Chapter Twelve:

Angel looked over his notes, rereading what the department press release official had deemed newsworthy and mixing it with what he and the Captain had come up with to try and coax their suspect out into the public eye. All it would take would be one person to see his picture and recognize him and they could have him, finally.

But then he knew Buffy could go home. Angel wasn't sure if he liked the idea of her not being there for him. He turned and looked over at where she was brushing her hair, something the Captain and the department shrink said she needed to do right before they went out. Their suspect had a thing for hair, her honey blonde type of hair. He had a thing for good looking girls of about her age and with her similar physical attributes.

Hell, Angel thought, he had a thing for Buffy period.

That thought made him even less happy with the idea of her being involved in all of this. He went up to her, crouching in front of her chair and resting his hand against her thigh. "Are you sure you want to do this? It could get dangerous for you."

"It could get dangerous for you, too," she said in all seriousness, wishing she could reach up and touch his face or rest her head against his shoulder.

"Yeah, but that's why they pay me the medium size bucks," he joked. "So I can get my ass shot at." He sighed. "You don't need this. Last night was the first that you didn't have any nightmares."

"Someone didn't let me sleep long enough to have nightmares last night," she laughed, setting the brush on the desk and pulling out some makeup. "I promise, Angel. I'll be fine. Besides, how hard can it be? You know, sitting ducks just ... sit there."

"That's not funny," he growled, the image of her covered in blood or strangled with those horrid black bruised circling her throat popping into his mind.

"But if it works, you'll be off of babysitting duty, that a plus. Right?" She glanced up at him casually as she finished speaking.

"Yeah, it's a plus, but having you out of my bed isn't. Neither is not seeing you anymore." He resisted the urge to stroke his hand over her hair, but just barely. "I don't like the idea of you not being next to me at night. I've gotten used to your grunts."

"Pigs grunt, Mr. Police Officer sir, not delicate little girls like me," she answered him back primly, making him laugh.

"That's Mr. Detective, to you, baby."

She smiled, liking the way that sounded coming from him. "So, what are you saying, here? That if we make it through this, you want me to move in or something?"

"Well," he said, smiling and trying to cover it with his hand. "We could start with dinner and go from there."

Buffy grinned. "I think I could do that," she said, reaching over and picking a tiny bit of lint off of his lapel. He was dressed in a dark navy suit with a lighter blue shirt. And despite the shadows under his eyes, he looked amazing. "Have I ever told you that you look yummy in blue?" she asked him, her eyes sparkling.

"Yummy? I don't think I've ever been described as yummy before," he laughed.

"Oh yes you have," she quipped.

"You'll see her again, Buffy. I promise," Angel said softly.

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep, Angel." She looked down, picking up the brush and playing with it as she did.

"Hey," he said, reaching out and covering her hand with his. "I never make promises I can't keep. I have a good feeling about this. I know we'll find her, and alive. It's just a matter of time."

"I can't help but think what she's going through, and that other girl, the one he took last night. What are they going through? What are they thinking? They must feel so helpless." A tear started in her eye, falling down her cheek and she swiped at it angrily.

He turned on the television, turning the set so that it angled enough that Tara could see it from where she was tethered. He had cable hookups all over the house, an easy thing when he did all his own wiring work. "Ready ladies?" he asked, clapping his hands in glee like a small child. Tara shot daggers at his back with her eyes, taking tiny steps along the floor for her thigh muscles were screaming with pain and her ass hurt. He was acting like a child now, not the monster he'd been last night. It was as if, with this news conference, he'd reached a new goal, a new high.

There was a picture on the screen, a high school yearbook shot of Cassie, her name and age under it when the television screen flashed on. It was followed quickly by a picture of Tara her arms wrapped around a beaming Willow. Tara felt a sob well in her throat, remembering how happy they'd been together when that picture was taken.

Both those pictures disappeared, and a new one was put up. This was an artistic sketch; a drawing of the man they thought was the killer.

"Wow, it's not very good, is it?" he asked Cassie, standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders.

The artist had captured him as having wild eyes, nothing like the mild mannered though eerily colored eyes that he had. His hair had been wind blown, standing up on his head. His nose was too large and his mouth seemed way too wide. There were some similarities but not enough for him to worry about and he pursed his mouth, a trifle disappointed. To amuse himself, he reached down, rolling Cassie's nipple between his thumb and finger as he listened to the Mayor give his usual bullshit. But his attention perked when Detective Angel McKenna was introduced.

