Title: The Last Midnight Hour

Author: brittybritbrit on LJ (HoleyHoot on Twitter... come follow me!)

Rating: NC-17

Pairings/Characters: Morgan/OFC

Warnings: Original female character, un-beta'd, kidnapping, violence, torture, talk of rape (possible flashbacks), lemons later

Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Sadness.

Summary: Riley Seeder was a cold case file. Taken when she was fourteen by a sadistic Master, she was forced into the life of a slave. Her master uses her to satisfy his sexual desires as he trains her - torturing, scarring, and ultimately breaking her. She was his pet for two and half years, only being found by chance - some hunters poaching wolves on private property. Case closed, she goes back to her parents, society, a changed girl, finishing her schooling at home and moving out quickly after to get away from the people who no longer know her. She starts to heal, physically and mentally with the help of her therapist, and finally fits in with common society again. Seven years after being taken, she meets a man. Giving him her number was the best idea she ever had. After two months of dating, she decides to tell, and show, him exactly why she stays covered... until she's taken again.

After a life of being a player, Agent Derek Morgan meets his match. The young girl in the coffee shop won't leave his mind, he's fallen hard and he hates himself for it, knowing his job will only bring her pain. She's different from the others; she won't let herself be alone with him, and he loves it. She's the only woman outside of his team that he's actually gotten to know. After a couple of months, she accepts a dinner invitation to his house. He makes sure everything perfect, knowing full well tonight will be the night he tells her how he feels... until she stands him up.

Author's Note: I hope even though this is an OFC fic, you'll give it a shot. If there are mistakes, please let me know so I can go in and fix them. Also, please let me know what you think; constructive criticism is welcome! Thanks to all who read and review. Enoy!

Prologue:

"I want to hear you scream, Sweetheart." The whispered term of endearment was coated in a thick layer of disgust as it fell from the thin-lipped, scarred mouth. He had her bound, tied to the high rafters in his safe place – a place yet to be found by any other but him. He had stripped her of her warm layers, leaving her bare but for the flimsy scraps of black lace barely covering her petite breasts and firm buttocks. He enjoyed watching her back arch, her hands grip the nylon rope – sure to leave wonderful ligatures along her wrists – her ass cheeks clench every time he sent a shock through her small body. She was no more than 5'2" with short-cropped black hair hanging in her eyes; her body had yet defined itself completely as a woman having only just turned twenty-two last night. The poor thing had pissed and shit herself after the first shock; he had been nice, caring enough to clean her up before starting to film. He always cleaned them up before continuing; he planned on touching them – fucking them – later in every orifice available. He didn't feel like getting shit and piss on his dick; after all, they were the dirty ones, not he.

"I will never scream for you," she whispered her head resting on her right arm, chest heaving in an attempt to catch her breath, eyes closed, attempting to ignore the little red light on the camera. She knew he was recording, knew why he was recording, and she would forever deny him the pleasure she knew he would get from her screams. Not just hearing them himself, but sending the footage to her boyfriend. She knew well enough by now this man – monster – hadn't taken her completely for his own sick pleasure, but also to torture the man with whom he had been playing a great game of cat and mouse for almost two years now. Her boyfriend had told her from the beginning be careful, 'I can't possibly be any good for you.' At first she thought he meant his player status, but soon she realized why he had such a status. He was protecting people by keeping them at arms length. She was different, she knew. She hadn't fucked him the first day she met him, just gave him her number and told him to call her if he ever felt like hanging out. She had walked away from him, not really expecting him to call, but feeling proud of herself for putting herself out there like that – putting herself out there in a way she hadn't since she'd been abducted at the age of fourteen and abused both mentally and physically until she was found two and a half years later by sheer chance. They had called it 'a miracle', the people who found her; she wanted to say that the 'miracle' she had needed was not being taken in the first place, but she had been trained well to keep her whore mouth shut. He did call her, though, and set up a date for the following Friday. She had dressed up nice, careful to cover the marks, scars she knew he would eventually see if she kept this thing going. He had treated her wonderfully, like she learned after years of therapy a man should treat a woman – not as a pet, but a lady. It had made her feel funny, different; she had insisted on meeting him in a very public place, she still didn't trust riding in cars with anyone, not even her parents. When the date ended, he walked her to her car, standing awkwardly, something she could tell he wasn't used to, being awkward. She showed mercy by kissing his cheek and telling him she'd like to see him again sometime, but she still turned, loaded herself in her dark purple Chevrolet Chevelle and drove away, leaving him standing there to watch her leave. He had texted her that night to wish her sweet dreams. She hadn't told him she never had sweet dreams, not wanting to taint the sentiment she felt not many received from him. They had been seeing each other regularly for two months now, and still she had refrained from being alone with him in any sort of intimate way. They shared sweet, lingering kisses, but never took things too far for her to handle. Last night was going to change that. She had finally worked up the courage to tell him about her past, knowing, hoping his involvement in cases much like hers would make him more understanding and forgiving her past discrepancies – because really, she couldn't help but still blame herself, at least partly. Her master had trained her well in that sense, as well.

