Page 86 of The Sterling Acquisition
“Idon’twanttostop for food,” Orion said as they stepped back into the market area. His scent was getting stronger, and every person they passed seemed to notice. A fresh wave of heat pulsed through him, making his skin prickle with sweat and his muscles ache. “The van’s full of bread and muffins and stuff, right?”
Dante’s lips quirked into a dry smile. “Those are way too crushed and sticky now to be edible. Unless you’re into pastry paste.”
“I don’t care. I’ve never encountered a Berserker before because SVI generally just killed them when they occurred in our territory, but I didn’t like the looks of those guys back there.” Orion kept his voice low, hyperaware of the way conversations were stopping as they walked past. “And everyone is staring at me more, even as we walk back through the same areas. I want to get back on the road, and if I have to inject myself in the van while we’re moving through the Static Zones, I will.”
Dante’s expression shifted into one of approval. “Smart thinking. Okay, let’s go.”
They started making their way back toward where they left the van, and Orion studied the people around them with new eyes. No one on these streets was unmarked—not a single person without scars or modifications of some kind.
A woman haggling over vegetables had intricate burn patterns spiraling up both arms, deliberate and decorative.
Two men discussing business near a food cart both bore surgical scars along their jawlines.
Even the children showed signs of their environment: a little girl chasing a mechanical toy had a prosthetic left hand, while a boy selling newspapers had the telltale surgical marks around his eyes that suggested enhanced vision implants.
Everyone here has been changed by their circumstances,Orion thought, wiping away sweat that had beaded on his forehead.Altered by choice or necessity into something different than what they started as.It was strangely beautiful and utterly practical—adaptation made visible.
“Can I ask you something?” he said as they navigated around a group of people haggling over what looked like weapon modifications. He had to clench his jaw against a wave of nausea as his heat flared again, his body protesting the constant movement.
“Sure,” Dante replied, his hand moving to Orion’s elbow to steady him as he swayed.
“The Omega at the pharmacy desk—the cuts on his throat and wrists. I’ve never seen anything like that before. What were they?”
Dante’s expression darkened. “Claiming brands. In some SVI territories, it’s practice to brand your Omega publicly—throat, arms, sometimes face. Makes ownership clear to everyone.”
Orion felt something cold settle in his stomach. “And the cuts through them?”
“When an Omega is rejected, escapes, or the bond breaks, they can’t be rebranded until the mark is altered.” Dante’s voice was matter-of-fact, but Orion caught the underlying tension. “Most Alphas would rather kill their Omega than release them. Those scars mean he did something extraordinary to get free, more than once.”
Jesus.Orion touched his own throat, thinking about all the times Leo had grabbed him there. He’d never even known branding was a possibility. He spent a year being hypervigilant, biting fingers off a drunk and pathetic Leo, but the worst he faced was physical restraints, beatings, and isolation.
“I had it better than I thought,” he said.
“Comparing bad situations is never helpful and just leads to further mismanagement,” Dante replied.
Orion shot him a sharp look, heat-flushed skin making his glare feel even more intense. “What the hell kind of backwards corporate speak does that translate to?”
Dante’s expression turned serious. “Don’t place your bar for standards in hell and then be grateful the flames are only licking your feet.”
Dante’s encrypted phone buzzed. He answered without dropping his guard, eyes still scanning their surroundings.
“No, I’m not compromised,” he said sharply. “My biomarkers are elevated because I’m in an active operational environment with hostile contacts... Yes, I’m aware my cortisol levels are spiking, Amalie. That’s what happens when you’re being hunted.”
Orion focused on their immediate area while Dante handled corporate oversight. His heat-sharpened senses were picking up details that his normal awareness might have missed, and they still had the medication Dr. Langdon gave them tucked away in Dante’s jacket.The seat of his pants was soaked with sweat and slick, his body preparing itself despite the wholly inappropriate timing. Every instinct he developed over a year of constant vigilance was screaming that something was wrong.
That’s when he saw them.
The two Berserkers from the pharmacy waiting room were about fifty feet behind them, moving with the kind of casual pursuit that suggested they were experienced hunters. They weren’t trying to hide—they didn’t need to. They were bigger, stronger, and probably armed.
Orion caught a glimpse of the shoe vendor from earlier, the glitched Alpha woman, watching from a doorway with the kind of tense concern that meant she was trying to decide whether to help or stay out of it.
“Dante,” Orion said quietly, not wanting to alert their pursuers that they’d been made.
Dante’s eyes flicked to him, and Orion could see he’d already been tracking something. “I see them. Two behind us, started following about three blocks back. Exit routes?” Dante asked, his voice low and controlled.
“Alley to our left leads to the market district. The right side is blocked by vendors. Straight ahead is open ground, but that’s where the van is.”
“Weapons?” Dante pressed, his hand moving subtly toward his waistband.
