The Sterling Acquisition : A Steamy MM Alpha/Omega Corporate Dystopia Romance (Manufactured Mates Book 1), page 19
When the current stopped, he slumped between the guards, his vision blurry and his limbs twitching with residual electricity.
“Optimal compliance achieved,” Morrison observed, crouching down to meet Orion’s eyes. “Now, I have a few preliminary assessment questions before we begin the bond enhancement procedure.”
Orion tried to spit at him again, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating yet.
“First query: confirm virginal status of the Omega asset.”
“Get fucked,” Orion managed, his voice hoarse from screaming.
“I’ll document that as confirmation. Second query: verify absence of previous Alpha claiming within the contractual period.”
“I said get fucked.”
Morrison smiled thinly. “Also affirmative, then. Excellent. Unclaimed Omega subjects demonstrate significantly enhanced receptivity to the bonding catalyst. The neurochemical attachment forms with greater stability when there’s no previous conditioning to overcome.”
Neurochemical attachment. Like he was talking about industrial adhesive instead of destroying someone’s mind.
“Third query: confirm current pre-heat biological status.”
Orion glared at him silently. His skin was fever-hot, his body producing slick despite the terror and rage, every instinct screaming that he needed to find somewhere safe to ride out the biological storm that was building. But he wasn’t going to give Morrison the satisfaction of admitting it.
“Your pheromonal signature provides sufficient verification,” Morrison said, pulling a syringe from his bag. “Though I believe we can optimize the timeline through an appropriate catalyst introduction. Mr. James?”
Leo stepped forward reluctantly, tugging at his cuffs and avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.
“Your contractual acquisition window expires in seven days,” Morrison continued as he prepared the injection. “After that period, any Alpha in SVI territory can enter the competitive acquisition process for this asset. Given the subject’s... unique pheromonal profile... I anticipate extremely aggressive bidding parameters.”
“I’m aware of the timeline,” Leo muttered, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
“Are you equally cognizant that your quarterly performance evaluation coincides with this deadline?” Morrison’s tone remained pleasant, but there was steel underneath. “If you desire to maintain both your current employment status and your domestic asset, you’ll authorize completion of this enhancement procedure.” He gestured at the syringe. “Otherwise, you’ll be pursuing alternative career opportunities while a more capable Alpha enjoys the benefits of a perfectly synchronized Omega.”
Leo’s face went ashen, but he nodded, fingers clenching and unclenching at his sides.
Morrison turned back to Orion with the syringe. “This accelerant will optimize your biological systems for full reproductive receptivity.”
“Don’t touch me with that thing,” Orion snarled, struggling against the guards’ grip.
Morrison ignored him and jabbed the needle into his arm before he could pull away. The injection burned going in, and within seconds Orion could feel something changing in his body—heat spreading through his bloodstream, his skin becoming even more sensitive, slick production increasing.
No. No, not like this.
“Fuck you!” he screamed, sudden energy flooding his system as the artificial heat triggered every fighting instinct he had. “Fuck all of you!”
He threw himself sideways, breaking free from one guard’s grip and using his momentum to slam his head backward into the nauseous guard’s face. The man staggered back with a shocked cry, and Orion grabbed a handful of his tactical vest, twisting to drive his knee into the guard’s groin.
The guard collapsed with a high-pitched whimper, curling into a fetal position as his face drained of color.
“Jesus Christ,” someone said from the doorway.
Orion looked up to see two more guards entering the apartment, probably called by neighbors who had heard the commotion. They stopped short when they saw the scene—one guard bleeding from his face, another writhing on the floor, and Orion standing over them with murder in his eyes.
“We always thought Leo was just weak,” one of the new guards said. “Didn’t realize...”
“Realize what?” Orion demanded, breathing hard. “That maybe Leo’s the problem, not me?”
Morrison was pulling another syringe from his bag, this one larger and filled with something that looked like liquid silver. “We need to establish an intravenous delivery system for the bonding catalyst.”
IV line. Which means they need me still for several minutes.
“Your enhanced biological state will create unprecedented satisfaction,” Morrison said, his voice taking on an almost parental tone. “The bonding catalyst establishes genuine neurochemical attachment pathways—not merely physical compliance, but comprehensive emotional synchronization. You’ll experience fulfillment beyond anything in your previous existence.”
“Fulfillment,” Orion repeated flatly. “Fulfillment through chemical lobotomy.”
“Fulfillment through biological purpose optimization,” Morrison corrected. “Satisfaction derived from proper hierarchical integration. Contentment through—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Orion interrupted. He was running out of time and options, but there was one card he hadn’t played yet. One guaranteed way to make Leo lose his goddamn mind.
Hit him where it hurts.
“This whole thing is pointless anyway,” Orion said, loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “Your bullshit bonding chemical isn’t going to work. Not on me.”
“The catalyst demonstrates ninety-seven percent efficacy across all test subjects—” Morrison began.
“Not when someone else got there first.” Orion looked at Leo, whose face was already starting to change. “Your corporate spy friend? The one you’ve been letting into my room for ‘consultations’? He already made me cum. Made me beg for it. And I loved every fucking second of it.”