"I will make you scream," her attacker stated before holding the live wires against her torso once more. He watched, his eyes taking in the beautiful, erotic sight of her spasming body once more. He observe her head thrown back in pain, her mouth curling over her precious, clenched teeth, her hands tugging at the ropes above her of their own accord, her feet digging into the soft silt beneath her bare feet. He drew back, her head slouched forward. He was starting to lose his patience. What would it take for her to lose herself to him; he had just upped the power of the generator and still she did not scream. He was afraid if he upped the generator any more, he would kill her before getting to hear her beautiful wails of pain and torment. The beautiful wails he would later, after assuring her body held no aftershocks for him, use to jerk himself off inside of her. Oh yes, just thinking about it was making him semi-hard. He was angry, at her for having so much control in this, at himself for not having more control over her. "What will it take to make you scream?" he yelled, cursing himself for allowing her to make him this angry.

"I will never scream for you," she whispered again, this time swinging her head up slightly to look him in the eyes. "Do what you want with me; I will never give you what you wa – ugh." She cut herself off with a grunt as her attacker pressed the livewire to her torso once more, leaving it on a bit longer this time. She threw her had back, clenching her eyes shut tightly, recalling all of the control she had learned during the two years with her master. She hated that she had to think of that time, hated that she was grateful – grateful! – she had lived through those two years, if only to keep her boyfriend from having to live through watching her die, screaming and spasming, in the footage she knew he would be sent soon. She felt the ropes digging into her wrists, focusing on the pain of the skin breaking slightly, adding to her already marred and imperfect shell. She wondered what her boyfriend would think, seeing her like this, her arms, chest, stomach, legs, and back riddled with tattoos even a blind man could see. She had been afraid of the look of disgust on his face when she finally showed him the marks that stood out – some bright white, others lightly purple – against her ivory skin, afraid it would be there no matter how hard he tried to mask it with love, but at least it would have been on her terms. This was not how she wanted him to find out, this was not on her terms at all, and he would have a chance to compose himself, keep himself from making a sour face at her imperfectness. He'd be nice about it, she was sure of that. He would let her down gently, telling her he knew he wasn't good for her, she should just go on her way now, before the next time when it would be worse. A tear escaped her clenched eye as her attacker finally took the electrical current away from her body. Her head slumped forward, she spit out the saliva that had pooled in her mouth, hating herself for getting taken again. She had promised herself never again, had taken courses to defend herself from attackers. She wasn't sure it would ever be enough at this point. Her vision was blurring at the edges, a deep vignette on the darkening colors of her world. She sagged slightly, knowing her body could only take so much; she figured that must've been why her attacker stopped the current when he did. She felt her heart skip one beat, then another, then lurch forward again with a deep inhalation and a feeling of nausea. She saw feet in her limited visual plain, felt a hot, steamy breath blow over her ear, causing the nausea to settle itself semi-permanently in the pit of her stomach. She felt the acid bubble up, her mouth filled with more saliva, the bile rose to her throat, escaping inside her mouth. She stopped it there, clamping her mouth shut; she would not give her attacker the pleasure or her boyfriend the pain of watching her throw up from the overexertion on her seemingly frail body. She lifted her head the few inches she could, able to make eye contact with her aggressor.

He watched her catch the vomit in her mouth, a smirk of triumph lighting his eyes with malice. He had won, finally, if only minutely. The little slut would spit the vomit out and her boyfriend would know she was truly being tortured. His eyes caught hers as she lifted her head slightly. He knew she could see the look in his eyes, he knew she knew he had won this round, all she needed to do was spit. He watched a small smirk crawl shakily across her own mouth, a look of defiance flash in her almost unfocused eyes. He was confused until he saw her throat muscles contract and expand, her mouth parting slightly as if to show him proof of what she had just done, swallowing her own vomit, her own filth, to test his fury, keep him in check. His nostrils flared with his anger. "You. Will. Scream!" On his final word, he drew his fist back, hitting her across the face as hard as he could, effectively knocking his victim, the bitch, out. He walked swiftly to the camera, stopped the recording, and bent to his small laptop to make sure the disc had burned successfully. He already had a preaddressed envelope, written by his last victim. He watched the disc pop out, lifted it from its holder with his pointer and his thumb, snapped it gingerly into place within the jewel case, and slid the case into the envelope. He would hand-deliver the envelope to his favorite agent's door tomorrow morning, posing as a UPS worker, thankful he still had his old uniform and the ability to make realistic looking labels. It would be too much fun, knowing Agent Derek Morgan had seen him, talked to him, maybe even accidentally grazed fingers with him, and let him walk away – the man he would see on the disc, the man he would see torturing his girlfriend, a girlfriend that had obviously been tortured before. He wondered if Derek knew about his girlfriend's past, if it was as much a mystery to the agent as it was to him. He liked imagining that no, Derek didn't know, that this would be the first time he'd ever seen her this way, with no clothes. He had been too busy having fun with his last victim to keep tabs on the federal agent, but when he was done with her, had come around to watch the agents life like a made-for-TV movie, he was thrilled to see this jewel of a girl appear, then reappear, and reappear – a new cast member, a new main character in Agent Morgan's life. Yes, he was thrilled to see her, but even more thrilled to see the look in Derek's eyes when he looked at her; it was soft, caring, loving. The man he never thought would have such a weakness was finally showing traces of love, traces of the one thing he could use against the agent; he knew now the only thing that would hurt him more than anything else he could possibly do – taking her.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading. Please let me know what you think!