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Reid sat as still as a stone while he listened to the exchange between the men. He felt his blood freeze when the driver asked if they were going to dump the body – his body. Luckily the leader seemed disinclined to kill him yet, meaning the team would have more time to try to find him.

The atmosphere in the van seemed to relax after Clifton announced that Reid's Fed status might work in the group's favor. The men in the back started talking amongst themselves and ignored their kidnapped passenger. Spencer, who was more than happy to be overlooked, burrowed his back into the wall and tried to block out the conversations that were floating around him. He needed to concentrate – clear his head – and figure a way out of this mess. Unfortunately, right now there was no way he was going to be able to use his best asset – his words – to talk some sense into his captors. Hopefully he could figure out a different way to escape their clutches.

Shifting his body, Reid decided to try to loosen the tape's hold on his hands. His two appendages were currently sweating up a storm in their silver cocoon and the genius hoped that the added moisture would diminish the stickiness of the material. He decided to start freeing his hands by attempting to push his wrists apart but they wouldn't budge. Next, he tried to pry his fingers out of their wedged position. Alas, the dome of tape that was wrapping them together allowed no room for movement. Huffing a discouraged breath of air through his nose, Reid gave up his vain pursuit. There was no way he was freeing his hands without some help.

A sudden bump in the road jostled the whole van, upsetting the riders in the back. "Watch where you're goin, Lorenzo," Mico called. "I don't like Tony enough to end up in his lap."

"Gimme a break," the driver said. "Michigan roads suck!"

"Yeah, well you can suck me," the Latino snarled, pushing Tony away from him.

"I ain't no fag, like you," Lorenzo shouted; he was clearly homophobic.

"You don't gotta be a fag to enjoy a good BJ. Right boys?"

A few of the other men laughed and murmured their agreement with Mico's statement.

"You would know. You fuckin – "

"Enough," Clifton said, cutting off whatever insult the other man was about to deliver. "We're here."

Spencer's heart started to hammer when he felt the van pull to a halt. Straining his ears, he thought he heard the sound of a garage door being retracted. The vehicle jerked forward once again after the sound had ceased, confirming the boy's suspicions. The van creeped forward a little bit more before it was finally settled into park. All around him, Spencer could hear the grunts of the men gathering their items and stretching their limbs. Someone must have opened the sliding door because the genius's ears were soon assaulted with the sounds of hammers pounding on metal, the grinding of sanders, the squelch of a metal lathe and the burst of an air compressor. If he had to guess, the genius would have sworn up and down he was in an auto repair shop.

After a few minutes of shuffling the van fell silent. Taking advantage of the few precious seconds that he had alone, Spencer started rubbing the back of his head against the van, hoping that the movement would dislodge the blindfold. He moved his skull up and down and felt the fabric slide upward, revealing a slit of light when he glanced down. A tingle of excitement ran through him at the small success. He leaned backward to make another pass against the door when the sound of someone's hand on the handle outside thwarted his intentions.

Not wanting to have his back to whomever was coming to get him motivated him to scoot his body over so that his spine was against the wall.

"Where do you think you're goin?" Jay asked as he flung the door open.

Reid ignored the man's question and continued to shuffle his body away from the door. He heard the other man laugh at him before he felt Jay's hands wrap around his bound ankles, jerking him toward the exit.

He felt the man pull him toward the back of the van until his legs were dangling down and his upper body was still flat on the floor. Then Jay grabbed his left bicep and pulled his body into an upright position. "Hey, Cliff. Where do ya want me to put the kid?" the crony shouted.

"Take him up to my office. Put him on the couch and stay with him. I'll be up in a few minutes. I've gotta grab a few things," Clifton ordered from somewhere in the shop.

"Great. Now I'm a fuckin babysitter," Jay complained under his breath before bending over and hoisting Reid's lithe body into a fireman's carry.

Spencer bent his legs at the knee in protest, hoping to throw off the right-hand man's grip but all his actions did was earn him a sharp smack on the ass. "Knock it off, kid."

The agent ceased his struggles to get free and decided to refocus on at least regaining his sight. Ironically, while a fireman's carry was one of the most humiliating ways Reid could think of to be lugged around, it was quite beneficial to displacing the blindfold. Mico had done a really poor job of securing the loose end of the tie and thanks to Reid's earlier efforts the cloth was no longer firmly placed around his head. Knowing that the bandage just needed a little more help, Spencer vigorously shook his head and after Jay had taken about ten steps the fabric floated down to the ground.

