Hi Friends!
I know it's been awhile but as long as your willing to wait between updates I'm going to try to jump back in the saddle.
This story was one of the "Story Starters" that I was playing around with a few months ago. Most of you voiced your opinion and said you wanted me to write this one first. I have rewritten a bit of the plot because a reviewer pointed out a few holes. Overall, though, this first chapter tends to stick close to the original one.
Let's be clear - There will come a time when updates will be few and far between. Just know that going in!
Warning: This story is going to contain all of the following - Reid whump, rape, non-con, and angst. If you don't like any of that stuff please don't read or comment. If you haven't read any of my stuff before know that I tend to treat Reid really rough. This story will not contain any "slash."
This story is set after Reid has been on the team for a year - JJ and Garcia are on the team but no Elle.
The city of Detroit was an extreme contradiction.
On one hand, it had a bustling downtown area that was fighting against urban decay and making a comeback as a place to be – a destination for fun. There were major league sports venues, concert halls, casinos and high-end eateries enticing the people from the surrounding suburbs to come back and give the city another chance.
On the other hand, if one was to wander outside of the ten block radius that had been revitalized they would find themselves in the middle of the dark streets that are vividly depicted in the movies. While Detroit tried to convince the world that it was now as new as a shiny copper penny, the outskirts were filled with burnt out houses, overgrown lawns, junkyards, and abandoned warehouses.
The amazing thing was that littered throughout these regions of the city were random gems. If one knew where to look they could find an authentic southern kitchen serving genuine cornbread and grits with a side of collard greens. Or they might happen upon what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse, but upon closer inspection they would find a fashion-forward nightclub that oozed an upscale vibe. It was almost as if the citizens of the city and the surrounding area didn't want outsiders to discover their favorite hotspots so they went out of their way to disguise them from sight.
It was outside of one of those nightclubs that the team found themselves on this night.
The building was a former auto parts factory that had been renovated and turned into a dance club. There were four floors in the building and each one had a theme. The first floor was dedicated to techno music and loud colors. The second floor was all about R&B music and stylized after a New Orleans jazz club. The top floor of the building was all about Hip Hop. The décor around the room was all about comfort with an upscale lounge feel to it while the dance floor is shrouded with low lighting and shadows. Finally, one could wander down to the basement where the motif is styled after a gothic cave. The music that flowed through there was hauntingly erotic and matched the sensual shows that were performed nightly on various stages.
The exterior of the club looked damaged and desolate. The steel walls had once been painted a tan color but were now caked in filth and covered in rust spots. There was no sign identifying it as "The Cavern" but the flocks of well-dressed twentysomethings that were trickling in the side door showed the onlookers that they had found the right place.
The team, who had been called in by the 3rd precinct of the Detroit police department due to the amount of deaths of club kids in the area lately, were staking-out "The Cavern" on their own in a borrowed surveillance van. For the officers of the 3rd precinct were being loaned out to the downtown services division because of all of the activities going on in the city of Detroit that night. There was a baseball game happening at Comerica Park, a huge country concert at Ford Field, the Fox Theatre had a famous comedian headlining and down at Heart Plaza there was a skateboard competition. So because the downtown police were stretched so thin, they needed officers from the 3rd precinct to help with traffic, crowd control and public safety. As a result, the profilers and the remaining detectives had to split up and check out the local clubs on their own with no backup.
The road the team was parked on used to be filled with warm happy homes but now there were only dilapidated shells of former houses or piles of rubble. None of the club goers parked on the curbs of this street for fear of their car being stripped or stolen by the time they got back. Instead, they left their vehicles in a fenced in lot that was monitored by a security crew. Not wishing to be spotted by the unsub, Hotch had chosen to park their seemingly rusted out van mid-way down the road. On the outside the surveillance vehicle looked like a normal part of the scenery but on the inside there was over three thousand dollars' worth of technology.
In the back of said van, Reid and Gideon were sitting in the two chairs that were positioned in front of a wall of monitors. There were four screens lit up showing various locations around the perimeter of the club and four blank screens. The two profilers were keeping an eye on all the exits in hopes of seeing someone who matched the profile. In the front, Hotch and Morgan were discussing the victims, bouncing around ideas in order to refine their victomology profile. JJ was back at the station coordinating and monitoring the stakeouts that the local officers were in charge of at different clubs. Meanwhile, Garcia was clacking away at her keyboard in Quantico, trying to manage the video feeds for all of the operations going on tonight.
