Page 83 of No Escape

I have no idea when my hands fell to his shoulders, but I appear to be holding on to him for dear life.

All of that does sound lovely, but I’m no longer a solo omega. I come with one very stubborn alpha and his slightly deranged but loveable beta, and I have no idea how Leo and Shaw are going to take that news when they find out I’m serious.

The promise I made to Omen sits heavy in my chest. I told him I wouldn’t abandon him and Valor, and I intend to keep my word.

“I guess we’ll see, huh?” I say, faking the same confidence I mustered that first day when Omen tried to tell me Valor wouldn’t give me the time of day. “I won’t be leaving the facility alone?—”

The door to the cell opens, and Leo saunters inside. He spots me on Shaw’s lap and grins. “You look better. I mean, you’re not crying anymore. How are you feeling? They’re serving dinner if you’re hungry.” He rolls his lips together and aims a thumb toward the door behind him.

I almost laugh.

I’ve never heard Leo ramble or look so unsure of himself.

My stomach isn’t interested in food in the least, but I haven’t eaten all day. I’d also like to find a way to sneakily ask some of the other omegas about how they came to be here.

I nod. “Yeah, let’s check out the cafeteria.”

ChapterTwenty-Five

Saylor

The cafeteria is filled with faces I haven’t seen before. There are a few I recognize, mostly Maggie and the small cluster of women that sit around her at the same table she was at on the first day.

The weight of everyone’s stares makes my heart beat funny while my palms sweat and my instincts scream to run. Not letting it get to me isn’t easy, but I roll my shoulders back and walk with purpose.

Having Leo and Shaw at my back gives me a sense of security. We head through the serving line, which I’ve never done before, and settle at a table near the hallway that leads to the women’s wing.

The guys dig in, not that I can blame them.

It smells delicious.

There’s some type of grilled chicken in a sweet sauce, white rice, and steamed vegetables. They even had pans of salmon and tofu. The inmates here might not be able to leave, but they’re served decent nutrition. Most of what I’ve eaten here has been better than the stuff served in the cafeteria at the private high school I attended.

Shaw watches the room, shoveling his food into his mouth like he hasn’t eaten in days.

Leo is slower, appraising me as he cuts up his chicken into little pieces. “Do you want me to grab you something else?”

My head shakes, and I check on the table of omegas once more. “No, I’m not really hungry. What I need to do is to speak to that woman.” I nod at Elsie…or Elyse. I’m still not sure what her name is, but that doesn’t matter. I have questions about how she came to be here. She pushes herself out of her chair and moves toward the food line. “I’ll be right back. Please don’t follow me. I think it’ll make the omegas nervous.”

Shaw curses, not bothering to be quiet about it, but neither of them follows me as I shove myself off the terrible round plastic stool and take off after the omega.

The food smells grow stronger as I approach the buffet line once more. I’ve never been a huge fan of fish or seafood, and the scent of the salmon overpowers the chicken, making my stomach roll.

I’m always more sensitive to smells and sounds the closer I get to starting a new pack of suppressants, but it’s even worse without those in the mix.

The whole buffet area has a big metal rolling gate that hovers over the top of it. It takes me several seconds to understand it can be lowered when the food service workers are cleaning up the hot bar or putting out fresh food. The last time I was here, I was too frazzled to pay much attention to anything, but Omen wasn’t joking when he said the staff only interacts with the prisoners when the shit hits the fan.

The woman who smells like peaches and some type of tart citrus fruit jolts as I slide up to her side.

“Sorry,” I say, offering what I hope comes off as a friendly smile. “I’m Saylor. I think we came in at the same time.”

“Elyse,” she says, grabbing a spoonful of the sauce from the chicken pan and pouring it over a small bowl of rice.

“I know this is going to be out of left field…” I keep my voice low. “Did you willingly agree to come in here?”

She slides her tray down the line. “I made the same deal the rest of you did. One hundred thousand euros for one year. If I leave, I owe every penny back. If I make it to the end of my contract without a bond, I can walk away and owe nothing or sign on for another year at the same rate.” Her voice is low and raspy with a lilt to certain words. I don’t think she’s from the US, and not just because of theeurosthing. She has an accent I can’t quite place, but it seems vaguely Scandinavian.

“So you made the choice to come into the facility,” I say, unsure if I’m relieved for her or angry for myself.

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