"Ladies and Gentlemen. I won't take up too much of your time but I wanted to give you the FBI profile that we've had drawn up on our killer. That along with his picture, we hope, will jar a memory out there and have you calling in to our hotline..." he said, then started to give a description of the words faded as the cameraman zoomed the shot out, showing everyone standing upon the steps of City Hall, and not just the detective. He saw her in an instant, her blonde locks gleaming in the sun.

"Buffy?" he breathed, his fingers slipping off of Cassie's nipple, his hands grabbing the back of her chair and holding on tight.

She was beautiful, even more so than he remembered or that showed in any of the pictures he had of her. He could only see a part of her for there was another detective next to her, his badge clearly showing on his belt, his arm coming in front of her as if he were protecting her. She wore a red blouse today that clung to her curves and was open at the throat, his eyes going to the dark hint of her cleavage. His fingers itched to touch her, to open those tiny white buttons and expose red satin and lace cupping the soft curves of her breasts.

The cameraman panned away from her, zooming in for a moment on the detective who was still talking and he grabbed the chair harder, a moan coming from between his lips. "No!" he yelled at the television. "Bring her back!"

He didn't hear a word that was said, though he didn't care for he was taping it from one of his other televisions. She'd been there, she'd actually been right in front of him. He kept his eyes glued to the television, even as his mind retreated to the day he'd first seen her...

He'd been younger, visiting his uncle with his parents. His mother's brother hadn't every really seemed 'all there', but his mother loved him anyway and they went to his home in the city every year. This year had been different, though he wasn't quite sure how, until he heard the screaming. Running from his room, he'd gone down the stairs, seeing his father pull his mother away from his uncle who was cowering in a corner, a large bundle at his feet. It fell over as he watched, a hand, the skin looked almost light blue in color, spilling out, pulling off the blanket that uncovered the face. Her face. Buffy's face. So perfect with her eyes open and staring, her mouth painted the exact red that matched the soft ribbon his uncle had wrapped in her hair. She'd seemed the sublime present, exquisite in death, never leaving, never screaming or hitting or hating, as his mother was.

He closed his eyes, feeling the pull of that memory, unaware of his hands going to Cassie's throat. He didn't hear Tara's shouts or curses, or feel Cassie's hands digging into his skin, tearing at the meat on the back of his hands as her face turned red and then purple, her eyes starting to bulge. All he saw was that perfect face with the red ribbon in her satiny sweep of blonde hair.

His cock throbbed in his pants, pushing desperately against the zipped that held it bound. His hands flexed, almost as if in pain and he released Cassie, not hearing her strangled moans and the heavy sound of her gasping as she tried to draw air in through her tortured throat. He knelt down in front of her, almost as if he were in some kind of trance, reaching out to run his hands over her hair even as she cowered back away from him. "So pretty," he whispered, lifting a strand and bring it to his nose. "So soft."

He smiled, the sight terrifying to the poor girl held prisoner in the chair by his body. She didn't dare move, didn't dare provoke him further, trying to suck in air and not make a noise. She could hear Tara behind her, yelling curses, trying to coax him away and couldn't believe her bravery even though in her terror she wished he'd go. She flinched as his hands came out again, taking one of hers and putting it on the long hard ridge of flesh that rose under his pants. It throbbed against her palm and she sobbed, knowing that she was about to be raped.

"Rub it, Buffy," he whispered, his eyes still lost in the past even as his hands moved over her body, pulling her forward in the chair. "Unzip my pants," he urged Cassie, his mouth moving over her ear and down to her mouth, tasting the saltiness of her tears upon his lips. "Pull out my cock, Buffy. That's it, baby, take it in your hand and stroke it. Ahh, yeah, that's what I like, nice and gentle."

"Do it, Cassie. Do what he says," Tara said softly. "Don't fight him."

His cock felt strange in her hand even though she'd been forced to touch it before. It was soft skinned steel, like buttery soft leather over a metal rod. He made strange noises in his throat as she touched him, stroking him as he ordered.

Grunts, came from his lips, his eerie eyes closing as he lost himself to his memories, fantasies and her touch. He jerked his hips, pushing more of his shaft into her hand. "I want to fuck you, Buffy. You want me to, don't you, baby? Tell me you want me to fuck you."

MCassie opened her mouth to do what he asked, her voice hoarse and barely recognizable. "I w-want you to f-fuck me."

"Benjamin," he urged. "I want you to fuck me, Ben."

