Page 68 of The Sterling Acquisition (Manufactured Mates #1)

Chapter fifty

Three Months Later

Dante

The morning alarm was the sound of birds arguing outside their bedroom window, which was a vast improvement over corporate efficiency chimes or the industrial grinding of SVI machinery.

Dante lay still for a moment, listening to the familiar sounds of the collective waking up—voices calling greetings from open windows, the distant hum of the water recycling system, someone’s radio playing music that would have been banned in any corporate territory for being “insufficiently productive.”

Beside him, Orion was still asleep, one arm flung across Dante’s chest. Three months of waking up next to each other, and Dante still felt that little jolt of wonder at the reality of morning light filtering through windows that belonged to them, in a bed they built together from salvaged materials and Null collective ingenuity.

Dante’s lung twinged as he shifted—it always would, Lilac warned him, a permanent reminder of that night on the battlefield.

The herbal treatments had gradually rebuilt what corporate medicine couldn’t repair, but some damage was beyond even Granny Lu’s botanical miracles.

It was manageable pain now, familiar rather than debilitating.

Like most things in his new life, it became part of a routine he’d never thought he would want.

“Stop thinking so loud,” Orion mumbled against his shoulder, not bothering to open his eyes. “It’s disrupting my sleep schedule.”

“Since when do you have a sleep schedule?” Dante asked, running his fingers through Orion’s hair. It had grown out in the past three months, long enough now to curl at the ends.

“Since Granny Lu put me in charge of the morning shift at the workshop. Apparently, my ‘attention to detail’ and ‘complete inability to accept shoddy workmanship’ make me an ideal quality control supervisor.”

“What she said,” Dante corrected, “was that you’re a perfectionist control freak who makes everyone else’s work look sloppy by comparison.”

Orion’s eyes snapped open, bright with indignation. “I am not a control freak. I just have standards.”

“You made Arlo rebuild an entire lock mechanism because the internal spring tension was point-two millimeters off specification.”

“Point-two millimeters is the difference between a lock that works and a lock that fails when someone needs security,” Orion shot back, sitting up with enough force to make the bed creak. “Maybe if you understood precision instead of just corporate approximations—”

Dante moved faster than thought, rolling and pinning Orion to the mattress in one fluid motion. “Maybe,” he said against Orion’s ear, “you should save the attitude for someone who can’t do this. ”

Orion struggled for three seconds before going boneless beneath him, breath hitching in that particular way that meant Dante won this round. “Bastard,” he muttered.

“Your bastard,” Dante corrected, then released him and rolled out of bed before the moment could escalate further. “Come on. Breakfast.”

Dante grinned. Orion had taken to the collective’s locksmith and security workshop like he’d been born for it.

Turns out that years of picking his way out of situations gave him an almost supernatural understanding of mechanical systems. The collective’s security improved dramatically under his oversight, and he developed a reputation for modifications that were both ugly and utterly effective.

“She also said I have ‘leadership potential,’” Orion continued, sitting up in the bed. “Which I think was her polite way of saying I’m bossy.”

“You are bossy,” Dante confirmed. “It’s one of your more attractive qualities.”

“Flatterer.” Orion stretched as he stood up in nothing but a pair of boxers, bending his lean body in a way that made Dante’s mouth water. Three months, and the man could still undo him with a simple movement. “What’s your agenda today, corporate boy?”

Dante’s role in the collective had been harder to define at first. His skills were valuable—strategic thinking, understanding corporate methodology, and the ability to analyze and predict how the big companies might behave.

But it took time to figure out how to use those skills in a community that operated on cooperation rather than hierarchy.

“Meeting with the trade committee this morning,” he said. “There’s a caravan coming through next week from the eastern settlements, and they want to negotiate for some of our security modifications.”

It still amazed him sometimes how much the collective produced that other communities wanted.

Not just physical goods, but innovations—new ways of growing food in hostile conditions, water purification systems that could run on scraps, security measures that could hide entire settlements from corporate surveillance.

“Then I’m helping Riot with the communication array upgrade,” Dante continued.

Riot and the other Berserkers ended up staying at the collective rather than heading north or back into the Neutral Zone.