Spencer, who's eyes were starting to blur from looking at the screens for too long, pushed back from the dashboard and asked his mentor, "Do you think Garcia will be able to get us the feeds we need from the inside of the club?"
Gideon crinkled his eyes as they sharply flitted from TV to TV. "She has to," he mumbled, uninterested in the conversation.
Reid sighed and nodded his head before turning his attention back to the monitors. He knew the older agent wasn't in the mood for small talk but at this point in the investigation even that tiny bit of conversation was helping to keep his brain alert. For the team had been on sight in Detroit for a little over three days and they had been working nonstop. They had been taking shifts in going back to the hotel to get some sleep but at this point the most any of them had gotten was about ten hours total.
Ten hours over three days isn't very much in the grand scheme of things. At this point, they were all beyond tired and none of them were looking forward to another all-nighter.
"I still think we're missing something from the profile," Reid muttered as he rubbed his eyes.
"Why is that?" Gideon inquired with his gravelly voice.
"I…I can't put my finger on it but…think about it. We know that all the victims have been sexually assaulted, but each one sustained different injuries. There have been oral, vaginal and anal penetrations and two of the victims were violated in multiple places. And that's not even considering the different types of restraint wounds that have been present on their bodies. We've seen indications of metal restraints, rope, tape – not to mention gag marks, blindfolds and more. Would it be too far of a stretch to say there are multiple unsubs, each with their own sexual preference?"
"Or we just have one unsub that likes to experiment. Perhaps he is undergoing a sexual awakening and using his victims to figure out what he likes best," Jason remarked, playing the devil's advocate.
"True, but there is also the oil…"
"What about it? They were all found dumped in heavily trafficked alleys. Of course there would be traces of oil on their bodies."
"No – I know. It's just that…it feels like too big of a coincidence that all the victims had oil smudges on their skin. I mean…Vanessa had some in her hair. Ryan had it on his forehead. Amira had traces on her stomach and…," Reid recited, holding up a finger for each name he mentioned.
"And?" Gideon queried, purposefully goading the young man into deeper thought.
"And Daijon's biceps were littered with splotches. What if…what if our unsub had oil on his hands? What if their bodies didn't just pick it up from the dump site but from the unsub?"
"Or unsubs?" Gideon ventured, his eyes glittering with excitement.
"What?"
"Daijon's arms. The splotches of oil. Those were left from hands being wrapped around his biceps. Think about it."
Reid's eyes glazed over as he pictured the young man's flesh in his head. He analyzed the patterns left on the victim's left and right arms and let out a gasp. "The placement of the unsub's fingers weren't spaced the same on each arm. Whomever was gripping Daijon's left arm had a meatier grip than the person on the right."
Gideon nodded and smiled. "Exactly."
"We're dealing with a team."
"Of how many though?" Gideon asked his protégé.
"I don't know…," Reid said, his excitement deflating because he didn't know the answer.
Hearing the dejection in the young agent's voice, Gideon glanced at the boy and said, "Don't worry. We'll figure it out."
"Yeah…," he said faintly. "Shouldn't we tell Hotch?"
"In a minute," the elder man said as he reached in his pocket and withdrew his phone. "Garcia? How long until we can see inside the club?" The man was listened for a few seconds before grumbling, "That's not good enough." He hung up the phone without saying goodbye and turned toward the front of the van. He leaned over and knocked on the small window in the wall that separated the front of the vehicle from the back. The glass panel slid open smoothly allowing the older agent to call through it. "Hotch, Reid figured out that we're dealing the multiple unsubs and we need to get our eyes on the inside, now. One of them could already be in there looking for their next victim."
"Well Garcia should have us –"
"Garcia said it was going to take her at least another hour. We've got to go inside now," he said again.
"And you're sure we're dealing with multiple unsubs? How many?" Hotch asked, wanting justification before they made their next move.
"At least two, but there could be more," Reid supplied.
"How did you come to that conclusion?" Morgan asked from his seat next to Hotch.
"The oil marks on the victims' bodies weren't from the dump sites; they were from the unsubs."
Hotch accepted Reid's shortened explanation, knowing that the rest of the details would be supplied at a later time. "Alright, Jason, let's get in there."
"All of us?" Morgan inquired, his eyes glancing over the two agents perched in the back of the van.
