— У меня правильнописание хромает. Оно хорошее, но почему-то хромает...(с) Винни-Пух.
Chapter 22: Beneath
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sourbuckley [ Read the whole story | Read the last chapter | Chapter list ]
A/N: Sorry about the wait! I finally got a few hours to write and about ten minutes to post this, so I'm doing it fast, hoping that it's not completely sucky and I won't regret it tomorrow.
A/N#2: Thanks so much for your awesome feedback for the last chapter! I still plan to respond to all of it when I have a little time to spare, but I love youze all.
A/N#3: Many thanks to dampersandspoons for being an awesome (and totally hot) sounding board.
A/N#4: Feel free to correct my French, as usual. What do I know? Nothing, that's what.
Jouer le jeu du Diable.
Play the Devil's game.
Three cartoonish devils watched her from the wall, presiding in high-backed chairs, puffing on cigars. As the seconds ticked by, the noise echoing in her ears, Buffy crawled naked across the Persian rug, the whip's handle between her teeth. Its length trailed behind her and tangled on her limbs, creeping up her body like shining black ivy. Yellow mushrooms sprouted under his desk.
Slowly, the chair swiveled, revealing scuffed combat boots and black jeans. A torn and safety pinned t-shirt. A young, sullen face with coal-rimmed eyes.
Rising out of his chair, Spike said in two voices, one English, one French: "You're beneath me."
She opened her mouth and the whip handle fell to the rug. He unzipped his jeans. The ticking got faster, louder, chaotic.
"This isn't me," he told her, choking her on his cock. "You're someone else tonight."
The whip crept up her torso and constricted around her throat.
Buffy woke up with a frantic gasp.
* * *
"Why won't you talk to me?"
Buffy kept meaning to hang up right away, but the sound of his desperation threw her every time.
"Can't we just--?" A hard breath, and he began again. "Look, I'm not proud of the things I--"
Buffy depressed the dial tone button and held it down.
The next fifteen minutes were spent in the ladies' room on a closed toilet seat, head in her hands.
* * *
SPIKE PRATT AND KENDALL HEIRESS SUDDEN SPLIT
After staring at the two folders on the coffee table before her, all deep breaths and rationalization, Buffy had gone with the less evocative option -- or so she'd thought. A dossier of every documented move Spike made the year Darla died, it compiled phone bills, paparazzi snapshots, confidential contracts that Lilah had shadily procured, and newspaper clippings, so far with business-related headlines... until this.
Buffy was transfixed. She'd never actually seen his second wife -- or thought of her as anything other than the wicked stepmother. Harmony was younger than she'd imagined and resembled a glassy-eyed Barbie doll... but there was something about their matching expressions in the photo, taken in happier times, that caused an irrational bout of envy.
She forced her attention to the article.
Multibrand mogul Spike Pratt, 37, and hotel heiress Harmony Kendall, 24, filed for divorce yesterday, citing irreconcilable differences. This comes just two weeks after Pratt's company acquired Kendall Hotels in an unprecedented
"Behold the stepmonster," Lindsey said, sitting beside her and handing her a much needed frosty beer. "They didn't last a month past Mom's death."
"I never knew she was an heiress. I thought that was the first wife."
Lindsey tutted. "That's how he made his mint: holding rich bitches for ransom." He sipped his beer. "Getting in good with their dads, playing 'em like poker 'til they handed over their chips, fair and square."
When she saw Spike begging Cecily to stay, she'd assumed his motive was devotion, not greed. A part of her wanted to keep assuming that. "You think he completely used his first wife?"
"How do you think he started Wrecked? She convinced her dad to invest. His first big buyout was her family's resort chain. Well below market."
"So once he bought Kendall Hotels for a steal, he was done with Harmony," Buffy said.
"Gets what he wants and moves on." He scratched at his beer label. "I think my Mom was getting in the way of his big deal."
"You think it was premeditated?"
"I don't think it was an accident."
"How can you be sure? I mean," she glanced at Sunflower IV, "you never know what kind of kinks a person has."
"You've never seen him ticked off. He always goes for the throat. I saw him throttle her more than once."
"Yeah, but if there was a strap--"
"Either way, he killed her and staged a car accident with her decomposing corpse!"
Buffy was quieted. Here she was, trying to make excuses for him again, only this time it was out loud, in Lindsey's presence. "You're right. Either way, it's... unforgivable." Glassy-eyed Harmony stared at them from the coffee table. "Was she there that night?"
