Author's Chapter Notes:
Here is the second chapter of this story. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Hope you all enjoy.

Warning in end notes...I didn't put it here because I didn't want to spoil the story.
When she finally came back to awareness, the first thing that shattered Buffy’s blissful unconsciousness was the pain splitting her skull in two.

Looking around, wincing as the pain worsened at the movement, she noticed she was in a small, bare room. It actually looked kind of like one of those old medieval dungeons that movie villains used.

The air was damp and stale, almost putrid, and the lack of windows alerted her to the fact that she was probably in some kind of basement.

One of her wrists was manacled to a shackle on the wall, and after giving it a few solid tugs, Buffy was fairly sure it wasn’t going to budge. With a sigh she gave up trying and leaned back against the damp stone wall with an anguished sigh escaping from between her lips.

What the hell was this place?

She vaguely remembered bidding goodbye to her two best friends, as they dropped her off at the small apartment she shared with her father, before walking into a scene that had shaken her to the very core of her being.

It was as she was turning the key in the lock that she had heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot, and with a pounding heart had bounded into her living room only to be confronted with the sight of her dad bleeding to death on their hardwood floor.

Her entire being had come to a shrieking standstill and hysteria had taken over any kind of rational thought that she had.

However lacking as a father figure he had been, Hank was all she had left.

And in that moment she knew she was about to lose him.

Of course, the situation wasn’t exactly helped by Psycho Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee tackling her and bundling her into the back of a van.

God, what did they want with her anyway?

Naturally, to know what they wanted, she would have to try and figure out who they were first, and at that point she was pretty much all with the clueless.

Yeah, this didn’t look good.

And she really needed something for that headache.

The scrape and creak of the oak door brought her attention soaring back to the present, and her head turned towards the shadowy doorway. With immense trepidation she observed the men who passed through it, as they observed her equally carefully.

She recognized one of the men from earlier, even though she had only gotten a brief glimpse of him in all the commotion. His tattoo covered arms, jet black hair and hugely imposing presence were something that Buffy would take a long time to forget.

Accompanying him, was another man, with coffee colored skin, an average build, and a sneer etched on his face. Buffy immediately bristled at the way he studied her.

“So this is the new girl?” the latter asked.

“Yeah, gonna take her up to Ethan now. Let him give her a once over and then, maybe a bit of how’s your bloody father and then ship her off to one of the outposts.” Buffy cringed under the vile stare that she gave her. She felt like a bug under a microscope, ready to be studied and poked and prodded. Unfortunately she suspected that poking and prodding were the least of what this ‘Ethan’ the British guy spoke of was planning to do.

With two long strides, he made his way over to her and unclasped the manacles from the wall shackle as he hefted her to her feet, grasping both her wrists firmly together behind her back before snapping a pair of cuffs onto them. Carelessly, he shunted the young girl forward, and she almost tripped over her feet. She wanted to scream, shout, reprimand him, as she usually would when someone pissed her the hell off.

But her survival instincts were telling her right now that was a bad idea if she wanted to still draw breath tomorrow.

And she did want to live. So badly.

But she wasn’t sure whether or not she could live like this, a prisoner, without hint of escape or release.

As she was pushed up a thin spiral flight of concrete stairs and up into a corridor, she was struck by the finery of the place.

In all honesty, it wasn’t what she had expected considering her accommodations so far. The hallways were a sprawling mass of riches, with gold framed paintings lining the walls, bejeweled ornaments standing in cases between ornately embellished pillars.

Whoever this guy was, he was rich. And despite her limited experience in this area, beyond the Godfather marathon she had watched with some of her best friends back in 8th grade, this whole set up stank of mobsters.

No, this didn’t bode well at all.

It seemed that they traversed a hundred hallways, to the point of dizziness, before they came to a standstill in front of a mahogany door.

She was aware of one of the men knocking before hearing a cold cut British accent bidding them entrance, and being shoved through the door alone.

When it slammed behind her, she whipped her head round to try and negotiate some kind of escape plan, but a quiet throat clearing forced her to slowly turn her head to face the lone figure left in the room besides her.

The smell of old tobacco and whiskey was assaulting her senses in the small office, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust, both at the smell and at the man.