Leo went white, then red, his hands clenching into fists.
“Even when you were just a few rooms away,” Orion continued viciously. “Even when I could hear you stumbling around drunk, pissing yourself because you can’t handle basic Omega management. He had his hands all over me, and I was wet for him in a way I never could be for you.”
“You’re lying,” Leo whispered.
“Am I? Ask him,” Orion taunted, seeing the last threads of Leo’s control unraveling. “Ask your helpful consultant how tight I am, how I taste—”
Leo’s hands closed around Orion’s throat, cutting off his words and his air supply. His face twisted with rage and humiliation, his grip tightening as Orion clawed at his wrists.
“Lying little whore,” Leo snarled. “Ungrateful fucking—”
The apartment door exploded inward with a sound like thunder.
Through his fading vision, Orion saw a figure in a bloodstained suit jacket step through the wreckage, automatic weapons in both hands.
Dante had arrived.
And he looked like he was ready to kill everyone in the room.
Chapter twenty-two
Exit Interview with Prejudice
Dante
The apartment door gave way under Dante’s shoulder like it was made of cardboard instead of reinforced corporate housing material.
Five hostiles, one target, enclosed space. The primal part of his brain saw an Alpha’s hands on his Omega and wanted to paint the walls with blood.
“Leo,” Dante said pleasantly, stepping through the ruined doorway with both semi-automatic rifles slung over his shoulder. “I have to say, your asset management techniques have really deteriorated since our last consultation.”
Every head in the room turned toward him, and Dante noted with professional satisfaction that several faces went pale when they saw the bloodstains on his clothes and the military-grade weapons in his hands. Good. They should be afraid.
Leo’s grip on Orion’s throat loosened, confusion replacing rage on his face. “Dante? What are you—how did you—”
“I’m here to collect what’s mine,” Dante replied, shrugging out of his suit jacket. The expensive fabric hit the floor, revealing a weapons harness underneath. He pulled off his tie, raising one rifle in the direction of the security team with his other hand.
Time to show them what Gensyn operatives are really capable of.
Orion’s scent took a moment to fully hit him, fear-spiked and desperate, mixed with the copper tang of blood and the acrid smell of stun weapons, but impossibly sweet now, like that marshmallow scent had been drizzled with honey. His body responded instantly—protective instincts flaring, territorial aggression flooding his system, every Alpha impulse screaming that his Omega was in danger.
Control it. Use it. Channel it.
“Sir,” one of the guards said, his voice tight with nerves. “You need to leave. This is a sanctioned corporate procedure.”
“Sanctioned by whom?” Dante asked. “I don’t recall Gensyn authorizing any medical interventions on our collaborative assets.”
Dr. Morrison stepped forward, his expression shifting from clinical detachment to something that might have been recognition. “You’re the corporate spy. The one who’s been interfering with our timeline.”
“Corporate consultant,” Dante corrected. “Though I suppose the distinction is academic at this point.”
The first guard moved, bringing his stun weapon up in a textbook defensive position. Dante was already inside his reach, the heavy rifle in his right hand swinging in a short, brutal arc that connected with the man’s temple. The guard staggered but didn’t go down, blood streaming from the gash above his ear.
The guard’s stun weapon crackled to life. Dante twisted away from the strike, but the guard was already recovering, pressing his advantage.
The second guard flanked left while the third came from the right, their movements coordinated and professional. Dante drove his knee into the first guard’s ribs, finally dropping him, but the second guard’s stun weapon caught him in the shoulder.
Lightning shot through his nervous system, his left arm going numb and useless. The rifle clattered to the floor as his grip failed, and he stumbled backward, vision blurring.
The third guard pressed forward, confident now that Dante was partially disabled. His stun weapon came up in a confident arc, aimed at Dante’s chest. Dante rolled to the side, grabbing the fallen rifle with his functioning hand and swinging it like a club at the guard’s ankles.
The man went down hard, his head striking the coffee table with a sickening crack. But the fourth guard—the one with the bleeding cheek—was already moving, his weapon crackling as he closed distance.
Leo cowered by the kitchen, his face drained of color, knuckles white where he gripped the counter. He could help, could grab a weapon, could do something useful. Instead, he was frozen, watching the fight like it was happening on a screen.
Useless. Absolutely fucking useless.
The fourth guard’s stun weapon caught Dante in the ribs, and he convulsed as electricity tore through his torso. His remaining rifle went flying, and he hit the floor hard, his body twitching uncontrollably.
Shit. Shit. This is not how this was supposed to go.
Through the haze of electrical aftershock, he could see the second guard getting back to his feet, blood streaming from his scalp. The fourth guard was advancing with his stun weapon raised, confident in his advantage.
Use the environment. Use everything.
Dante rolled behind the couch, his left arm still mostly numb but starting to respond. His right hand found the lamp on the end table—heavy ceramic base, long cord. He ripped it free from the wall and hurled it at the fourth guard’s face.
The lamp shattered against the man’s skull, sending him reeling backward. Dante used the distraction to grab his fallen rifle and surge to his feet.