As fellow survivors of Protocol Endeavor, Lilac vouched for them without hesitation and after the chaos they caused, it was safer for them to stay away from places INSA had large presence.

Their portion of the Gensyn heist funds ensured they could afford the specialized suppressants needed to manage their condition—expensive compounds that had once been accessible only through corporate channels but were now available through neutral zone markets for the right price.

“And this evening?” Orion asked.

“Movie night,” Dante said. “Your turn to pick.”

They’d started a tradition of watching old films, though now they watched them in the collective’s common area with anyone who wanted to join.

Dante had been surprised by how much he enjoyed the commentary from people who’d never seen corporate-sanitized entertainment.

Granny Lu had strong opinions about pre-Adjustment romantic comedies.

“I’m thinking something with explosions,” Orion said thoughtfully. “To keep the Berserkers interested.”

“As long as it’s not that disaster movie you picked last month. I’m still having nightmares about the physics violations. ”

Orion laughed, and the sound still did things to Dante’s chest that had nothing to do with bullet wounds. “That’s what made it perfect. Sometimes reality needs a good violation.”

They got up eventually, drawn by the smell of breakfast cooking in the communal kitchen.

The collective operated on a loose schedule that somehow managed to get everything done without the rigid efficiency Dante had once thought was necessary for civilization.

People contributed what they could, when they could, and somehow it all balanced out.

Breakfast was a cheerful chaos of conversation and planning.

Children who’d never known corporate control running between tables.

Adults discussing everything from crop rotation to the philosophical implications of Null genetics with equal enthusiasm.

Dante learned to appreciate the noise after years of sterile corporate dining facilities.

“Dante!” Lilac dropped into the seat across from him, her scarred hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. “Perfect timing. I need to pick your brain about something.”

“What kind of something?” he asked, though experience had taught him that Lilac’s questions led to interesting projects.

“Security assessment,” she said. “There’s a corporate convoy that’s been making regular runs about forty miles south of here. Same route, same timing, very predictable. The trade committee wants to know if it’s something we should be worried about.”

Dante considered this, falling back into analytical patterns that felt comfortable now rather than restrictive. “What kind of convoy? Personnel transport? Supply chain? Executive travel?”

“Mixed. Corporate security, some kind of specialized transport units, and what looks like VIP vehicles.”

“Probably asset transfer,” Dante said after a moment. “Regular schedule suggests either routine corporate exchange programs or high-value asset movement between territories. If it’s the latter, they’d be using predictable routes to minimize exposure to Static Zone variables.”

Orion looked up from his breakfast. “Asset transfer meaning what, exactly?”

“People,” Dante said grimly. “Specialized personnel, test subjects, anything valuable enough to warrant that level of security.”

“Oh, good,” Orion said with acidic sweetness. “More corporate bullshit. I’m sure they’re transporting those ‘assets’ with all the care and consideration they’re famous for.”

“I’m just providing analysis,” Dante said. He knew what Orion was doing. He was still worked up from getting pinned to the bed.

“Analysis that sounds suspiciously like you still think in their terms,” Orion shot back. “Asset transfer. High-value asset movement. They’re people, Dante. Not inventory.”

The criticism hit harder than it should have, probably because there was truth in it. Keep pushing, baby. I’ll make you eat those words. “I know they’re people. That doesn’t change the tactical—”

“The tactical what?” Orion interrupted. “Assessment? Because it sounds like you’re assessing them the same way you used to assess me. Because I used to be what they’re transporting.”

Dante’s hands tightened on his coffee cup. Around them, conversations quieted as people sensed the rising tension. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” Orion’s voice was soft now. “High-value asset, worth the security investment, predictable transport protocols—”

Dante was moving before conscious thought caught up, chair scraping back as he rounded the table. Orion saw him coming and scrambled to his feet, but Dante caught him anyway, one hand fisting in his shirt as he backed him against the nearest wall .

“Don’t,” Dante warned, “put words in my mouth that were never there.”

Orion’s pupils dilated. “Then stop talking like them.”

“And you stop looking for reasons to pick fights when you know perfectly well what I meant.”