Page 88 of The Sterling Acquisition

Orion’s entire abdomen craped up at once and he whimpered as he curled in on himself. The reaction from all three Berserkers was immediate—a sharp intake of breath, a visible tension that suggested they were all fighting the same biological imperative.

That’s when Riot’s diplomatic approach fell apart.

“Fuck it,” the most unstable one said, lunging forward. “I can’t—he smells too good—“

Massive hands grabbed Orion’s arms, yanking him away from Dante with casual strength. “There we go, sweetheart. Don’t fight it. You’ll just make it—“

Something snapped in Orion’s brain.

The heat, the fear, the months of being grabbed and controlled and treated like property all crystallized into pure, feral rage. He wasn’t Leo’s captive anymore. He wasn’t anyone’s victim. And this Alpha was touching him without permission.

Orion twisted in the Berserker’s grip and sank his teeth into the man’s wrist, biting down with every ounce of strength he had. Blood flooded his mouth—hot, metallic, satisfying—and the Berserker’s triumphant laugh turned into a scream of pain.

“Fucking little—“

Orion didn’t let go. Instead, he bit harder, feeling tendons tear under his teeth, and used the Berserker’s moment of shock to drive his knee up into the man’s groin with all the force he couldmuster. When the he doubled over, Orion grabbed his head and brought it down to meet his knee.

The sound of cartilage breaking was audible even over the Berserker’s howling.

Good,Orion thought with savage satisfaction as he watched the man who grabbed him fall to his knees, blood streaming from his nose.That’s what you get for assuming I’m helpless.

Orion could see Dante engaging Riot with the kind of lethal technique that reminded him of what kind of operative he was dealing with. But the third was coming straight for Orion, and this one looked even less stable than the others.

“Freak bit Stave,” the Berserker snarled, pulling out what looked like a modified stun weapon. “Gonna teach you some manners, Omega.”

That’s when something unexpected happened.

The glitched Alpha shoe vendor appeared out of nowhere and started hitting the approaching Berserker with boot. Not slapping—actual, aggressive hitting, like she was trying to beat dust out of a rug.

“Bad!” she shouted, smacking him across the head with a sturdy-looking boot. “Bad Alpha! No!”

The absurdity of it was so complete that even the Berserker stopped advancing, staring in bewilderment at the small woman attacking him with footwear.

“What the hell—“ he started.

She hit him again, this time with what appeared to be a steel-toed work boot. “Prepper, I said no!”

The Berserker’s confusion turned to rage, and he shoved her backward hard enough that she stumbled and almost fell. “Get lost, you bitch! This ain’t your business!”

The shoe vendor’s response wasn’t words. Instead, she reached into her jacket and produced what looked like a beer bottle filled with clear liquid. She threw it at the Berserker, and when it shattered against his chest, the liquid began to smoke.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the liquid ignited with a softwhooshthat quickly became a roar as flames spread across the Berserker’s clothes and onto the fabric awning of a nearby stall.

“Shit!” the burning Berserker screamed, dropping to the ground and rolling frantically. “Shit, shit, shit!”

The fire spread to the stall’s wooden frame, then to the building behind it. Within seconds, there was actual property damage occurring, and the remaining Berserkers’ expressions shifted from predatory to alarmed.

“ISNA’s gonna come for this,” Riot said, already backing away. “We need to go. Now.”

“What about Prepper?” the other asked, looking at his injured packmate who was still on the ground, bleeding.

“What about him? You want to explain to ISNA why we were here when their precious property started burning?”

They disappeared into the crowd with the same speed they appeared, leaving their wounded member behind. Prepper tried to follow, stumbling to his feet and limping after them while cursing creatively.

The shoe vendor appeared at Orion’s side, pressing a piece of paper into his hand. “You both need to go now,” she said urgently. “Before ISNA gets here and starts asking questions.”

Orion looked down at the paper—it appeared to be an address written in careful handwriting—then back at the woman who’d just saved them with footwear and improvised explosives.