Part 12 

How could knocking off a meaningless quickie have cost him so much? Angelus was incredulous; this was *not* part of the plan. Willow was mad as a hornet and demanding that he get out; he had to think fast. He was the vampire Angelus: a master feared and respected universally…it was his RIGHT to fuck whoever he wanted…his duty, for Chrissake! His job description most definitely did not include explaining and justifying his sexual encounters to an irate teenage girl. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair and thought about how hard it was to think straight when all he wanted to do was beat Bettina to a bloody pulp and skin her alive. A good flaying would be soothing right about now…and it was the *least* the interfering bitch deserved. 

Willow was staring daggers at him and shaking with anger, “I said, GET OUT!” 

Her back was ramrod straight and she looked more beautiful at this moment than he'd ever seen her…and he had no time to savor it. Since, in Willow's opinion, he'd done something wrong, he had no choice but to work within that framework. Explaining that she had no right to dictate his actions--sexual or otherwise--would just make things worse. A stream of expletives flew through his head. This situation was preposterous. 

“Willow,” he said in a placating yet stern tone, “Clearly this is a misunderstanding, you…” 

Cutting him off, Willow snapped at him, “Oh, really?” Even her voice was shaking. 

Angelus smiled softly, determined to get himself out of this, “Yes. Women of this era can be very forward, Willow.” Projecting a humble, helpless expression and demeanor, he continued, “Evidently this…this salesgirl found me attractive and wrote that note in hopes that I'd ask her out.” 

Willow looked at him in utter disbelief and her voice dripped with sarcastic venom, “Oh please! I wasn't born on a turnip truck, Angelus.” 

“Actually, you're mixing a couple of idioms there…” 

“Oh, shut up!” She said with disgust. 

Feigning an injured look, Angelus murmured, “Sorry, I was just…” 

Willow finished for him, “You were trying to change the subject. Do you think I'm stupid?! Well, mister, you might be right, because I *was* pretty stupid. I can't *believe* I was nearly dumb enough to fall for your act.” She covered her face in humiliation and self-reproach, groaning miserably. 

Angelus frowned in consternation. He couldn't very well promise her he was a one woman man and vow eternal fidelity; lying was one thing, but those statements, if made, would surely come back to bite him in his philandering ass eventually. Willow practically had a photographic memory and would throw those words back at him at the first sign of transgression down the road. 

Deciding on a course of action, he continued, “Willow, I can't help it if women are attracted to me. The only behavior I can control is my own. I assure you, I didn't even give the girl a second thought.” 

Finally, Willow dragged her hands from her face and fisted them in her lap. Self-loathing was written all over her. In a defeated voice, she said, “Please, Angelus, just let me go home.” Her eyes filled with tears, “I want to go home.” 

Right now he'd do just about anything she asked to rectify this mess. Unfortunately, what she wanted wasn't one of those things. With sincere regret, he answered, “I'm sorry Willow, but I can't let you go.” 

She nodded sadly; obviously his answer came as no surprise to her. Tears slid down her cheeks and resignedly, she said, “Please leave, then.” 

Acknowledging to himself that granting her request was the best he could manage towards salvaging the situation for the moment, he nodded. Rising from the sofa, he said, “Willow, whatever is between us is new, therefore fragile. You need to know that *you* are the only woman I'm interested in having in my life. I value this tentative bond we've formed and wouldn't do anything to jeopardize it. All I ask is that you please consider my words. I'll leave you alone now.” He held her gaze for a moment, finding only despondence in her eyes. Gathering all evidence of his visit to the department store, he left as unobtrusively as possible. 

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Retribution was his next order of business. Storming into his bedroom, he threw everything on a chair and dug out the offending receipt. This evening *should've* ended with Willow craving his touch and thinking he was too much of a gentleman to take advantage of her. Instead, the fruits of his masterful strategy were blown to smithereens in a heartbeat by some common little hussy. This was completely infuriating and unacceptable, he fumed. 

Funneling the energy from his rage into single-minded determination, he reached for the phone. As Angelus dialed he calculated how much time he had between now and sunrise in order to accomplish his objective. His plan came together as the phone rang. After arranging a 'romantic rendezvous' with Bettina in the silkiest tones imaginable, he slammed out of his bedroom splintering the heavy door in the process. 

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Angelus studied his handiwork and fondled the bloody whip. He had taken Bettina to an abandoned warehouse. She had been so elated about their 'date' it hadn't struck her as odd until it was far too late. Now she was bent over an industrial strength table, duct taped to it. Her naked body formed an 'X'; legs spread, arms splayed. Blood oozed from countless gashes left by the whip. No longer able to scream, she just whimpered and sobbed brokenly. “I've explained what I want from you, Bettina. Say the words and this will all be over.” 

Angelus moved into her line of sight. She flinched as he roared, “SAY IT!” 

In a hoarse voice, she complied, “I am a worthless slut.” Her voice had cracked and she swallowed convulsively in order to go on, “I must've been insane to think I'm even worthy enough to…to suck your cock.” Her battered body shuddered and tears ran freely. “I was a conniving whore to ruin your plans with that note,” She started to choke on her sobs and stopped talking. 

In patient benevolence, Angelus gave her a moment to collect herself. After what he considered a generous amount of time, he reminded her, “I've told you what you need to say, finish it and this ends.” 

Tapping the whip rhythmically against the palm of his hand as he waited, her continuing pathetic noises told him she needed further incentive. “On the other hand, if you drag this out past sunrise, I will personally show you how much agony the human body is capable of enduring. Believe me, you haven't even come close.” He took a step toward her, drawing her gaze, “Inflicting pain, yet holding back enough to ensure the recipient stays conscious is a fine art: I'm quite an accomplished artist, Bettina.” With a malignant smile he added, “Of course, insanity often results. Wish I had a dime for every time I saw *that* happen. The mind is sometimes less adept at withstanding extended suffering than the body is.” 

The girl's eyes were so huge he thought they might well pop out of her head. Oh well, that was neither here nor there to him. Angelus crossed his arms, allowing the whip to dangle with menacing promise and rocked back on his heels. “Now, is there more you wanted to tell me?” 

She nodded frantically and the words spilled out, “Attempting to despoil the beauty and purity of, uh, your blossoming relationship with my vulgar behavior was despicable. I-I-I beg you to mete out justice as you see fit.” Pausing to take a sobbing gasp, she then finished, “Please, Angelus, retaliate accordingly.” 

Placing his hands on his hips, he said in a confidential tone, “You wouldn't *believe* how long it's been since I've indulged in this type of foreplay.” He closed his eyes and groaned lustfully, his face morphing in the process.  

Bettina gasped in disbelief. Moving behind her, he asked rhetorically, “You like it in the ass, right? You'll love it to death, I promise.” He was delighted to discover she *was* still able to scream. 

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Angelus reveled in the buoyancy and vigor that comes from the immense satisfaction of a job well done. With lightness in his step he made his way to the car. He had plenty of time to get home before sunrise without pushing his luck, he thought complacently. On a less cheery note, he and his clothes were filthy. Jesus, he needed a shower. In all of his enthusiasm he'd forgotten what dirty, dirty work torture could be. Oh well, he thought as he climbed into the driver's seat, he'd have the car detailed tomorrow. All's well that ends well. 

end part 12