“So, you are Buffy Summers, I take it.” The man clearly wasn’t expecting an answer. He stood up from behind his desk and made his way over to her, rather lithely for his build and age.

He was a modestly built man, with dark hair, and tan skin that was just starting to be tinged with the haggardness of age. It was the look in his eyes that really cut Buffy down to the bone, however.

They seemed so…empty.

So evil

“Who are you?” She asked, finally finding her voice.

“That’s a good question. I look in the mirror every day and ask myself that. But we can’t ever really know ourselves, can we?”

With false bravado, she straightened up, and looked him dead in the eye.

“Actually I was just asking for a name, but I’m guessing you love to hear the sound of your own voice. You must be Ethan then.”

Ethan let out a rich chuckle, as he took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Another strong laugh followed when Buffy choked on the cloud of smoke that filled her lungs from his exhale, and leaned on the corner of the desk, studying Buffy where she stood not 2 feet from the door.

“You’re a feisty one, Miss Summers. Don’t meet many like you these days. I like that, it shakes things up a bit. Don’t like to get too accustomed to routine here, you understand, I’m sure. After all, there’s nothing quite so delicious as a little chaos. And yes, you are quite correct, I am Ethan. But feel free to call me Mr. Rayne.”

Ethan stubbed out the cigarette, took a huge gulp of some kind of alcohol from a crystal glass on his desk and approached her, like a predator stalking its prey. She shuffled back a little but that only provoked a smirk from the man.

“Now, Miss Summers, you should be pleased to be permitted to stay in these walls. Once you have been…used up, I can guarantee that your accommodations will not be quite so comfortable.”

In one swift movement, he pinned her body with his hands on either side of her head against the wall, evoking a pained gasp from her, and what sounded like a moan from Ethan as he ground his lower half against hers. She gagged as his smoky breath invaded her nostrils, and turned her face away from his. He was determined that she wouldn’t hide from him, or from what he was about to do, and grabbed her chin between oily fingers, forcing her gaze towards his own.

“Now, now, Miss Summers. You didn’t think I brought you here for tea, crumpets and light entertainment, did you? Oh, you did? What a precious little diamond you are!”

“Don’t touch me, you fucking bastard!” She hissed, wishing he didn’t have her pinned so tightly, so she could have crowned his jewels with her knee.

Cocking his head to one side, Ethan curled his lip up into a nasty smirk.

“But I own you now, dear Buffy.” She felt his hand settle on her breast, squeezing her delicate flesh hard enough to bruise. “And as I own you, I can touch you whenever, and wherever I please.”

With one savage motion Ethan tore open the flimsy fabric of her blouse, sending buttons flying to the floor. She whimpered pathetically and struggled in his grasp, but his hold was steadfast.

“No!” Her scream did little but make him wince, and he rubbed his lower regions against her even more vigorously.

Screwing her eyes tightly shut, she endeavored to muster the strength to push him away, but it seemed hopeless.

“You do know that your daddy dearest was the one who gave you to me, don’t you?” His malevolent laugh chilled her, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of the reaction that he so craved. “Your father didn’t value you as much as he valued his own life. That makes you my property…chattel, you might say.”

He was worming a hand into her pants, touching the most intimate regions of her body, and she was powerless to stop him.

“Mmm, I love it when they struggle.”

Never before had things seemed so bleak.

The slamming of the heavy door made her heart leap with fear, and both she and Ethan spun round to see who had entered.

Standing before them was a leather clad blond man carrying a hip flask, and swaying on his feet.

“So, this a private bloody party, or can anybody join in?” His drawl was a deeper rougher version of Ethan’s, Buffy noted, as her captor loosened his hold on her.

“Bloody hell!” The dark haired man swore.

“What? Not pleased to see me…Dad?”

Buffy’s jaw dropped open as his swayed listlessly one last time and fell to the floor with a quiet crash and she sighed in relief as the iron hold was fully relinquished and Ethan fell to his knees to tend to this man who was apparently his son.

She would cry the tears for what had almost happened when she was alone though.

Ethan Rayne would never get the satisfaction of seeing them.

Chapter End Notes:
Warning: Attempted Rape.

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