Taking advantage of his earned sight, Reid turned his head to the right and looked around. His eyes immediately confirmed his earlier assumption that he was in an auto repair shop. Vehicles of all makes and models were propped up all around the cavernous space. There were at least ten men working on the cars – no, not working. They were taking the cars apart.

Clifton's headquarters was a chop shop.

Reid was about to turn his head to the other side when Jay entered a stairwell. The man grunted as he scaled the first few steps but quickly climbed the rest of them with ease. Surprisingly, the top of the stairs did not lead to a hallway; instead there was just one large room outfitted with a run of the mill desk, a few couches and chairs, a refrigerator, and a conference table. The office did not take up the whole floor, only a small portion. For there were tinted windows that along the eastern wall that looked down onto the shop below, which gave the owner a crystal clear view of his employees and their actions.

"Damn, you're heavier than you look," Jay complained as he dropped Spencer down onto a beat up leather couch. The man stepped back and glanced at the boy. "What the fuck? Where's your tie?"

Reid just stared at the man with his big eyes, hoping that they conveyed a sense of innocence in their depths.

"…well shit, I guess it don't matter much anyways. It ain't like your gonna be able to tell anyone what you saw. You ain't gettin out of here alive," Jay said nonchalantly as he plopped his body down in a chair across from Reid.

The genius's eyes blinked at the bluntness of the thug's statement. He wiggled his hands behind him instinctively, still trying to free them from their bindings even though he knew it was a fruitless pursuit.

Jay smiled at his captive's discomfort. "You don't wanna leave so soon, do ya? Not when there is so much fun in your future."

Reid stilled at the man's suggestive taunt.

"I mean…you were with the cops, right? You know what we do to our…ah…guests, right?"

If these thugs were the club kids' killers then Spencer knew beyond a shadow of a doubt what was in store for him. Suddenly a flurry of images shuffled through Reid's brain prompting him to bring his bound legs up in front of his body as a meager form of protection.

Jay stood up from his seat and walked over to kid. His smile took on a sinister glow as he brought his hand down and traced his thumb from across Spencer's forehead and down to his cheekbone. He cupped the boy's chin and tilted his head back so he could look him in the eye. "We're gonna have such a good time."

"I thought you were just fuckin with him earlier. I didn't realize you really swung that way, Jay. You usually let the others have at it with the guys," Clifton jeered as he walked into the office and threw down some papers on the desk.

Jay snatched his hand away from Reid and turned toward his buddy. "Heh, I don't. It's just somethin about this one. You gotta admit, there is something appealing about takin an FBI agent down a peg or two."

Cliff snorted, "He ain't much of an agent if you ask me."

"He ain't much of a guy, either. I mean, look at him. You plop a wig his head and you've got a girl."

The leader turned around and looked at his prisoner. His eyes roved over the captive's face. "Yeah, I see what your sayin. My girl had lashes like his – but her's were fake," he said with a laugh. "You can have at him first if ya like. There might even be some clothes left over from those girl if ya wanna dress him up."

Reid, who had been looking back and forth between the two men, felt his cheeks flush at their mocking words.

Jay chuckled at the agent's reaction. "Maybe I will...," he admitted, making his way over to the young man.

"Not yet, idiot," Clifton chided, leaning against his desk and rolling his eyes.

The other man stopped short of his target and glanced at his friend with a raised eyebrow.

"I need to ask him some questions first," Cliff explained. "Take the tape off."

Even though he didn't want the other man to touch him, the idea of getting the foul sock out of his mouth motivated the genius to drop his legs to the ground. Jay's dirt encrusted fingers reached out and scratched at the upper edge of the top layer of tape. He loosened it enough that a small fringe lifted away from the skin. The thug grabbed the flap in between his index finger and thumb and slowly tugged the silver strips away from the agent's face.

Reid tried not to cringe as the tape was pulled back. He knew the man was doing it as slow as possible to draw out the painful sensation and he refused to show him that it hurt to have the hair from his five o'clock shadowed ripped out by their roots. Instead, he waited until the adhesive tape over his lips was gone and pushed the spit-saturated fabric out of his mouth.

"Tasty? Wasn't it?" the man mockingly.

Spencer didn't respond to the obvious taunt; rather, he opened and closed his mouth, stretching out the sore muscles.

Clifton pushed off of his desk and walked over to Reid. He stood in front of him and braced his hands on his hips, arms akimbo. "How old are you?"

Surprised that the gang leader's first question was about his age, Reid took a few seconds to answer.

"It's not a hard question," Clifton spat impatiently.

Making a split second decision that his age wasn't a vital piece of information that he needed to keep secret, Spencer answered, "Twenty-three."