"Yeah. But they weren't even sleeping in the same wing anymore. They barely spoke. I got to hear her bitch to her friends on the phone all day and night. That was fun."
Buffy nodded. "And if she knew anything about the murder, she wouldn't have kept quiet, anyway. Not if he hosed her like that."
"Or..." Lindsey shuffled through the papers and produced a confidentiality agreement signed by Harmony Kendall three weeks prior to the divorce. And a few days after Darla's death.
"Oh." Buffy noticed a twin document underneath that. "He signed one, too?"
He shrugged. "They're both in the public eye. Lilah said it's kinda standard."
"And just one from Harmony would implicate him." She sifted through the pages. "Still, this is completely null and void in the event of a felony. If she was subpoenaed, she'd have to talk."
"You'd have to get her here first. She's married to some oil prince or some shit, lives in Dubai."
"Ah," Buffy said. "So, the coroner died of cancer in '04, Spike's flunkies at the time are either still on payroll or MIA, and everyone else associated with the case is no longer in the country."
"Everyone but me."
"Right, except you're not a direct witness."
"Yeah. Well, maybe your old prof can help."
"My what?"
"The one you were gonna talk to."
"Oh. Right." That was what she'd told him, that she'd hit up an old professor for advice. It wasn't a bad idea, since she learned everything she knew about getting around the law from Professor Walsh. But first, Buffy had to confirm a few things from a prostitute named after a mushroom. "Maybe she can."
* * *
It was much easier than she thought it would be. Masterson Top Models had a website, complete with photo gallery and base rates for "events". Chanterelle was on page three. She was 5'7", 118 lbs, twenty-one years old, and started at $1500 an hour. All Buffy had to do was arrange a bogus date near the Masterson offices and dress like a coed.
"Hi, I called earlier? I'm Anne," Buffy said shyly. "I'm interested in um, modeling?"
The receptionist handed her a form on a clipboard. "Fill this out and sign at the x's."
"Thanks." Buffy brought it to the couch and noticed a face book for walk-in clients. She opened it up and perused the pages in the blonde section, wondering how many of them had been with Spike, and stopped at Chanterelle. There was nothing particularly special about her, though she did convey a certain innocence...
"Lily, what happened?"
"I got a no-show! I waited like a half hour. So rude."
Buffy looked up. Lily was her.
"Sorry, hon. I'll see if I can get you something else for tonight."
"Thanks." Drumming her nails on the reception desk, she gave Buffy a polite smile.
"Oh hey," Buffy said, pointing at the book. "It's you."
"Oh. Yeah. Were you looking, or...?"
"No, I'm applying. Thinking about it, anyway." She put the book down on the table in front of her. "You're all so pretty, I don't know how I can compete."
"Oh my god, you're totally pretty! But honestly? It's not so much about looks."
"It's not? Guess I have a lot to learn."
"That's okay. In this job, you learn quick."
The receptionist returned with a card. "Ten o'clock party at the Mondrian."
"Ugh, I hate parties," she said, taking the card. "Thanks, Renee."
Buffy watched her leave, gave it a second, and followed her out.
* * *
"I thought you were applying," Chanterelle, or Lily, said at the elevator.
"I got cold feet," Buffy said. "Maybe I'll come back. I mean, I really need the work, but I just don't know if I could handle the weird guys--"
"Shh. Clients."
"Right. See?" Buffy whispered, "I don't even know how to be discreet."
"You'll get used to it."
Buffy boarded the elevator with her and waited for the doors to close before asking, "How long have you...? You know."
"Gosh. Almost two years now?"
Buffy nodded. "If I asked you about what it's like, would that be weird for you? Feel free to say no, I just want to know what I'm getting myself into."
Chanterelle looked her over. "You're not a cop, are you?"
"Oh. No. God no. Not a cop. I'm just a girl who really needs a job."
* * *
"What about bondage? Like, whips and stuff?"
Halfway through their second round at a nearby bar, Chanterelle had already shared the freakiest of her freaky anecdotes. Buffy almost felt guilty for the deception, but she had to play dirty. There was no other way to win with Spike.
"Oh, yeah," Chanterelle said. "There's lots of those. You just make 'em feel like dirt and they're happy. It's kinda fun sometimes."
"So it's all guys who want to be tied up? No one ever ties you up?"
"No. We don't allow that."
"Oh." Could all of that paraphernalia be for Spike? Was he the one getting whipped and choked? Buffy knew it wasn't unusual for powerful men to have submissive fantasies, but she was there that first night. He was not submissive. "Not ever?"