"What? You think I can't fit in at a club?" Gideon asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
Morgan flashed a toothy grin and said, "Hell no! None of you will. You'll just look like a creeper sitting at the bar leering at the girls. Everyone will think Hotch is there looking to be someone's sugar daddy. And Pretty Boy…well it's him that I'm most worried about. He'll stick out like a sore thumb with his virginal looks and T.A. gear."
"Hey!" Reid cried indignantly. "I don't look like a teacher's assistant…do I?"
There was a moment of silence in the van before Hotch cut in, "Reid's choice in wardrobe aside, we do need eyes in here watching the monitors. So, Morgan and Gideon, you're with me. Reid stay here and watch the monitors."
"What?" the youngest agent squeaked. "B-but I'm the closest to the mean age in there. Don't you think I should be one of the agents to go in?" The boy's eyes were wide, pleading not to be left behind on surveillance duty.
"Reid, you're staying here," Hotch commanded; his tone leaving no room for debate.
The genius dropped his chin down and stared at his lap. "Yes, sir."
"Alright you two, let's get going. Reid, once we're inside call JJ and Garcia and let them know about the change in plans. Then keep your eyes glued to the monitors and let us know if you spot anyone who fits the profile entering the club," Aaron instructed as he turned and looked through the window at his teammates.
"Yes, sir," he said again, sullenly.
Hotch ignored the young man's brooding response. "When we get inside we'll split up. Morgan take the top two floors, I'll take the ground level and Jason, you'll go down into the cavern. Be vigilant and report in anything that looks suspicious."
The two seasoned agent's just nodded in response and checked to make sure their weapons were secured and discreetly hidden in their clothes. "Morgan, go in first and we'll stagger our arrivals after you."
"Got it, Hotch," Morgan said as he exited the vehicle.
The rest of the occupants of the van watched at the muscular man disappeared into the club and heard him say over the walkie that he was headed upstairs.
"Jason, I'll go next and you follow in a few minutes," Hotch said before he slid out of his suit jacket. He then pulled off his tie and ruffled up his hair in an effort to try to look a little less official. "We should have worn some more appropriate clothes," he commented to the other two agents.
Gideon laughed. "I doubt any of us in this van own casual clothes."
A smile cracked through on Hotch's usually stern face. "I suppose you're right, Jason," he commented wryly. "I'll see you in there." The man then shut the dividing window and slid out of the driver's side door of the van.
Reid and Gideon were silent as they watched the unit chief walk up to the club with an air of confidence. It took about five minutes for the man to get through the line and admitted to the club.
The elder agent waited another few minutes before he made to leave. During that time both Agent Hotchner and Morgan had checked in their positions in the club and announced that as of right now no one in their line of sight met the profile. Gideon's hand was poised to pull the handle of the door back when he stopped his movement and said, "Don't forget to call JJ and Garcia after I leave."
Reid crinkled his brow, slightly insulted that his mentor felt the need to repeat Hotch's instructions to him. "I will."
"And Reid," he called.
"Yeah?"
"Stay diligent," the older agent instructed.
"Yes, sir," Reid responded shortly, the ego hit obvious in his tone.
Gideon nodded but didn't comment on the boy's apparent offense at his words. Instead he pushed the sliding door open and exited the van, leaving the BAU's youngest on his own.
The genius grumbled to himself as he turned away from the van door as it closed behind his teammate. He'd only been with the unit for a little over a year and his fellow agents still insisted on treating him like a child. Hence his displeasure at being left behind to surveil the camera feeds while the rest of the group went to scope out the inside of the nightclub.
"I don't get it. They tell me all the time how valuable I am to the team but they always conveniently leave me behind in high risk situations," he muttered to himself as he started checking each of the monitors. "Garcia could totally be doing this right now and that would have freed me up to be part of the raid."
"She could be, Reid, but you know she's coordinating the feeds for each of the raids while trying to tap into the club's systems. She's busy. You're not," Hotch's voice stated grimly.
Reid stiffened in his chair. "Sir?" he squeak in panic.
"Hey Pretty Boy, next time your gonna complain about the boss-man make sure your walkie isn't flipped to two-way," Morgan said with humor in his voice.
"Sir, uh sorry, Sir," Reid fumbled before he dropped his face into his hands in embarrassment.
A moment of silence followed the muddled apology. "How are the feeds looking, Reid?"
The genius's head shot up and quickly took in the screens above him, "No one of note approaching the club and all the alleys are clear," he reported, his voice as neutral as possible.
"Copy that," Hotch replied. "I take it you haven't called JJ or Garcia yet."
"No, sir," the boy mumbled, chagrined.