Cliff raised his eyebrows in mild mannered surprise. "I would have guessed you were closer to eighteen," he commented wryly. "Now how did someone so young get to be an FBI agent?"

Reid's response slipped through his lips before he had a chance to censor it. "Why does it matter?" It was clear to the other two men in the room that the boy was annoyed that he had to defend his position in relation to his young age.

Pissed that the kid had the audacity to show such sass in his position, Cliff reached his right hand out and grabbed the boy's chin. He forced the agent to look up at him and said, "You wanna to skip ahead to the interrogation? Fine. Why are the Feds in Detroit?"

The agent tried to jerk his head out of the leader's grasp but was unable to break the other man's hold. So he gritted his teeth together and trained his eyes on the ceiling stubbornly. "Because we were called in by local police to aid them with their current case," he answered, purposefully elusive.

"And which case is that?" he questioned, dropping his hand away from the kid's chin.

"We are investigating the deaths of some club kids."

A smile tugged at the corners of Clifton's mouth. He looked over at Jay and said, "Did you hear that, Jay? They are here to investigate the deaths of those rich brats. Those fuckin Detroit cops must be clueless."

Jay grinned. "Dumbasses."

The smile on Cliff's mouth faded and his eyes narrowed in thought.

"What's the matter, man?"

"Shit."

Jay furrowed his brow. "What, man?"

"We know that the blue boys are stupid as hell but now that they called in the big guns…we might not have enough time to get our point across." Cliff looked back down at the captured agent. "How much do you guys know about us?"

Spencer's pink tongue darted out and licked his lips. "Not much," he answered hesitantly.

The genius would like to think he was prepared for the punch to his gut that Cliff delivered upon receiving yet another vague answer, but he wasn't. The man was faster than he'd anticipated. There was a quick push on his shoulder, sending him back into the couch cushion and then a swift sock to his stomach. The agent let out a low moan and started coughing as he tried to work through the pain.

"Don't play me."

"I-I'm not playing you."

"Bullshit. Tell me what they know."

Knowing that he couldn't reveal any of the case details to these thugs, Reid closed his eyes and uttered a defiant, "No."

Pissed as hell at the agent's audacity, Clifton sent his fist careening into the boy's face. He felt a rush of satisfaction at the yelp that escaped the kid's mouth and the spot of blood that blossomed at the corner of his swollen lips. "Tell me."

"No."

He hit the kid again. "Tell me."

Spencer heaved a few breaths in through his stinging mouth. He had to push past the pain and force himself to steady his brown eyes with the leader's beady ones. "N-no," Spencer slurred, spitting some saliva mixed with blood in Clifton's direction.

A few speckles of spittle landed on Cliff's face. The man reached his hand up and rubbed the moisture away, smiling. He looked over at Jay. "This shit's got some cojones; I'll give him that."

Jay just raised an eyebrow as he silently wondered why his boss wasn't going postal on the young man right now.

Cliff turned his back on the two men and went over to his desk. He pulled out a few drawers and muttered to himself under his breath. After a few minutes the man stood up triumphantly and said, "I knew I had a pair in here somewhere."

Reid's doe-like eyes latched on to the object in the man's hands – a pair of six inch needle nose pliers. Immediately, the genius sucked his lips into his mouth and clamped his teeth down on top of them.

"Hold him steady," the kingpin ordered, stalking back over to his prisoner.

"Got it, C," Jay said, placing one hand on top of Reid's head and the other under his chin.

The man grabbed a chair from the conference desk on his way back and turned it around, sitting in it backwards. With a glint of glee dancing in his eyes, he waved the menacing tool in front of Spencer's face. "If you don't wanna talk, that's fine. I just hope your choice was worth the consequences," he stated, wheeling his chair closer to the couch. "Jay, get that mouth open."

The lackey did as he was told and dug his fingers into Reid's cheeks. The young agent tried his best to resist but the pressure on his jaw's hinge became too much and he was forced to part his lips.

Instantly, Clifton leaned in and clamped the nose of the pliers down on the tip of the boy's tongue. He tugged it out of its moist cavern and clasped it between his left thumb and index finger. He then repositioned the pliers so that they were compressed horizontally across the writhing tongue, holding it in place outside of the kid's mouth.

"I'm sure by now you've figured out what's going to happen. I mean, what's the point of having a tongue if you're not going to use it?"

Reid tried to grunt out a protest but was silenced by the glint of a silver pocket knife flashing before his face.

"Don't worry, I hear that you can lose up to half an inch before your ability to speak is damaged beyond repair," he said casually before plunging the steel downward.