"Unless it's... I mean, there's this one guy? But he's like, an exception."
Buffy kept calm and in character. She had to play this just right. "How so?"
"He's... I'm sorry, I can't really talk about him. I could get into a lot of trouble."
"Oh." Buffy leaned in and whispered, "Is he mafia?"
"No! He's just like, mega rich. Kinda well known."
"He's a movie star?"
"No, no, just a business man. But he's like... really intense."
"How intense?"
"Like," Chanterelle slid her eyes from side to side and said, "secret dungeon intense."
Buffy gasped. "What's in the dungeon?"
"Whips and masks and surgical stuff and old-timey torture things and a..." She made a noose and choking gesture, tongue sticking out.
"Wow. Is he hot?"
"I guess? I mean, he's not really my type, I'm more into the tall dark and lanky, but he's good looking for an older..." Chanterelle caught on to Buffy's not-so-subtle clues and whispered, "Oh my god, is that your thing? He would love you."
Buffy actually did blush then. "Well, I--"
"No, I'll totally set you up!" She amended, "If he ever calls again. It's been like over a month, and Skip -- Mr. Masterson? -- he's losing his mind, this guy is our biggest regular client."
"Over a month," Buffy repeated.
"And he's been seen around town so it's not like he's away, you know? But if he does come back, you should see him."
"Well, not if he's too scary. I mean, how far does he go?"
"Okay, well first, he makes you crawl to this whip on his floor. You pick it up with your teeth and you put it in his lap. You're not allowed to talk or use your hands, so you get him hard, like, with your mouth? And then he opens up this wall to this creepy S&M room. I mean, if you're into that stuff it would probably turn you on, but I got super scared when I first saw it. I thought he was gonna kill me."
Buffy knew the feeling. "That must have been terrifying."
"Yeah, but I've never heard of him using half the stuff in there; I think he just wants to seem scarier than he is."
"That's... kind of evil. And so far I'm completely into him." She laughed with Chanterelle, glad to have convinced her. "What happens next?"
"Next, you crawl in there and sit on this big vibrating dildo while he whips you..."
"Does it hurt?"
"Well, yeah. It's a whip, I mean... It's not a pillow." They laughed. "While he's whipping you and calling you names--"
"What does he call you?"
"Stupid blonde bitch, lying whore, degenerate cow, stuff like that."
So, clearly Spike had found a way to continually punish Darla for provoking him. Because he was evil, and in his eyes, her murder was her own fault. "Your standard sweet nothings."
"Ha, exactly. While he's doing that your neck is in this noose that hangs from the ceiling. It's kinda lax at first, but then he pulls it tighter while you give him head."
"That sounds really dangerous."
"Yeah. That's why you sign all these papers. Will not hold liable, blah blah blah..."
"So it's okay if he kills you?"
Chanterelle shrugged. "He hasn't killed anyone yet."
If she only knew.
"He's careful, you know? He's got to be." She sipped her drink. "Anyway, the money is amazing. And once you relax and understand exactly what he wants, it's totally easy. Plus afterwards, he wraps you up in soothing towels and lets you rest for a while. Kinda like a spa. So he's not all bad, you know?"
Feeling queasy again, Buffy could only nod.
* * *
"Gotta say, I'm surprised you're on board with this."
Buffy looked at Lilah. It was bad enough the woman was standing in her living room, worse yet that Lindsey had left them alone in it. And now she was judging her. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know. You went to Paris with the guy. I hear he's a charmer."
"Why are you on board with this, Lilah?"
"Because Lindsey asked me for help. Why are you changing the subject?"
"So you're risking your career out of the kindness of your heart?"
"This is personal research. I'm off the Alvarez case. I'm not risking anything." She tilted her head. "And if I wanted to steal your husband, I could do it in a heartbeat."
Buffy was stunned. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me. He thinks you're a saint. That you would never ever. But I don't."
Lindsey returned to the room before Buffy could form words.
Read on... >>
A NOTE ABOUT PLAGIARISM: Don't do it. Call me crazy, but I don't like finding my hard work pasted into other people's stories. If I find out you've plagiarized me or any other author, I will make sure everyone knows it. If you're not clear on what 'plagiarism' means, the definition is here.
@темы: Сперто. Без суда и следствия., spuffy, Spike, Buffy&Angel, Art, Crave, NautiBitz, Buffy, fanfiction