[Reviews - 60]
-
Table of Contents [Report This]
Microsoft Word Chapter or Story | ePub eBook Chapter or Story | Printer Chapter or Story

Has been viewed 1769 times

- Text Size +




When Buffy Summers was a little girl she always wanted to be able to fly. Every summer she would sit for hours in the park with her mother watching the birds go by in the sky. She always envied their delicious sense of liberty. They could go wherever they wanted, whenever they wanted, never being tied down.

Right now, Buffy was flying just like those birds. She was soaring high over the city, studying the little people underneath her. They looked like ants. Tiny little ants going about their pointless lives on a road that led to nothing but darkness and despair.

But that sort of life wasn’t for Buffy, because she had the freedom to fly and it was the most wonderful sensation. The sun warmed her tanned face and the wind tickled her hair and licked at her neck.

Licked at her neck? Wait…what?

Her eyes shot open and she squealed as she was yanked out of her blissful dream and back into a reality where a very unblissful blond was trailing his tongue over her neck.

He raised his head and smirked at her. “So Sleeping Beauty finally awakes,” he drawled.

“Get off me,” she choked out, and to her surprise Spike obliged, clasping his head when he moved.

“Bloody hell!” he sighed, grimacing as he rolled his neck. “These hangovers are always a bitch.”

Buffy didn’t respond, self-consciously pulling her ruined shirt closed over her chest. She felt grubby and sticky and all she really wanted to do was wake up from this horrible nightmare and awake back into a world where things made sense again.

Right now she felt more like she was living in a Shakespearean tragedy than in a normal life.

As she readjusted to being in hell she realized she must have fallen asleep the previous evening. The teenager had been so exhausted after everything that had happened that sleep had eventually overcome her, no matter how hard she’d tried to stay awake.

Now morning was here again.

A new day was dawning on her newly hellish existence.

Sunlight was trickling through the dirty window like golden treacle, dancing languorously over Buffy’s dirty hair, face and clothes. She looked like a wild child, sitting there all mussed and feral.

Her posture contradicted her appearance. It was overwrought, as if she was poised for fight or flight, and something about that didn’t sit well with Spike.

Usually he reveled in other people’s fear, but having this girl be scared of him didn’t actually make him feel good at all.

Instead, it made him feel like a true Rayne.

He raked his eyes over the tense girl and frowned. “You don’t have to cover up your goodies, Princess. I won’t touch them now.”

“Right,” she said skeptically. “You proved that with all the attempted raping last night.” Her voice was ripe with hateful accusation.

Spike winced at her blunt words but he didn’t negate them.

Through his alcohol dulled memory he could vaguely remember trying to force the girl. He wasn’t truly sure that he could have gone through with it though.

Rape was in his father’s bag of tricks, but Spike had never really enjoyed it. The only times he ever forced a girl had been to appease his father.

Ethan expected his son to be like him and when he was younger Spike had longed to make his father proud of him. So he’d done things he wasn’t proud of.

Things that he’d change if he had the power to alter history.

However, booze brought out the darker side of Spike. After all, he was still a Rayne and so the badness was pretty much baked right into his genetic code.

So yes, he’d tried to…force…her.

But what was one more thing added to the list that he’d change if he could?

A sudden pain in his crotch brought him crashing out of his thoughts and the memory of Buffy’s knee connecting with his sensitive cock came rushing back.

“Oi!” he said to the blonde girl on the bed. “Did you knee me in my bloody dick last night?”

Buffy’s eyes shot up to meet Spike’s. He actually looked just as lousy as she felt, which improved her mood a little bit. His hair was a mass of untamed blonde curls and his eyes were swollen and ringed with red.

She could see where she’d scratched and bitten at him during their tussle the previous night and felt a pang of satisfaction in her gut that she’d at least managed to damage him a little bit.

“Aw, did I hurt you?” she asked with mock sincerity, the beginnings of a smirk forming on her cherry lips.

He tilted his head to the side, daggers flashing from his eyes. “Yeah, you bloody well did! Could do a bloke some permanent damage putting it to him down there.”

“Not sure how that would be a bad thing with you,” she muttered, dropping her eyes to the mattress.

And then he was right there again, inches from her face. She wasn’t sure how he moved so quickly but she mentally admonished herself for purposely provoking him.

“Trust me, love.” He fisted her long hair in his hands and tilted her head back so she was forced to meet his gaze. She gritted her teeth and met his stare with equal venom. “I’m an understanding bloke a lot of the time….okay some of the time. But you ever try damaging my bits again and you won’t live to regret it.”

For a second Buffy just glared at him.

