It had the added bonus of meaning I didn’t have to stand there and watch Sin’sshow.
“Justin tonight, right?” I asked, side-eyeing the cocky prick.
He nodded.
Justin was the Emerald pack’s slender, sandy-haired omega.
The Emerald pack were one of our allies, though it was mainly because they enjoyed shutting Sin and their omega in a cage for a show—one that Justin enjoyed just as much as his pack did.
My eyes flicked to Sin, who was peeling the rest of the wrapper off his protein bar in his fabric-wrapped fists. We’d just gotten back from the gym.
Sin was a specimen, with deathly pale skin, blood-red eyes, and lean muscles like a carved god. He might not want to be touched, but he liked an audience, and he could perform.
“How manyfavoursdo they owe us now?” I asked, clearing my throat and scowling at the smirk on his face.
“Half a dozen…? Give or take.” He shrugged.
“They should probably catch up on their side of the bargain before you take their omega into the cage again, then,” I muttered under my breath.
He snorted, but his response was cut off by the low buzz echoing across the cafeteria.
I paused, eyebrows shooting up as I glanced over at the countdown clock on the wall beside the door.
“Well. Shit.”
All of the main exits in Anarchy looked the same: two metal doors behind which was an elevator shaft. The guards never had to face us directly, and they very rarely did. I'd never seen one in my time here.
They might all look the same, but whoever ran the Vaults had an unspoken rule about which doors were used for what, and the set that was opening now, opened rarely.
Oh god.
It meant we were being sent an omega.
The peace of the dining room was about to devolve into chaos.
Of course, omegas weren’t supposed to be here, but that didn’t stop them from tossing us a bone every once in a while. They gave us omegas they never wanted to hear from again; omegas they wanted gone without a trace. More than anything, though—omegas they wanted to punish.
Funny, though, how one seemed to appear every time a pack graduated to permanence—dweller status. As if they were encouraging it.
We didn’t know for certain how they knew when packs became permanent dwellers. I’d never seen a camera, and pack allegiances were constantly shifting down here.
But without fail, every new dweller pack got a gift…
Sure enough, the Ronan pack had missed their last member’s appeal call just days ago.
We’d all sat tensely as the three calls over the intercom had named their last pack member who had an appeal.
There was never a call that wasn’t tense. We’d not risked dying over mine, but we’d seen packs panic and split up—slaughtered by enemies or allies seeking their only chance of revenge as they tried to get out. It was a moment that every alpha with dreams of the outside, dreaded.
Had nightmares about.
But the Ronan pack had ignored it—their last chance to leave this place.
They’d chosen to become dwellers—to spend a lifetime here.
This omegawas their reward.
Some poor fucker on the other side of those doors, who had no idea what was coming.