Page 71 of The Sterling Acquisition

None of the usual routes will work. Not with a full lockdown and me broadcasting like this.

That’s when the realization hit him—they were going to be caught no matter which path they took. His scent was too strong, the patrols too thorough, the net closing too quickly. Unless...

Use it. Turn the problem into a weapon.

“The checkpoint at Fifth and Industrial,” he said, his voice taking on the tone of someone presenting a tactical plan. “Two guards, usually. They’ll be looking for us specifically now, but they won’t be expecting us to approach directly.”

Dante’s eyebrows rose. “You want to walk up to a security checkpoint?”

“I want t-to use what we have.” Orion gestured to himself, to the way his scent was already making a passing Beta stumble. “I’m an unclaimed Om-m-mega in heat. My pheromones made that one guard at Leo’s look like he was going t-to puke. That’s not a disadvantage—that’s a weapon.”

Understanding dawned in Dante’s eyes as a smirk formed on his face. “You want to overwhelm them.”

“I want to m-make them so dizzy they can’t think straight, then t-take their uniforms and identification.” Orion’s smile was sharp, feral. “SVI security d-doesn’t train for this kind of chemical warfare. They’re used to dealing w-with claimed Omegas on suppressants, not someone like me.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we f-fight our way out. But with uniforms and b-better weapons than we have now.”

“It’s risky. If they have chemical resistance training, if they’re prepared for pheromone attacks—” Dante began.

“They’re not,” Orion interrupted. “Trust m-me. They’re good at violence, t-terrible at adaptation.”

And I know these streets. I know these people. I know how to disappear.

“Your heat will get worse,” Dante pointed out. “You’re struggling to speak even right now.”

“I know.” Orion met his eyes. “I can handle it. The question is w-whether you can handle being around me when it gets worse.”

Dante beamed. “I think I can manage.”

We’ll see about that.

The checkpoint was two blocks away, positioned at the intersection where the residential district met the factory zone. Orion couldsee the guards from a distance—two men in SVI tactical gear, both armed with stun weapons and pistols, the standard SVI sidearm that everyone and their mother carried.

“Remember,” Orion said as they approached, “let me do the t-talking. When they start to react, that’s when you move.”

The guards noticed them when they were fifty yards away—two figures walking toward the checkpoint instead of trying to avoid it. Orion could see their confusion, their hands moving toward their weapons.

“Hey!” one of them called out. “Stop where you are!”

Orion raised his hands, adopting the posture of someone who was surrendering. “P-please,” he called back, letting his voice carry the desperate edge that came naturally with his condition. “I n-need help. I’m in heat and I can’t find m-my Alpha.”

The lie was perfect—exactly the kind of thing SVI security would expect to hear during a territorial lockdown. Lost assets, separated from their owners, seeking help from authority figures. He’d used variations of it before, during the worst heats when hiding wasn’t enough.

Come closer. Let me show you what years of escalating heats really smell like.

The guards exchanged glances, clearly debating protocol. Then the older one started walking toward them, his weapon lowered but ready.

“Identification,” he said when he was twenty feet away.

“I d-don’t have any,” Orion replied, taking a step closer. “My Alpha has it. He sent m-me to get supplies and then the sirens started and I g-got lost and—”

He watched the guard’s expression change as his scent hit in full force. The man’s eyes widened, his pupils dilating, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid.

There it is. Chemical overload.

“Jesus,” the guard whispered, swaying on his feet. “What the hell—”