She hated this man. She despised him with every single fiber of her being. But even more so she loathed the fact that he had complete and total control over her. His threats weren’t empty threats, she was sure. But she still wasn’t going down without a fight.

Plucking up her courage she spit a globule of saliva in his eye.

He stared at her with a mixture of disgust and disbelief for a moment as the wet glob trickled down his cheek, before drawing back his hand and backhanding her across the face.

He caught her right on the cheekbone and a sharp crack echoed in the room as her head snapped to the side. Her body bounced against the soft mattress and it took her several seconds before she could get her breath back.

“You need to start learning some respect, little girl,” he warned her, suddenly seemed larger and more menacing as he loomed over her.

Buffy gritted her teeth even more tightly and turned her face back to him.

“Don’t you get it, Spike?” she asked with rancor as he wiped away her spit. “There’s nothing you can do to me that’s worse than this hell I’m already trapped in. It’s like being tortured with no way out. So do your worst, because I’m not afraid of you.”

“You haven’t seen my worst.”

He was on his feet again, bouncing on the balls of his toes as if he was spoiling for a knock down. His bare chest was glistening with a thin sheen of perspiration thanks to the combination of his annoyance and the physical effects of his hangover.

“Then show it to me. C’mon Spike, let’s see just what kind of man you really are.”

By God did he want to show her! It would be so easy to give in to his base desires and use her fragile body as a punching bag. She would be an easy outlet for his anger. The adolescent wasn’t as strong as him, in spite of her inner fire, and she would crumble like rotten plaster under his punches.

But then he really would be just like his father. How many beatings had he seen Ethan dole out to his mother before she died? He couldn’t even count the number of times she’d been nursing some injury thanks to his father.

No, he wouldn’t turn into Ethan.

Not today.

The peroxide blond clenched his jaw for a moment trying to steady his temper before exhaling all the pent up air inside of his lungs. It really would do no good to beat the girl to a bloody pulp right now. He just had to keep repeating that mantra to himself until he truly believed it.

With a huff he sank down onto the bed and rolled his neck on his shoulders.

“I’m not going to do my worst, love. I’m not going to hurt you.” He tried to convey his sincerity through his eyes but she didn’t seem convinced. “Listen, I have a bit of a temper, alright? When you provoke me I lash out.”

“I didn’t provoke you to try to rape me,” Buffy sneered and Spike sighed again.

And there was that word again. ‘Rape.’ It was one of those words that were bound to make people wince and shy away. Yet this brave teenager seemed to have no problem in hoisting him up on her sword to pay penance for his almost-crime. But he still wasn’t convinced of his own culpability.

“Bloody hell! Would you stop using that soddin’ word! It was the alcohol that made me…hurt you.” He ran a hand through his mussed blond curls, wanting to explain how he felt but not knowing how to. “Put together a few bottles of whiskey, a week without sleep and years of conditioning from dear Da and that’s what you end up getting. I wanted you, one way or another. And I was too drunk and thickheaded to hear you say no last night. But I’m no rapist, pet. Not really”

“All those excuses don’t make it okay.”

“Do you think I don’t bloody well know that?”

“Actually, yeah. That’s exactly what I think. God, look at you, Spike. You’re not even sorry! You tried to rape me! How many times do I have to say that before you get it through your dumb brain?”

Pushing down anger at her jibe, Spike nodded slowly. “I know that. I’m not going to give you an apology ‘cause we both know it’d be bloody worthless. But I shouldn’t have done that. I just wanted you.”

“Like father, like son, I guess,” she scoffed.

“I’m nothing like my father,” he denied, anger seeping through the edges of his voice.

The fact that she was voicing the same thoughts that haunted him didn’t help to abate the waves of inner loathing and fury washing through his polluted veins.

He would always be polluted with Rayne blood and there was no way to change that.

Buffy shivered and began to pick at her damaged fingernails. “You’re not so different.”

“I bloody well am!” He glared fiercely at the teen. Throughout his life he’d always been terrified of turning into his father, so when their similarities were pointed out, especially by a precocious teenager, it made his blood boil. “And you seem to be forgetting just who you’re talking to, Goldilocks.”

“Right. I guess so. I’m talking to the boy that’ll never be quite good enough to please Daddy, right? Isn’t that what you want, Spike? To prove your worth! That’s what every lost little kid wants.”

She knew that her insightful taunt had struck an over sensitized nerve when his body flinched and shuddered at her comment. However, he missed the look of sadness on her face as she delivered the remark.

Buffy had never managed to quite live up to her father’s own standards. He’d wanted her to have a better life than he could give her. He wanted her to have a future. And in the end he sold her into slavery.

