Page 60 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter forty-three

The Delicate Art of Unsanctioned Surgery

Dante

Dawn came gray and unwelcome, filtering through the safe house windows with the kind of pale light that made everything look vaguely menacing.

Dante had been awake for the better part of an hour, thinking about the various ways their plan could go catastrophically wrong while Orion slept sprawled across his chest like a particularly lethal security blanket.

The implant removal was scheduled for first light, followed by the van fire that would hopefully convince corporate investigators they’d been killed or kidnapped by parties unknown.

Simple in theory. In practice, it involved cutting subcutaneous monitoring devices out of his body using medical supplies designed for field emergencies rather than precision surgery.

“Stop that,” Orion mumbled against his shoulder, not bothering to open his eyes. “I can practically hear the risk assessment calculations.”

“I’m calculating the probability that we don’t accidentally kill me while trying to fake my death,” Dante replied. “The irony would be professionally embarrassing.”

“What’s the current estimate?”

“Somewhere between ‘concerning’ and ‘statistically inadvisable.’”

Orion lifted his head, studying Dante’s face. “Having second thoughts?”

“No. Just first, third, and fourth thoughts about the surgical aspect.” Dante sat up, displacing Orion with the minimum amount of contact necessary.

“The implants are subcutaneous but connected to nerve clusters. Too shallow and they’ll still transmit.

Too deep, and I bleed out in the middle of nowhere. ”

“Good thing you have an inexperienced assistant,” Orion said, stretching with the unselfconscious grace of someone who’d decided that modesty was a luxury they couldn’t afford. He grimaced as he rolled onto his back. “Jesus Christ, my ass is on fire. What the fuck is wrong with your brain?”

Dante grinned as he reached for his clothes. “I had a normal brain before I met you,” he said, appreciating the chaotic constellation of markings all over Orion’s body. “And you liked it, so your brain is just as fucked.”

“Shut up,” Orion grumbled, lazily reaching for his clothes as his face turned a bright shade of red.

“Feeling shy all of a sudden?” Dante asked, pulling on his pants .

“Don’t make me punch you.” Orion glared at him as he pulled on his boxers. “I’m going to be the one helping you get a chip out of your spine, you should probably be nicer to me.”

“I would, but you’re so fucking cute when you get all red like that.” Dante leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek.

Orion shoved him back. “Stop being a dumb horny Alpha and let’s get ready to permanently paralyze you.”

The implants were in three places—left forearm, right shoulder blade, and base of the neck. The first two, Dante could handle himself. The neck would require assistance.

“I can manage the arm and shoulder,” Dante said. “The neck one’s too close to the spinal column for me to reach.”

“Lucky for you, I have steady hands,” Orion replied, sorting through their medical supplies without any particular expertise. “How hard can it be?”

“Famous last words,” Dante breathed before taking a swig from a sketchy bottle of liquor Lilac had given them, the handwritten words “Surgical Lubricant” emblazoned on the label.

Dante began with the forearm, using the mirror to guide the scalpel with clinical precision.

Years of tactical medicine made the procedure more tedious than difficult.

The device came free—a sleek, thumbnail-sized disc with hair-thin filaments that had burrowed into his nervous system, now glistening under the harsh light.

The shoulder blade implant was more challenging due to the angle, requiring him to work mostly by feel while using the mirror for reference.

The scalpel work was more complex, following the device’s connection to nerve clusters that Gensyn had used to monitor his emotional state and physical condition.

This one was smaller but more sophisticated, with branching tendrils that had wrapped around his nerve endings like metallic ivy.

The removal felt like peeling away a second skin, accompanied by a sharp, electric pain that shot down his arm.

“Two down,” he said, pressing gauze against the wound. The metallic smell of blood mixed with antiseptic filled the small bathroom. “Your turn.”

“The neck one,” Orion said, examining the third implant’s location. “Walk me through what I need to do.”

“It’s nestled against the cervical vertebrae,” Dante explained, positioning himself on a kitchen chair and tilting his head forward. “Close enough to the spinal column that a millimeter in the wrong direction could result in permanent damage. Follow my instructions. No improvisation.”

“Got it,” Orion said, picking up the scalpel and testing its weight like he might test any unfamiliar tool. “You ready?”

Dante closed his eyes and focused on controlled breathing. “Do it.”

The final cut was the worst and the best simultaneously.

Worst because Orion had to make three separate attempts to locate the device, each guided by Dante’s strained instructions.

The sensation of metal probing near his spine sent waves of nausea through him, the vulnerable position requiring more trust than he’d ever given anyone.

Each attempt produced a sickening scrape that resonated through his skull, followed by the warm trickle of blood down his neck.

Best because it represented the final severance of his connection to Gensyn’s monitoring systems—the last piece of corporate control being cut out of his body by someone whose surgical technique was based entirely on instructions given between swigs of liquor that burned almost as much as the scalpel.

“Got it,” Orion said, and Dante could hear the relief in his voice even through the haze of pain. “I think. Is this thing supposed to have wires attached?”

“Those are nerve connectors,” Dante managed through gritted teeth. “They’ll dissolve once disconnected from the power source. Bio-organic interface technology.”

“Good, because I have no idea what to do with them.” Orion was holding the device with the satisfaction of someone who’d just successfully defused a bomb through pure stubbornness.