"I want you ... to ... fuck me B-Ben," she almost mimicked, her heart constricting as she thought of what was about to happen.

"Good girl," he said, leaning forward, his lips gently kissing her mouth, his tongue touching her teeth and then her tongue before moving back to his mouth. "Sit up, I want to taste your nipples. Cup your tits. Feed me your nipples."

She started to pull her hand from his cock but his dropped over her, fisting around it tightly, moving her fingers and jerking himself off with her hand, a wet squelching sound coming from beneath their fingers. So she lifted the other one, forcing her back to arch even as a sob burst from her lips, lifting to small swell of her breast so that he could reach her soft nipple.

"Hmmm, Buffy," he said as his tongue licked across the soft point. "Your tits are so sweet." His mouth closed around it, suckling gently at first and then harder, his breathing getting rougher as he kept jerking his hand around hers, stroking himself so fast her arm was beginning to ache with the pressure to keep up.

Then he suddenly stopped. He squeezed her fingers around the base of his cock, moaning in an almost animalistic way that scared Cassie more than anything had yet. Her nipple popped from his mouth, the skin around it red, and the tip swollen. She wanted nothing more than to cower back into the chair, but she knew he would notice any move she made.

"So close," he whispered, his voice singsong high and strangely melodious. "So close to coming," he grinned as he looked down at her, his eyes opening and staring into hers. "I'm going to fuck you now," he said, releasing her hand and letting her move her sore fingers away from him. "I'm going to fuck you, Buffy. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me more than any man you've ever been with before." He grabbed her thighs, squeezing the soft, resilient flesh and feeling the strong muscles moving under it, pulling her forward in the chair until just the edge of her ass rested on the seat. He took her ankle, tipping her backwards, resting her calf against his chest, his hand running down it as he crawled forward, the tip of his now red cock pushing between her swollen lips.

She was wet from Tara's play earlier. But he took it to mean that she wanted him. Opening her thighs wider, he grabbed her face, pushing her forward so that she could watch as he pushed himself into her. She gasped as she felt him enter her, stretching her intimate and delicate flesh slowly and with care, not the brutal and forceful rape she'd expected from him. It was an invasion anyway, for she didn't want him, couldn't want him. He forced her to watch though, as every long inch of him found its way inside of her body until her forehead was resting against the neatly buttoned front of his shirt.

His hands stroked her hair, pulling gently upon the ends, twining his fingers through it. He missed the ribbon, but she felt so good around his cock, soft, wet, hot, that he couldn't pull from her to go and get it. He liked the fact that she wanted to watch them fuck and bent his head next to hers. "That's so fucking hot, Buffy, the way you feel around my dick. Put your fingers down there, feel how wet you got me," he ordered hoarsely, moaning when she did and he pushed through her fingers to press them between their bodies. "Oh, yeah, you're so fucking beautiful, so goddamn tight. Tell me you like it. Tell me you want me to fuck you hard."

He dug his hand into her hip, forcing her head back with the other one. He blinked, almost as if coming out of a trance, his eyes clearing, staring down at her swollen, tear soaked face, snot running from her nose, her eyes red rimmed from crying. "What the...?" His hips jerked and he groaned, his eyes running from the pretty hair and over her shoulders to the small tits with their huge nipples. His hands lifted, finding the soft little nubs and rubbing them between his fingers, feeling them respond despite her reluctance. "You don't have to like me, Cassie," he whispered to her, staying fastidiously away from her face. "You just have to fuck me back. Come on," he urged, his hips moving against her, his cock seesawing in and out of her, his balls slapping against her ass. "Fuck me back, Cassie!" he ordered, watching as she bit her lip, her hands going to the edge of the chair and lifting her up slightly. He felt her uncertain movements and grinned widely, terrifying the poor girl even more. "Good, I love a trainable whore. Come on, move those hips, fuck me." He held himself still, his hand going to her thigh and giving it a sharp slap. "I said, MOVE!"

"Do it, Cas," Tara urged, her hands fisting, wishing she was close enough to grab the mother fucker's head and slam it into the chair. "Just fuck him and get it over with."

"Jealous," he panted, feeling his come starting to boil in his balls as the innocent girl moved against him. "Don't worry, darlin'," he said, faking a Texas accent. "There's always more where this came from. You might have something to worry about, though Tara. She's not a bad little fucker when she puts her back into it." He laughed, the sound washing over Tara and fueling the rage she was fighting to hide.

"Then you can just fuck us both, can't you, Ben," she said, stressing his name.

