an armed checkpoint.”
“I’m not—”
“Collapsing. Yes, I know. You’re the picture of perfect health and stability.” Dante pushed open the service exit, squinting against the relative brightness of the alley beyond. “Just like you were fine when you tried to take on Morrison’s entire security team single-handedly.”
Outside, narrow walls created a cramped space between two pre-Adjustment buildings that SVI repurposed into worker housing. The kind of place where people minded their own business and asked no questions, which made it perfect for clandestine meetings and terrible for everything else.
Dante’s contact was waiting—a man in maintenance coveralls and a rebreather mask. He equipped himself with the specialized mask after Dante’s warning about “difficult scents.”
“Jesus Christ,” the man said, his voice muffled but strained. “You said there might be some scents. You didn’t say I’d need a fucking gas mask.”
“Labrador,” Dante acknowledged, recognizing the voice of the smuggler he recruited during his second week in SVI territory. The man had been expensive but reliable, and right now, reliability was worth more than Dante’s discretionary budget. “Please tell me you have good news.”
“Van’s ready, route’s clear, and I just got word from your handler that everything’s set on the other end.” Labrador gestured toward a bakery van parked at the mouth of the alley, its corporate logos and cheerful pastel colors a perfect cover for moving contraband. “Fair warning though—I’ve got a delivery to make after this, so try not to hotbox my vehicle with whatever pheromonal warfare you’ve got going on.”
Dante glanced at Orion, who was leaning more heavily against him now, his shivering intensifying. “We’ll do our best to keep the biological warfare to a minimum.”
“Appreciated.” Labrador opened the van’s rear doors, revealing a cramped compartment hidden behind stacks of legitimate bakery supplies. “It’s not luxury accommodation, but it’ll get you through the checkpoint without anyone asking awkward questions.”
The compartment was large enough for two people to stand, let alone sit, lined with what looked like soundproofing material and equipped with a small ventilation system that would hopefully keep them from suffocating. Dante helped Orion climb in first, biting back a curse as the confined space filled with the Omega’s scent.
“This is going to be interesting,” Dante muttered, settling in beside Orion and pulling the false panel shut behind them.