This final implant was the most complex of the three—a sleek capsule with pulsing blue indicators that were already fading as its connection to Dante’s nervous system died.

“All three successfully removed. You’re officially invisible to corporate surveillance. ”

Dante sat still for a moment, waiting for the initial shock to fade before attempting to move. When he stood up, Orion was holding all three devices in his palm—small, dark pieces of technology that had been part of his body for so long he’d forgotten what it felt like to exist without them.

“How do you feel?”

Dante considered the question. His body ached, and underneath was something else—a profound disconnection, as if he’d gone deaf in one ear. The implants had provided constant feedback for so long that their absence felt like sensory deprivation.

“Wrong,” he said. “Unmoored. Like part of my nervous system is missing.”

It was deeply uncomfortable, invasive in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

But when he looked at Orion—sharp-eyed and satisfied with their success—he knew it was worth the discomfort.

Whatever this disconnected feeling was, it was the price of keeping Orion away from corporate evaluation rooms and forced bonding protocols.

“That’ll probably last a while,” Orion said, not unsympathetically as he applied antiseptic and bandages to the back of Dante’s neck. “Your body’s been relying on those things for years. It’s going to take time to adjust to existing without corporate oversight.”

Dante turned around after the last bandage went into place and smiled at Orion. “You did a good job,” he said, snaking his arm around Orion’s back and pulling him close. “Thank you.”

Orion tensed as Dante pressed a kiss to his lips, then let out a contented sigh that made Dante forget all about the pain in his body.

He became laser-focused on the softness of Orion’s lips and the taste of his tongue, how he could feel Orion’s heartbeat against his stomach, and the scent of fresh slick in the air.

“We don’t have time for you to get horny again,” Orion said, squeezing his biceps as Dante kissed his jaw before moving down to his neck. “What happened to being a good operative?”

“Fuck it,” Dante said as he pressed a kiss to Orion’s neck.

He smelled so fucking good it was hard to concentrate, and breathing in his scent was dulling the pain.

He nuzzled into Orion’s neck, not even kissing anymore, just sort of dragging his nose and lips over his skin so he could practically taste the storm winds and marshmallows. It tasted like heaven.

“Are you…are you scenting me right now?”

Dante snapped from the bliss of Orion’s neck and straightened up, feeling a strange flush come to his cheeks. “No,” he said quickly.

A devilish grin cracked across Orion’s face as Dante released him. “You totally were. You were just scenting me. ”

What the hell is wrong with me? He grabbed his shirt and quickly pulled it over his head. “I’ve never scented anyone a day in my life,” he said quickly. “Come on, we have a van to burn.”

Outside, their van sat waiting in the morning light, ready to become the centerpiece of their very own crime scene.

Dante changed out of his last remaining corporate clothing—the suit pants that had somehow survived everything they’d been through—and into the civilian clothes Lilac had provided.

The fabric was rough, practical, and utterly without the tailored precision he’d grown accustomed to.

He looked like what he was: a man who’d abandoned everything he’d once been.

The van fire was surprisingly easy to arrange.

A few rags soaked in fuel from the tank, some strategic placement near the engine block, and physics would handle the rest. They’d both left their soiled clothes in the van, and they had left more than enough DNA evidence in the storage area of the van for definitive identification.

Corporate investigators would assume the worst and eventually classify them as casualties rather than fugitives.

As they prepared to light the makeshift fuse, Dante’s encrypted phone rang.

Amalie - Gensyn Operations

His hand moved toward it automatically, muscle memory from years of never missing a call from his handler. But then he caught sight of Orion adjusting his pack.

That was a face he could wake up to every day for the rest of his life, Dante realized. Even if that life now came with a significantly reduced life expectancy.

He threw the phone through the van’s open window.

“Light it,” he said, shouldering his pack.

The fire caught quickly, spreading from the engine compartment through the interior so quickly, confirming what he had suspected— the bread van had been a death trap waiting to happen.

They watched for a moment, ensuring the blaze would be thorough enough to serve their purposes, then turned to begin their walk back to the collective.

“Wait,” Dante said, stopping just as they reached the tree line. He pulled the Project Tether data drives, sample vials, and research documents from his pack—everything he’d stolen from SVI, everything Gensyn expected him to deliver.

He stared at the materials in his hands. Morrison’s life’s work. The culmination of years of SVI research. The very thing he’d been sent to acquire, that would have cemented his position in Gensyn’s hierarchy for decades. His mission objective, the thing he was supposed to value above all else.

And the weapon that would have been used on Orion first.

With a decisive motion, he walked back to the burning van and threw it all into the flames.

Data drives melted with a poisonous hiss, sample vials cracked and released sickly green vapor, and years of corporate research turned to ash and smoke.

He felt no regret watching it burn, only a cold satisfaction.

In that moment, the last remnant of Operative Ashford died with the technology he’d been sent to steal.

“Okay,” he said, rejoining Orion, “now we can go.”

“You just burned your golden ticket back into Gensyn’s good graces,” Orion observed, his expression unreadable. “Your career, your life’s work, your way home. All of it.”

“Not my work,” Dante corrected. “And not my home. Not anymore.”

Phase one complete. Phase two about to begin.

And for the first time since this entire operation started, Dante was beginning to think their three percent survival rate might be pessimistic.