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CHAPTER 2 -- The Assignment

Back at the L.A. home base two days later:

Buffy and Willow walked briskly through the revolving doors of Wolfram and Hart. Entering the lobby, Buffy gave a knowing nod to the security guard stationed at the desk. She tossed her weapons bag over her shoulder and they made it through the metal detector without a problem. Buffy looked around at all the professional suits scattered around her. Little did they know how their employer really made his millions.

The façade Angel put on was a genius, albeit simplistic one: Mr. Smith comes to Wolfram and Hart looking for representation in his impending divorce. Mr. Smith’s wife has cheated on him. Feeding off the scorned party’s bitterness and anger, Angel suggests that not only will he represent Mr. Smith in court, he can take the cheating spouse out of the picture completely. He then sends out one of his contract killers, such as Buffy, to do his dirty work. Not only does Mr. Smith get all the marital assets and the satisfaction of knowing his ex-wife can’t put anymore dicks in her mouth while six feet under, he gets a grade A lawyer should he ever come under investigation for his ex’s mysterious death.

If you had an honest employer, an assassin could save up a impressive amount of cash in about a decade if he or she works steadily enough. But Angel was not an honest man. He kept his hired guns under strict contract for X amount of years, paying them in increments per job -- enough money to live off of and not much more. Then, when he no longer needed one of his employees he paid them out in a large lump sum. When Buffy would see any of her money was anyone’s guess. So Angel continued to live in his mansion and fuck any girl, and Buffy suspected any guy, he wanted while Buffy and Willow lived in a two room apartment on the shady side of the city.

Buffy had been a young runaway when she happened upon Angel and his business. But she had not come in looking for a job. On the contrary, she was Angel’s girlfriend -- one of his many. She spent two years living luxoriously, spending time sitting next to Angel during his many meetings with lawyers and assassins alike. When he decided he didn’t need her cunt anymore, she was sent back to the streets. With no where to go, no one to turn to, and no high school diploma, Buffy swallowed her pride, and asked Angel for a job. He was more than smugly happy to offer his former sex slave a place in his empire. He did not hesitate in handing her a semi-automatic and sending her out to make his millions. Angel jacked off every night to the idea that the girl he used to make do anything he wanted sexually, now had to do anything he wanted period.

Buffy and Willow breezed past the secretary, ignoring her cries of “Hey, I totally did not say you guys could go in there!” Flinging open the door the team stepped into Angel’s office, coming to a stop in front of his mahogany desk. Wesley, Angel’s yes-man, stood behind him awaiting orders.

“You got another job for us?” Buffy asked.

Angel opened his mouth to replay, but he was interrupted by his own intercom, “Boss, Buffy and Willow are here to see you.”

Angel sighed and answered, “I can see that, Harm.”

“Wow, she’s a keeper,” Buffy said sarcastically.

“What can I say, she’s a good fuck.” Buffy rolled her eyes at his reply.

Angel threw a file on the desk in front of them, Willow snatched it, shifting through its contents. “It’s Cordy, she thinks she can play with the big boys.”

Cordy was another one of Angel’s ex-girlfriends. He had sent her to the street as abruptly as he did Buffy. But Cordelia was smart and self-sufficient. She decided to beat Angel at his own game -- she began her own assassination business. L.A., according to Angel, was not big enough or filled with enough freaks willing to pay to get someone killed for the both of them. “She has a favorite shooter, goes by the name of Spike. What kind of stupid name is that? Are we playing cops and robbers or are we killing people for money?” He laughed at his joke and Wes followed suit.

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, “Are we done? Because if I don’t get something sharp in my hands right now . . .”

“I got something sharp for ya,” Angel lifted his hips pointedly off the leather chair, thrusting the dick Buffy used to know intimately at her.

Wielding a switchblade she snapped out of her boot, Buffy addressed Angel innocently, “Oh, I got something sharp, I just need something to use it on,” Buffy gazed at Angel’s suggested area.

Angel had the decency to look shocked before smirking down on her, “Feisty. I knew I kept you under contract for a reason.” At the mention of her binding, Buffy sobered. “Oh don’t worry, honey, maybe some day I’ll let you go.”

“What do you want me to do?” She ground out.

“Spike . . . I want you to kill him.”

“Hold on, since when do we carry out your personal vendettas?”

“Since when do you disobey orders?” He challenged. Sensing yet another verbal uprising out of her, he continued, “If you’d rather it be you that’s going to be chopped up into millions of unrecognizable pieces, by all means say the word.” Her own practiced restraint and Willow’s worried gaze were the only things that kept Buffy’s mouth shut. “That’s what I thought.”
____________________________________________________________

“Fucking bastard.” Buffy stormed down the corridor, leaving Willow running to keep up. “How did I let it get this far, Will?”

While Buffy was linked to Angel and his business through law and threat of imminent death, Willow could walk away anytime she wanted. The only thing that kept Willow tied to him was her intense friendship to Buffy. Willow was an independent contractor who was brought in for a few hits that involved a thorough knowledge of computers. The two women bonded instantly and Willow had been by her side ever since. On several occasions Buffy had all out insisted that Willow get out while she still could, but Willow had put on her resolve face and Buffy was forced to drop the issue.

Willow smiled sadly at her best friend‘s plight. She cheerily rubbed Buffy’s shoulders. “Don’t worry little killer, we’ll get you out of this somehow.”

Buffy didn’t respond.

“But, hey, nothing cheers up an professional assassinator’s soul like a good kill. You never know, maybe this one will give you a run for your money, literally speaking.”

“Yeah maybe. Let’s go track down this fuck.”

TBC





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