"Get on top of that. Now."
"Yes, sir. I will, sir."
"Good," he stated before signing off.
Reid let out a sigh of relief and sat back in his chair, thoroughly humiliated.
Suddenly, the radio frequency let out a burst of static. "And Reid," came his Unit Chief's voice said, piercing his ear. "We'll talk about your place on this team after we wrap the case."
Spencer nodded his head, even though he knew his boss couldn't see the pathetic gesture.
"Now, mute your end of the line and only contact us if there is something that we need to know," the supervising agent ordered before the radio waves went silent once again.
The boy's lithe fingers searched out the switch on his walkie and pushed it to the receiving only position. He then let out a massive groan, "He's going kick me off the team!"
"For a genius, you can be pretty stupid sometimes, Spencer," he mumbled, continuing to berate himself. "No wonder they don't want you in the field. You can't even complain right."
He rubbed his forehead with his right thumb and index finger, trying to stave off the tension headache he could feel starting to form. "Get it together. You're still on the team now and they need you to keep an eye on things," the youth ordered himself. "Worry about it after this is all over!"
Above him the black and white feeds flickered. His eyes flitted over the screens; his brain digesting each scene with the precision of a profiler. Slowly, he reached his hand into his pocket as he maintained his gaze on the transmissions in front of him. He only looked away to ensure that he pushed the correct button to contact Garcia.
The calls to both girls lasted less than two minutes each and in that time nothing happened outside of the club. The agents inside were also coming up dry too. Not a single patron on any of the four floors matched their working profile.
The genius glanced at the clock and saw that it was only 11:00 at night. He groaned, knowing that his teammates were going to be in the club for at least another three hours. "I might as well get comfortable," he said, shifting in his metal chair and stretching his arms. "If that's even possible."
Suddenly a scuffing noise came from outside of the van. The agent froze, wide eyed, and strained his ears. Wishing that the van had cameras on the area immediately around it, he counted out two minutes in his brain and moved again when he didn't hear any more suspicious sounds.
Chuckling at his own paranoia, let out a deep breath. "Some FBI agent you are. Now you're jumping at the sound of a stray dog scurrying around outside. Morgan would have gotten, like, a years' worth of material from that."
The genius's tense muscles relaxed slightly as he turned his attention back to the screens.
Swiftly and without warning the door behind Reid was thrown open. The sounds of men shouting out profanities filled the air along with maniacal laughter. "Our TV was right, guys. They are hunting us down. But it looks like we found our prey first. Now go get it."
The man hadn't even muttered his last word when two of the goons rushed into the small space. Spencer's spidery fingers were halfway to their goal of switching his radio back on when he was knocked out of his seat and onto the floor. The wires attached to his radio went taunt on his way down and the device pulled away from his head. He hit the ground on his back and looked up to see his headset swinging back and forth above him.
All of a sudden he remembered his gun.
How could he had forgotten the gun strapped to his belt?
Reid was cursing his stupidity when he felt two hands wrap around his ankles and pull them backward. The lithe agent struggled to kick out his legs, desperate to dislodge the man's grip and yelled out, "Let go! I'm a federal agent!" Meanwhile, he was twisting his body from side to side hoping to distract the two men from looking at his right hand.
He was successful. The tips of Spencer's gangly fingers brushed the cool gunmetal but all of a sudden his world drop out from underneath him. For the second time in less than a minute his back hit the hard ground; his teeth jarred together and his head smashed into the rough cement.
Stars were dancing in front of his eyes when they cracked open to reveal the cloudy night sky. He blinked his eyes and propped himself up on his elbows. He looked around and felt his stomach drop when he saw that he was surrounded by at least six men. There was no way he'd be able to reach his gun now without them seeing. He was going to have to use the only weapon he had left; his words.
He swallowed a gulp of air and trained his gaze on the man that looked to be in charge of the others based upon his confident body language. He was a six foot tall white man that was only slightly heavier than Spencer. His head was shaved but it was obvious that he only did it to prevent comments about the bald spot that was spreading across the crown of his head. His face was haggard and pock marked due to years of untreated acne when he was a teenager. His eyes were a dark brown and sunken into his head, giving them a beady look that was enlarged due to his prescription glasses. Every visible patch of skin aside from his face was covered in ink – most of it Irish in origin. The man was the total opposite of what Reid had expected.
"I-I think there's been some kind of mistake. I-I'm a federal agent and your interfering with an active investigation. If you leave now I'll forget this ever happened," he stated with a shake in his voice.
