Through Hell [AOB/LGBT+/mpreg]

19

The humiliation of being collared does not compare to the humiliation of having to sit at Oro's feet like a dog.

They're led to what can pass as a meeting room or a dining room if it were a proper home.  Oro takes a seat at one end of the table, Colt on his right-hand side.  The alpha tugs at his collar and Oliver sits at his feet on the dusty and grimy floor.  He tries to catch the alpha's eyes, but one look from the beta and he lowers his gaze.  That would be a sign of disrespect.  He thought they were done with this way of thinking.

A heavy hand lands on his head and he peers up at the alpha as he soothingly rubs through his unruly hair and massages his scalp.  He closes his eyes and leans against the man's thigh.

Not a moment later an older man arrives, striding in all pompous with two omegas at his side.  Oliver watches him take a seat at the head of the table on the opposite side.

He's older, with fine lines and crow feet.  His hands are decorated with thick and heavy rings trying to distract from the blatant liver spots scattered about like dark craters.  Oliver cringes when the man smiles and a golden tooth shines through.  He turns his head and pretends he's anywhere else but in this humiliating situation.

"I must say, after all these years you've finally found yourself a bitch."

Oro smiles pleasantly at the man, "We're not here to discuss that right now.  I'd like to know where we stand."

"Right," the man drawls, "business first, as always."

"When am I getting my shipment, old man?"

"Oh come on, Oro, don't be like that."

"Now old man, don't try my patience."

"You'll get it on the fourteenth, at the port, happy?  Now, please introduce me to the beauty mouthing at your cock."

The sound of a chair scraping back and footsteps approaching make Oliver's heart rate pick up.

Oro's hand is replaced by a stranger's.  His head is yanked back and he's forced to look at the old fart.  There's a thick jagged scar on the left side of his jaw and Oliver can't help but stare.  That seems to be a wrong move as the man growls.  A pocket knife is within his grasp and Oliver flinches when it comes slashing toward him.

The only thing it does, however, rips across his hoodie, revealing his slightly swollen chest and pudgy belly.

A loud whistle of appreciation rings through, "you sure know how to pick 'em."

Oro hasn't moved, but despite the heavy scent blockers, Oliver can just make out the scent of burning ozone.  The scent of lightning, of anger.

"Don't."

"Don't?  It's just a bitch.  Hey, tell me, how is he?  Is he nice and wet for you?  A nice easy fuck?"

"He's mine," Oro snarls.

The man laughs, "If he's yours, then why haven't you claimed him?"

Then he turns to Oliver, properly addressing him for the first time, "how about it, little omega?  Why don't you come here and I'll show you how a true alpha fucks their omega.  I'll make sure to keep you stuffed, full to the brim."

And he makes to touch Oliver again.  Oliver reacts on instinct.  This man is a threat.  With a snap of his jaw, he clamps around the man's hand, teeth sinking in as a low threatening growl spills forth like the blood coating his tongue.

The man shouts in anger and guns are quickly pointed their way,

"Stand down," Oro orders.

That order is not for Oliver, he knows.  Tension grows thick and Oliver sinks his teeth further, ready to bite off the piece of flesh completely.

"I call the shots here," his alpha states calmly.

And soon enough other men who were originally not present before, appear.  Oliver recognizes some from the house, realizing that they're on their side.  Each has a gun trained on the ones currently threatening to kill Oliver and Oro.

"Stand. Down. Doyle."

Doyle, the disgusting excuse of a man, nods quickly and his men lower their weapons.  Oro's pack, however, does not.

"Omega," Oro calls.

Oliver opens his mouth, just enough for the man to slip his oozing hand free.

Oliver spits out the blood, trying hard not to throw up.

Oro looks at him proudly, though, and he knows it was worth it.

The alpha's lips meet his and he melts.

The collar is removed easily right after.

"I got what I wanted," Oro tells Doyle, "it was a pleasure doing business with you."

Doyle grasps onto Oliver's bicep, trying to pull him away from Oro.

"It's not over."

Oro's smug face forms into one of wrath.

"This bitch needs to be put down, that will be my pleasure."

The knife is dangerously close and Oliver's scream isn't loud enough.

The sound of a gun going off and the clattering of metal rings through the omega's ears.

He collapses onto the floor on his ass, scooting away and staring wide-eyed at the man's wrist shattered, obliterated, by a bullet.

"You were warned once.  Do not make me repeat myself."

In Oro's hand is a golden gun, trigger pulled back and slowly springing forward.

He approaches Oliver, kneels before him, and coos at him.

Oliver sinks into his waiting arms and breathes him in, desperately wishing they weren't wearing blockers.

"I've got you," the alpha whispers against his ear, "you're safe."