The second guard was closing fast, his stun weapon sparking. Dante feinted left, then drove the rifle butt into the man’s solar plexus. The guard doubled over, gasping, and Dante brought the weapon down on the back of his skull with brutal force.
Two down. Two to go.
The fourth guard was wiping blood from his eyes, his stun weapon wavering. Behind him, the first guard was stirring, trying to get back to his feet despite the head wound.
They’re tougher than corporate security should be. Morrison brought professionals.
The fourth guard lunged forward, his stun weapon aimed at Dante’s chest. Dante caught his wrist, twisting hard enough to hear bones crack. The guard screamed, dropping his weapon, and Dante drove his knee into the man’s face.
Blood exploded from the guard’s nose, and he went down in a heap, unconscious or dead.
Three down.
The first guard was back on his feet, swaying but determined. Blood covered half his face, and his stun weapon sparked erratically—damaged but still functional. He advanced slowly, professional enough to be cautious after watching three colleagues go down.
Smart. Dangerous. But not smart enough.
Dante grabbed the weapon just below the prongs and yanked hard, pulling the man off balance, then closed distance with the rifle raised.
The guard blocked with his forearm, the rifle stock cracking against bone. He grunted in pain but managed to drive his elbow into Dante’s ribs. Dante felt something crack—not broken, but definitely bruised.
He’s trained. Military background, probably. This is taking too long.
They grappled, both trying to control the other’s weapon. The guard was strong, desperate, fighting for his life. Dante was faster, better trained, but the electrical shocks left him partially disabled.
End this. Now.
Dante dropped the rifle, surprising the guard, and drove his palm up into the man’s nose. Cartilage crunched, blood sprayed, and the guard’s head snapped back. Before he could recover, Dante grabbed his throat and squeezed.
The guard clawed at his hands, his face turning red, then purple. Dante held on until the struggles stopped, until the body went limp.
Four down.
The apartment was quiet except for Orion’s labored breathing and Dante’s own ragged gasps. His left arm was starting to work again, pins and needles shooting through the nerves. His ribs ached where the guard elbowed him.
That was harder than it should have been. Morrison brought quality people.
“You’re late,” Orion said, his voice hoarse from being choked. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”
“Never,” Dante replied, his voice carrying more emotion than he intended. “Are you injured?”
“Nothing that won’t heal.” Orion’s eyes were bright with fever and adrenaline. “But Morrison—”
Dr. Morrison was still holding the syringe, his clinical mask slipping to reveal panic underneath. “You don’t understand. This procedure—”
“Will destroy him,” Dante interrupted, his voice flat and cold. “Which is unacceptable.”
Morrison backed toward the kitchen, still clutching the syringe. “The research—decades of work—”
“Is already destroyed.” Dante pulled out his phone, showing Morrison the burning SVI facility. “Your lab is ash. Your colleagues are dead.”
Morrison stared at the image, his face cycling through disbelief and rage. “You bastard.”
He looked at Orion with desperate hunger, and Dante saw him make the decision—the slight shift in posture, the way his grip on the syringe changed.
He’s going to try it. He’s going to try to complete the procedure.
Morrison lunged toward Orion, syringe raised. Dante moved faster than conscious thought, his hand closing around Morrison’s wrist, stopping the syringe inches from Orion’s arm.
“Bad choice,” Dante said, and twisted.
The wet snap of breaking bone was loud. Morrison screamed, dropping the syringe.
“Please,” Morrison gasped, clutching his broken wrist. “I was just following orders—”
“You forfeited your rights when you decided to touch my Omega.” Dante’s hand closed around Morrison’s throat. “The only question is whether I make it quick.”
He squeezed until Morrison’s struggles stopped, until the light faded from his eyes and his body went limp. Then he held on for another thirty seconds, making sure.
No loose ends.
When he released the body, Morrison crumpled to the floor.
Leo shrank against the wall, his face white with terror. “Jesus Christ, Dante. You killed him.”
“I eliminated a threat,” Dante corrected, moving to cut Orion’s restraints. “There’s a difference.”
“You’re insane. Both of you are insane.” Leo’s voice shook like a building during demolition. “This is murder. Corporate will—”
“Corporate will do nothing,” Dante said, pulling a tactical knife from his harness. “They have bigger problems than explaining why their asset management program failed one Omega.”
The restraints fell away, and Orion rubbed his wrists, wincing at the raw marks left by the plastic cuffs.
“Can you walk?” Dante asked.
“I can do whatever I need to do,” Orion replied. “But we need to leave. Soon. The injection Morrison gave me—it’s making everything worse.”
Dante nodded, already running extraction protocols in his mind. “Transportation is arranged.”
“And Leo?” Orion looked at the trembling Alpha with something like contempt. “What do we do with him?”
Dante considered the question. Leo was pathetic, broken, and no longer a threat to anyone. He remained paralyzed during the entire fight, useless when it mattered most. Killing him would be efficient but unnecessary.
“That depends,” Dante said. “Do you want him dead?”
Leo made a sound that might have been a whimper.
“No,” he said. “He’s not worth the bullets. Let him live with what he’s lost.”