Irony’s a bitch huh?

Unaware of Buffy’s own inner turmoil, Spike’s nostrils flared wildly and he gripped her around her throat. “I’m better than my father!”

“And you’re totally proving it,” she choked, pushing the words out of her constricted throat. “You’ll never be better than him because you want to be him.”

“I don’t!” he yelled.

And it was true, he didn’t. So why couldn’t he stop acting like his father?

So many of his actions mirrored those of Ethan but it was like it was innate to his nature. His hand fell away from Buffy’s neck and he shoved her back to the bed, standing and turning from her.

He opened his mouth to try and negate her accusation. “My father gets off on the pain he puts people through. The more you cry the more he enjoys it. Bloke would put the Marquis de Sade to bloody shame.”

“And you’re so different?” The derision in Buffy’s voice was still there but there was an added layer of genuine curiosity to her question too.

“Yeah, pet. I’m different from him. The difference is that he causes the pain ‘cause he loves it and me…well pain just seems to follow me around wherever I go.”

He looked pitiful, standing in the room, smelling like a whiskey distillery. Buffy actually felt a pang of empathy hit her.

He really was pathetic.

She waited for him to continue with his ‘explanation’, but he was prevented from elaborating when a sharp knock on the door sent two pairs of eyes whipping toward it.

Spike slowly rose to his feet and ambled over to open it. One of Ethan’s men stood on the other side, a smirk decorating the large man’s otherwise expressionless visage. Buffy remembered dubbing the man ‘Bulky’ when she’d first arrived in Ethan’s less than hospitable custody.

“Mr. Rayne wants to see you,” he informed Spike, pointedly ignoring Buffy.

“Does he?” asked Spike mockingly. “Maybe I don’t feel like coming down yet.” He glanced over his shoulder at where Buffy was sitting on the bed. “Maybe I’m having too much fun.”

Bulky didn’t look particularly amused or interested in Spike’s antics. “Mr. Rayne wants to see you now,” he repeated monotonously to the peroxide blonde.

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes. He clearly wasn’t intimidated by the gorilla in front of him but, with the hangover from hell haunting him in all its viciousness and a moody teen reprimanding him for his drunken actions, he figured it was just easier to give in right now.

“We’ll be down in a minute,” he told Bulky, who nodded and headed off down the hallway.

“So we’re going to have tea and cakes with your Daddy?” asked Buffy sarcastically after Spike shut the door.

“Shouldn’t think tea and cakes are top priority for him,” Spike replied, stretching like a cat.

The toned, tight muscles in his chest and abdomen rippled as he stretched, making Buffy suddenly very aware of his semi-nudity. He might be an asshole and a psycho but as a hormonal young girl she couldn’t help her body’s involuntary response to his statuesque build. Feeling her face flush a deep shade of red, she quickly looked away.

“Don’t you ever wear a shirt?” she asked Spike sharply.

He smirked. “What, you don’t enjoy ogling my naked little bod?”

He trailed one hand down his chest and tummy, stopping just above the waistline of his pants. Her eyes followed the path, bulging out of her skull as she noticed the obvious protrusion pushing against his zipper.

“Eww,” she sneered. “As if I wanna look at look you. Clothed or naked.”

He flashed her a look that told her he clearly didn’t believe her, but made his way over to the closet, rummaging in there for a minute before whooping a cry of victory as he pulled out a black T-shirt.

“This used to be my bedroom when I lived here,” he told her, pulling the shirt over his head. He sighed nostalgically. “Had some good times here. Once, me and Dru…”

“So!” Buffy exclaimed, cutting his words dead. She didn’t think her senses could deal with another ‘Dru’ story. “I guess we should head down to your dad. We don’t want to keep him waiting, right?”

Buffy couldn’t say she was excited to see Ethan again. Actually the exact opposite was true, she was dreading it. However, she knew as well as Spike did that when Ethan Rayne said ‘jump’, you said ‘how high?’

She was already starting to get accustomed to that fact.

They headed down to Ethan’s office reluctantly and saw Bulky waiting outside the door, guarding it as effectively as Cerberus guarded the entrance to Hades.

He opened the door to the office and ushered them in, watching them carefully as they slipped into the seats on one side of the old desk.

As they sat, their eyes met for a second and both saw the fear in the other’s gaze. Spike knew why Buffy was so afraid but she couldn’t figure out why Spike would be scared. Surely a big badass like him wasn’t afraid of his daddy?

She quickly looked away from him and they both sat in silence, lost in their own stormy thoughts.

The only noise was the sound of Spike drumming his fingers on his thighs.

