Page 71 of No Escape

We make it to an open area that I vaguely remember Valor carrying me through when he toted me out of the cafeteria. There are couches and a table with a puzzle, which is so bizarre I almost laugh. I cannot see any of the people in here doing a puzzle, but Omen leads us through the space without comment.

On the opposite wall is another corridor, and we stop about halfway down at a door that sayslaundry. Well, it has several nameplates, but the bottom one is in English.

Omen wrestles with the huge pile of laundry and grabs the door handle with a tattooed hand. He’s not even doing anything particularly sexy, but it makes my brain a little melty knowing he was inside me only a few hours ago. “Come on, pet. I need you inside the room with me.”

“Ah, would you look at that,” a gruff male voice says from behind me. I scramble into the laundry room, trying to determine if it’s a voice I recognize, but it doesn’t sound like the Russian guys from the first day. “Valor’s pet found himself a pet.”

I flatten my back against the wall just inside the doorway, and Omen keeps the door open with his foot as he stretches to toss the laundry into the massive bin that houses other dirty towels, sheets, and blankets.

“Good one. I bet it took you all day to think up that zinger,” he says, rolling his bright greenish-gray eyes. He does a good job of pretending the jab doesn’t bother him, but his jaw flexes minutely.

Is this what it’s like in the real world for betas?

It can’t be.

They’re just being extra special assholes because of the environment we’re all trapped in, right?

If I were him, I’d probably have taken a swing at someone by now.

“Does her sense of smell work? I bet she was mighty disappointed when she realized you’re the only bloke in here without a knot.” The man laughs obnoxiously, and my hackles rise.

Shoving myself off the wall, I slide up next to Omen’s side and work my arm under his, wrapping my hand around his other hip. “My sense of smell works just fine, and I wasn’t disappointed, not in the least.” I smile up at Omen. “Unlike most alphas, he’s not afraid to get creative. Knots are great—I’m a big fan—but as it turns out, a fist will work in a pinch.”

I don’t even know where the comment comes from, but I vaguely remember Omen telling Valor it would be the only option if the stubborn alpha didn’t give in and knot me.

Omen chuckles, squeezing my ass. “Straight out of the omega’s mouth. Anyway, Edwin, while talking with you has been a great pleasure, we have to gather fresh linens. Off with you…” He releases the door, which closes with a heavy thump.

Before I even know what’s happening, Omen has my back against the wall, and he leans close, bending until our noses touch.

“That’s why you call mepet.” My hands come to rest on his slender waist. “For the record, I don’t hate it.”

He smirks against my lips. “I knew it was coming, so I figured it was better to make it our own. That way, they can’t weaponize it.”

“I get it. I also like when you’re being extra sweet and call medarling.”

Omen chuckles. “Noted, but don’t get too used to being pampered. I’m only on my best behavior to woo you, and I’m a very good actor.”

All of that might be true, at least when it comes to how he treats the rest of the world, but… “I’ll take my chances.”

His fingers dig into my lower back, and he lets out something akin to a scoff as he captures my mouth.

It’s a slow kiss with lots of tongue. Not frantic in the least as he holds me in place, devouring me so thoroughly my thighs clench.

Every ember of my being says that Omen needs someone to choose him. To treat him with respect and kindness and to show up for him the way he shows up for Valor. Put in a little work, and I think he’s one of the most loyal people you could ever meet… Or maybe I’ve got rose-colored glasses on because the man sure knows how to fuck me into a puddle of compliant omega.

* * *

Omen makes me guide the way back to our room. We’re both loaded down with blankets, sheets, and towels, but he stays close to my side during the entire trek.

We don’t talk much, and that’s okay. It makes my stomach somersault when our forearms brush as we weave through the corridors. I’m developing a hell of a crush on that Irishman.

Omen comes to a stop and nods to the plate above the door. “It’s 1230.”

My head flies up, taking in the information. “That would have been helpful when you were making me guess which room it is.”

He chuckles and rips open the door. “I’m a shitty teacher. Big surprise.”

Once we’re both inside the room, we get to work remaking the beds, and he stacks the towels in the dresser next to the bathroom door.

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