Cassie shrieked when he suddenly grabbed her hips with both hands, slamming himself into her. She could feel him swell inside of her and then start to throb, a wet heat bathing her and making her feel strange. She knew he'd come inside of her and it disgusted her to her very core. But there was nothing she could do but hang in his grip, his hands digging into her hips, his face red and teeth gritted as he grunted through his orgasm.

When he dropped her on the chair, pulling out of her with a plop, she couldn't move, feeling his nasty seed dripping from her, running into a small puddle against her ass and thighs. He stood, pushing his wilting cock back into his pants, and fastening them, straightening his shirt and hair. He glared down at her. "Go clean up this mess you made," he ordered, pointing her toward the sink where a clean rag sat out. "Then you can give Tara there her food and get your own." He turned back towards the television, seeing that the broadcast was over and it was back to their "regularly scheduled programming." He grinned, for her remembered seeing Buffy standing behind that detective. "Detective Angelus McKenna. A good name for a foe, don't you think?" he asked Tara, turning to see her drinking her soda.

"Yes," she said, though her tone was icy.

"Oh, Tara, love. I thought you'd be happy to have a day off from fucking. You whined so much last night when I was in your ass. But if you like," he said, motioning for Cassie to walk over to him. "I can have little sugar tits here get me hard again, and then I can fuck you for a while. You know, the second time always takes me forever to get off."

"No, that's okay. I appreciate your thoughtfulness," Tara said quickly, trying to wipe away any hint of insolence from her tone.

He laughed. "I knew you'd feel that way. But that's okay, you two little ones get to go back to your cage. I have a bigger fish to fry out there." He walked towards Cassie and she scurried in front of him, her sandwich clenched tightly in her hand. He locked the cage door behind her, turning to Tara "Come here, cowgirl," he said, faking the accent again. "Give your sugar daddy a kiss and we'll put you up wet for the night," he quirked his brow at her, watching as she walked toward him. "Kiss me and do it like you mean it," he ordered her.

Tara felt a shiver of revulsion and managed to hide it, but just barely. She flinched as she got close enough to touch him and he yanked her forward, making her screaming muscles shriek in protest.

"Kiss me," he said, his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to his clothed body.

Closing her eyes, she pressed her lips against his, not moving them, waiting until he pulled away from her.

"That was pathetic," he growled. "But I don't have time to do anything about it right now." He lifted a ring of keys from his pocket, selected the one that fit the lock at her waist and undid the belt, pushing her toward the cage door. He unlocked it, thrusting her inside. "You two play nice," he chuckled. "Make room, I plan to have another playmate for you tonight," he said, thinking of Buffy's face as she'd looked on the steps. He turned and headed towards the steps, stopping and waggling his fingers back at them as he reached the bottom. "Oh and Cassie, thanks for the fuck."

He turned out the light at the top of the stairs, shutting the door behind them and leaving them in the semi dark of the basement room.

Buffy looked up from the book she was pretending to read as a shadow came across the page.

"You know, that might actually work a little better if you turn the page every once in a while," Lindsey said, handing her a fresh cup of coffee.

She glanced at the book, seeing the Chapter One on the first page and actually snorted. "Yeah, I guess it would," she laughed, setting it down and taking the cup from him. "Where is everyone?" she asked, trying to be nonchalant.

"If by everyone you mean Angel, he's downstairs in the big meeting room. They're powwowing over how to keep you safe now that they've set you up." He sat in the chair next to her, picking up the book and studying the front cover where some half naked babe stood in the arms of some overly buff stud with long hair flying in the wind, his arm around her, and a sword in his hand. "You chicks actually get into this kind of thing?" he asked her, tipping the cover her way.

"Us chicks get into romance and being swept off our feet occasionally. If we can't get it from real life," she shrugged and nodded at the book, taking a sip of her coffee. "Next best thing is what we take. So how come you're up here and not at the powwow conspiring on my life?"

"Someone had to babysit," he said in disgust before realizing what he'd said. "Oh shit, that's not what I meant..." he trailed off searching the sky as if a rope would suddenly appear to drag him out of the hole he'd dug.

"It's okay, honest." She laughed at his expression. "I understand getting the short stick."

"Hell, if you're a short stick," he said, leering at her, "I'll take it every time."

"Nice try," she said, hearing him snort.

"Buffy?" She looked up as Angel came up to the desk. He nodded at Lindsey. "Come on," he said, reaching for her arm. "We've got to go."