After what seemed like eons, finally the door opened and Ethan sauntered in, seemingly totally carefree. He moved around the desk and slipped into his chair. Curious brown eyes studied the two blonds in front of him while he poured himself a large whiskey.

“Did you two have…fun last night?” Ethan asked, a leer firmly in place on his smug face.

Buffy opened her mouth to retort but Spike managed to speak first.

“I had a bloody great time,” he lied earning himself a stunned look from Buffy. Before she could disagree with his ‘confession’, he hurried on with his story. “Real little goer this one. Got her all broken in for you. Well, she was already broken in if you know what I mean. A lot bloody looser than I expected though which was…disappointing.”

He let an evil smirk bleed onto his lips, cringing internally at the act. He wasn’t sure why he was spewing these lies, but assured himself it was for selfish reasons.

If Ethan thought that Spike had let an opportunity to bed this girl slip through his fingers, then he couldn’t even imagine how disgusted his father would be with him. Ethan saw women as nothing more than property so he would be absolutely appalled that his son had let her get the best of him.

To him it would be like a cow attacking its master…and winning!

And okay, maybe it was also because he was aware of his father’s kinky desires and didn’t want Buffy tainted by them. Everything in his life was tainted in some way from his vantage point and, as little as he cared for the girl, it would be nice to think that there could be some remnant of innocence left someplace.

He didn’t know Buffy or her sexual history but there was something about her that screamed inexperience. Spike wasn’t sure he was ready to sell what was left of his soul and willingly allow Ethan to steal that innocence away.

Ethan looked mildly disappointed at his son’s revelation that Buffy was already well practiced in the art of sex.

He’d been looking forward to having some fun with the girl, but apparently she was more experienced than she seemed. While an experienced little bitch could provide hours of fun for Ethan, he loved to ruin a young girl himself.

What else should he have expected anyway with the girl having a father like Hank Summers? No doubt her dad had pimped her out in the past to cover his debts.

Ethan’s cock grew harder in his pants at that thought.

Well, it didn’t really matter whether he could use Buffy or not right now anyway. Not with the fast brunette he had waiting for him upstairs in his bed.

Oh, if only Spike knew about that, he’d be spitting nails right now! However, his son was too gullible to ever guess who Ethan had spread out like a smorgasbord and awaiting him in his bed.

Concealing his smug smirk at the thought, Ethan lit a cigar and puffed away at it before turning back to the pair of blonds.

“Well, I suppose I’ll try her out in the future,” he told Spike, waving his hand in Buffy’s direction. “Maybe we can get Dr. Jinx to tighten her up a little before then. A couple of snip-snips and she’ll be all but a virgin again.”

Buffy winced at the image and drew her arms even more tightly around her chest. Spike noticed the self-protective gesture and felt a small spasm of sympathy for the girl whose life had been turned upside down in a matter of days.

However, at least now she wouldn’t have to be subjected to his father’s whims, as the older Rayne appeared to have already lost interest in her, and for that the peroxide blond breathed a sigh of relief.

He’d bought Buffy more time. He frowned internally at the thought, wondering once again why he even cared.

“In the mean time,” continued Ethan, “I’ll send her over to Gwen. If you’re right about her being such a little goer, she’ll make an excellent addition to my girls. Now, this couldn’t have worked out better could it?”

Spike bit down on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood as his father’s words sank into his brain. The pain was a welcome feeling though. He’d thought that his cleverly plan would keep Buffy at the mansion for a while and maybe even give him a chance to actually get her to let him into her pants willingly. If nothing else, it would have been a welcome distraction from mourning his breakup with Drusilla.

And now, with his big mouth, he’d managed to talk Ethan into prematurely sending Buffy over to Gwendolyn Post and her hellish whorehouse.

Why did his plans always turn to shit?

“Actually I thought I’d keep her around for a bit,” Spike hedged, hoping his father would fall for the act. Maybe he could still salvage something. “Nice bit of pussy on tap won’t do me any harm will it?”

Ethan frowned and stubbed out the cigar. “I don’t think so, Son,” he replied. “Pretty girl like this adds to the coffers and you know me, I always put my business interests first.” He made his way over to Buffy and coursed a hand down her face, chuckling when she flinched away. “She goes to Gwen. Today.”

“Who’s Gwen?” Buffy asked quietly, unsure whether or not she really wanted an answer to that question.

Ethan cackled malevolently. “Gwendolyn is my right-hand woman, Miss Summers. She’s the one who’ll train you to take your rightful place in the world. On your knees.”

“What?” Buffy gasped and screwed her eyes shut to stop the now familiar tears prickling behind her eyelids.

