Page 89 of The Sterling Acquisition
“Thank you,” he said.
She nodded toward Dante. “Take care of each other. And be careful who you trust in the Static Zones. Follow the old infrastructure, lay low near barns, avoid grain elevators.”
The sound of sirens was getting closer, and Dante appeared at Orion’s side, his hand going to Orion’s lower back in a gesture that was becoming familiar.
“Van. Now,” he said.
They ran.
They wove through panicking crowds as ISNA security vehicles converged on the market district. The smoke provided perfect cover, and Orion’s legs felt like rubber, but adrenaline kept him moving.
It wasn’t until they were halfway back to their vehicle that Orion realized Dante was checking his pockets with increasing urgency, and his expression was getting darker by the second.
“What?” Orion asked, though he was afraid he already knew.
“The medical kit,” Dante said grimly. “It’s gone. Must have been destroyed or lost in the fight.”
Orion looked back toward the market district, where smoke was still rising from the fire and the sound of ISNA sirens was getting louder. His body throbbed, a cruel reminder of what they lost. The medicine that was supposed to suppress his heat and get them safely through the Static Zone was either broken glass in an alley or evidence in an ISNA investigation.
They were going to have to cross eighty-five miles of Berserker territory with him broadcasting virgin heat to every dangerous Alpha between here and New St. Louis.
“Fuck it,” Orion said, touching the paper the shoe vendor had given him. “Let’s go.”
Chapter thirty-one
Static Zones
Dante
Dante’shandswereshakingon the steering wheel. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Berserker’s hands closing around Orion’s arms—the moment when his tactical advantage meant nothing because someone else was touching what was his. The cut on his side was still bleeding through his shirt, but his carefully controlled world was coming apart at the seams.
“You okay?” Orion asked from the passenger seat, and the concern in his voice made something twist painfully in Dante’s chest. “You’re injured.”
“I’m fine,” Dante lied, checking the rearview mirror for the dozenth time in as many minutes. “Just focused on the route.”
His eyes kept drifting to Orion’s arms, where dark bruises were forming in the exact pattern of the Berserker’s grip. The rage that swept through him was so intense it made his vision blur—somethingprimitive and possessive that had nothing to do with training and everything to do with the fact that those bruises were onhisOmega.
Orion shifted in his seat, a soft groan escaping him as he pressed his palm against his forehead. His skin was flushed with fever, sweat beading along his hairline despite the cool air coming through the open windows. His heat was building again, filling the van with the sharp-sweet smell of ozone and desire that made Dante’s mouth water.
The road ahead was barely visible—cracked asphalt with weeds growing through the gaps and rusted-out vehicles marking where journeys ended badly. Static Zone territory: the spaces between corporate control where infrastructure went to die.
Dante’s phone buzzed against his hip, and he almost didn’t answer it. The last thing he needed right now was Amalie’s voice in his ear, asking about his biomarkers or mission status or whether he was compromised. Because the honest answer was becoming unclear.
“Report,” Amalie’s voice was crisp and professional when he picked up.
“Delayed but mobile,” Dante said, keeping his voice steady through sheer force of will. “Encountered complications in the Neutral Zone. Medical supplies were lost during hostile contact.”
“Hostile contact?” The typing in the background stopped. “Your vitals appear to have elevated within the last hour. What kind of hostile contact?”
The kind where someone tried to take Orion and I nearly lost my mind,Dante thought. “Berserkers. Three of them. Situation resolved, but the suppressants were destroyed in the process.”
“That’s... problematic. How do you plan to complete the extraction without chemical management of the test subject’s condition?”
Test subject.Dante gripped the steering wheel hard enough that his knuckles went white. Orion wasn’t a test subject. He was... he was...
“Alternative methods,” he said instead. “Route optimization, speed over stealth, protective positioning.”
“Dante.” Amalie’s said, her tone shifting. “Your psychological profile suggests you may be developing an inappropriate attachment to the mission objective. The Board is concerned about your recent behavioral patterns.”