The man he was looking at smiled and looked around at his friends. They all started laughing until the lead man cut them off. "Get his gun," he ordered one of the goons, ignoring Reid's statement.
The panic the agent had been trying to suppress burst forth as a rush of adrenaline. Once he heard the other man's order Reid tried to roll over onto his right side to hide the holster that his hand was reaching for.
Alas, he was not quick enough and one of the muscular men rushed him and grabbed his shoulders, pinning the genius down to the ground. Another one of the assailants swiftly crouched down and took the gun away from its owner.
"Let me go!" Reid cried, bringing his hands up to his shoulders and digging his nails into his attacker's flesh. The black man that was perched above him didn't even wince when his skin was broken. The genius realized his scratches were doing nothing. So he fisted his right hand and slammed it into the thug's jaw.
"You gonna take that, Jay?" a Latino man taunted from the sidelines.
The man above him, Jay, growled at the scrawny agent and straddled him. He released his hold on Reid's shoulders and sat up tall, squeezing his legs against Spencer's waist in a show of dominance. The young man squirmed beneath the daunting man's gaze and tried to plead for his release one more time. "Let me go!" he shouted once again, desperation clear in his panic strained voice.
Instead of freeing Reid, Jay backhanded him and flipped him over onto his stomach. The angered man then shoved his knee into Spencer's back and grabbed his scraggy neck with his left hand. Using his right hand, the man reached down and tried to slide his fingers underneath the waistband of the genius's pants. "No! Don't!" Reid shouted when he realized the man's intentions. But Jay just laughed at him and allowed his hand to continue its journey.
Unfortunately for him, the boy's pants were cinched tightly at his waist, thanks to his belt. The large man growled out his frustration and threatened, "A fucking belt isn't going to stop me."
"Knock it off for now," the head man ordered.
Jay looked up at his leader and said, "But Clifton…"
"Not now," the beady-eyed man snarled. "You'll have time for that later. We need to get outta here before his friends come back."
"Fine."
The man, now identified as Clifton, looked over at the Latino. "Mico, call Lorenzo and get the van over here now. The rest of you help Jay get the kid ready."
Reid, who was practically hyperventilating, managed to force out, "Don't do this. Just let me go now or else you'll be facing life in jail – a-all of you."
Clifton looked down at Spencer and frowned. "Shut the kid up, boys. I'm sick of hearing his mouth."
The men surrounding Reid converged on him at once. Jay let go of his neck and gathered up both hands. Spencer heard the sound of tape being unwound from its roll and moments later it was binding his wrists together. The men didn't just stop at his wrists, though; they continued up his hands, forced his fingers to intertwine and encased them in the sticky tape. Meanwhile, someone was down at his feet, removing his shoes in order to fasten his ankles together.
"S-stop…please," Spencer whimpered as he was turned onto his back, smashing his bound hands beneath him.
Jay was the only one that even acknowledged his plea and it was only with a smirk. "Hey, Tony, give me one of your socks."
The guy down at Reid's feet called back, "Say what?"
"Gimme one of your socks," Jay ordered, snapping his finger.
Behind him, Tony grumbled his displeasure at the demand. It was quickly becoming obvious to Spencer that Jay was second in command of this crew.
"Here ya go," the man said, flinging out his black cotton sock.
Jay snatched it out of Tony's hand and balled it up into a wad. "Rip off a few strips of tape for me."
Tony did as instructed while Jay seized Spencer's jaw. "Open wide," he jeered as he squeezed his fingers together and forced the agent's mouth open. Once Reid's teeth parted he shoved the sweaty rag inside and used his hand to push it down deep. His free hand reached up and took the piece of tape that was dangling from Tony's fingers and pressed it down over Reid's lips. He then layered on four more pieces before he sat back and grinned.
"Perfect," Clifton commented. "Now get him up. Here comes Lorenzo."
A large white van pulled up seconds later next to the group. Jay stood up from the ground. He then bent over and grasped Reid's right forearm while Tony got his left. The two men hauled him upright and dragged him over to the vehicle. Mico was already at the van's sliding door, opening it up so they could fling their cargo inside. Once Spencer was sprawled out on the floor, Clifton's crew piled inside whilst he climbed into the empty passenger seat.
"Good job, Boys," the ringleader called from the front. "If this doesn't scare those fuckin kids off of our streets, nothing will."
Chapter 2 will be up next Sunday.