She glanced at Spike but he pointedly refused to meet her eyes and kept his own gaze trained on his father. There was something hard in his stare that Buffy couldn’t identify, but she assumed he really wasn’t interested in her fate.

Why would he be?

“Your place is to service men. It’s what you were born to do, my dear. Don’t worry, in time you’ll probably even like it. All whores do.” He cocked his head to one side and winked. “And it won’t be long before I come along to test your newfound skills, so you won’t get much of a chance to miss me.”

“I won’t go!” she insisted but Ethan just laughed even harder this time.

“Of course you’ll go, my dear. You don’t have a choice. Does cattle have a choice when it’s sent to the slaughterhouse?”

“I’m not cattle!” she screeched, surging to her feet and lashing out at Ethan.

Her ragged nails raked a long scratch down his cheek and she tried to rain as many kicks and punches as she could on the Brit. Her hands and legs flailed and the petite teenager managed to strike a few good blows to his softer areas before his arms finally came around his stomach, pinning her arms.

Even restrained, she still spit curses at him, but he threw her away from him, chuckling when he head connected with the wall. She blinked dazedly as she tried to pick herself up off of the ground.

“You will not do that again, Miss Summers,” he warned her. “You are a very stupid child and I’m just glad to say that you’ll no doubt learn some respect from Gwendolyn. Now, no more outbursts.”

Buffy glared back defiantly, seething at the older man. However, she knew that he was right.

What could she do?

She wasn’t strong enough to fight him off and even if she somehow managed to fight him successfully the next time, she still couldn’t take Spike out too, and then defend herself against Ethan’s supersized bodyguards.

Maybe she could bide her time. It occurred to her that wherever he was sending her might be less secure, but if it belonged to Ethan she doubted that it would be.

In other words, she was screwed.

Her eyes caught Spike’s gaze once again but he was keeping his face carefully blank. Nothing bled through his expression. There was no hint of sorrow or joy or anything right now.

He didn’t want his face to betray the slight pangs of concern that he felt for her. Not that he was even really able to admit that to himself. But her hatred toward him was more emotion than anyone else had given him for a good long while and he’d quickly come to cherish that contempt.

Because contempt wasn’t as bad as indifference, and that’s what everyone else in his life seemed to feel toward him.

Ethan hollered for his two minions, who came barging into the room as soon as they heard him call. He gave them instructions to take Buffy to the brothel and scribbled a quick note to Gwen.

The woman was pliable and he was sure she would easily accommodate Buffy. In fact, he was convinced that it wouldn’t take long before the older Englishwoman was enjoying Buffy’s charms herself.

Perhaps old Gwen would train Buffy to be the kind of whore that she had been before she graduated to being a prim and proper madam.

He was actually very excited about getting her trained up. Once she was ready he could sample the delights for himself. His cock hardened further at the thought of the teen being painted and trussed, eager and ready to service him on her knees.

He could hardly wait but sometimes anticipation was even better than the actual act itself.

While Ethan was lost in his depraved thoughts, the two men, who reminded Buffy of gorillas, grasped her arms before she was able to stop them.

“No!” she shrieked, twisting in the arms of the two men that held her. “Let me go!”

“Stop the fidgeting, darlin’,” one of them warned her. “You don’t want to get us all excited here do you?”

She glared at him and tried to wriggle free again, yelling curses at the both of them.

Of course they didn’t loosen their hold on her. She had no choice but to go.

It was her destiny now.

She was dragged through hallways and out into the open air, still kicking and screaming as loudly as she could. If the mansion hadn’t been so secluded, the cops would have been called ten times over by now.

As Spike stared through the dusty window of Ethan’s office at the truck parked outside, he watched her getting forcefully ushered into it. The girl still hadn’t given up her struggle but she was clearly on the wrong end of a losing battle. He felt a pang of regret in his gut at the sight.

A pang that refused to be quashed.

He tried to swallow over the lump in his throat but some unidentifiable emotion was clogging him.

That spunky little blonde would no doubt lose her spark pretty fast in that place. He knew that she would become just another one of those dead-eyed hookers. The Rayne girls were compliant and talented with their bodies, but they were soulless.

To imagine Buffy that way generated a strange emotion inside of him.

He really didn’t like strange, new emotions. They were so…pesky. Blissful numbness was way easier on the heart and mind.

When he felt like this, there was only one thing that would help ease the pain.

Alcohol.

And as he spun on his heel and stormed out of Ethan’s office without another word to his father, he went in search of his favorite painkiller.

Tonight, he intended to drink the West Coast dry.





You must login (register) to review.