A/N I do not own Criminal Minds. Thank you all for the support, the next update for this will be up soon! Also, Happy Belated Birthday, Mal!
Warnings: Strong Violence and Coarse Language. (If this is not your thing, as I do not wish to offend, please do not read) Thank you!
Please, enjoy!
Heart of Hades
Chapter III: Part II Inmundus
"What really raises one's indignation against suffering is not suffering intrinsically, but the senselessness of suffering." – Frederich Nietzsche
Taking out his pocket knife, flicking it open with practiced ease as his brooding eyes quickly scanned the many screens hanging along the wall, only to land on the large computer screen in front of him.
Tapping a command, the camera slowly zoomed in, revealing six of the trapped agents. His thin lips; chapped from years of habitually tearing the skin, quirked with a perverse delight, as he watched each member take in the shock of the day's events.
Leaning back in the cheap swivel chair, he swung his legs up onto the metallic desk and grabbed the fruit from his small duffel bag, using the knife to methodically cut away the bright red peel of the apple.
Minutes ticked by and he slowly grew uncomfortable; shifting, only to reach into his pocket and toss his wallet and badge onto the desk. The laminated identification card, with his once hopeful face staring back at him, had that familiar feeling of disgust – an acidic turmoil; one that had been festering since he started working there, churn viciously in his gut, forcing his mind to wander and the blade to slip.
Slicing the tender flesh of his thumb.
Dark, warm liquid seeped out onto the pale fruit and he growled, tossing the apple against the wall, only for it to land with an unsatisfying thud across the floor. Taking a deep breath, bringing the wounded flesh to his mouth, sucking the acerbic tang – finding comfort with the pulsing throb.
Needing a distraction; he hit a button, flooding the space with the clipped voices of several agents – rolling his eyes as they tried to make sense of their captivity, and he huffed in irritation when they proceeded to scramble for a profile.
How predictable.
Though they had little to no evidence, and certainly nothing concrete.
Turning in the chair to face the other side of the room, his eyes flitted across several bulletin boards with specific personal information on each member – years he had spent researching, observing and gathering facts; laid before him to use freely as he pleased.
The man had the upper hand and it sent a thrill of arousal shooting down his spine. Taking his time, he briefly reviewed the material he had long since memorized, only for a gleeful smirk to brighten his chiseled features as his eager gaze landed on the picture of Technical Analyst Garcia.
Jaw taut with tension, as his narrowed eyes took in her signature colorful attire and glossy lips, only to stare at those blonde curls; pinned back with a sparkly flower clip. Her bubbly personality, evident from just a photograph, nearly ruined his foul mood.
She was a vital piece to his sadistic game; having appreciated her skillful finesse of all things technological from afar – and though her good-natured charm had wormed a splinter of affection within his calloused demeanor for the curvaceous woman, it did little to change his mind.
His plan was already in motion and he had no intention of stopping.
However, he couldn't deny the concern that lingered in the back of his mind – spinning back around, remembering that the team member who held the pieces to the puzzle together was still in critical condition.
Changing the settings, he quickly brought the cramped room with the two wounded members, onto the large computer screen.
He had given instructions – clear and precise.
Both women were to be treated and remain alive; needing all eight in order to start.
Though the brutish men he had teamed up with, had their own agendas, and their cooperation came at a cost.
They too, liked to play…and he, having no other choice, had reluctantly given them permission.
Scooting closer to the desk, nibbling on his bottom lip as he zoomed in on the man hovering over Garcia; hand dangerously close to her large breasts and he felt a flush of heat course through his tense body when the man's fingers latched around the front clasp of her bra.
He was a man with needs after all, and admittedly had been admiring her lush cleavage for years – hell, each woman on the team held a craving for his appetite, but Garcia was a…unique variety.
There was no denying his intrigue; completely captivated with the actions on the screen – he had all the time in the world to play, and would have his fill later.
Though at the moment, his mind raced with possibilities of how his little experiment would work; how the team would handle each situation thrown at them – riveted on the psychological impact that such scenarios would produce. Glancing at the screen, spotting Agent Morgan, the last one still standing – pacing the small cage, and he nearly chuckled with excitement.
Truthfully, the car accident had been a slight mishap, a mistaken calculation on his part. The spiked strip had been set up for an emergency situation in case they fled the property, and having unfortunately underestimated Agent Hotchner's strict timely management, they hadn't considered them arriving from the back entrance of the massive property.
Cracking his knuckles, peeved at how close they came to ruining everything before it even started. Taking a calming breath; he zoomed in closer on Garcia – flooded with relief as her eyes slowly fluttered open.
He wanted to watch what Alexei was up to; aware of the burly man's yearning for things vivacious - the curvier the better, but there was also a strong desire to see the painful contortions dance across Strauss' face as she moaned and tried to writhe away from Pavel's swift handiwork.
It was a nasty looking wound, and his meticulous mind wandered if the older woman would need a blood transfusion. Though, he wasn't worried. Not at all.
That makeshift medical room was well stocked and equipped to keep them alive for the duration of the time they would spend here, until it was decided that they were done with them, whether they lived or died after that, didn't matter to him.
Leaning back in his chair, grabbing another apple – he slowly began peeling away the skin, when an idea suddenly struck him.
Pressing the button on the two-way radio, he gave a sharp command in his native tongue – knowing he only had to wait but half a minute before his companion entered the room.
Her leather boots clicked like scraping teeth across the cement, mind flashing with the image of her in that tight black outfit, though it wasn't enough to have his eyes leave the flashing computer screens.
"Yes?" voice an airy purr; dripping with curious exuberance.
"I need you to fix the other two," letting the spiral peel fall to his feet.
"You never let me have any fun," hand coming to rest upon his shoulder; sharp nails digging into his wrinkled shirt.
"Fix them…," lowering his voice, as he cut off a giant chunk of apple and ate it – wiping the juices off with the back of his hand, "…first, and we'll see."
Hot breath cascaded over his neck as raven curls tickled his cheek, momentarily mesmerized as those soft lips pressed against his ear and she leaned over him, only to reach forward and grab the apple out of his hand. "I wander, do you have this many rules in bed?" thick accent an alluring rasp, as her tongue traced the shell of his ear, only to tsk in amusement once she spotted his new injury. "Oh, you need to be more careful…sir," fingers grazing over his cut.
Body tense with denied longing; wanting, needing to remain in control – fingers twirling the blade in his clenched hand.
The tall woman hovered for just a moment, taking a teasing bite. "Maybe Pavel can help fix you, no?" tossing the fruity treat onto his lap as she swiftly moved away.
"Katya," he barked, as she reached the door.
"Be gentle…I get it," slamming closed the heavy oak; coy laughter echoing behind her – leaving him encapsulated with his facts and computer screens.
Turning the volume back up, he scooted down into his seat – preparing himself for what would surely be an interesting show.
Ignoring the heavy weight of the cuff links, his stubby fingers absently spun the cool metal of his class ring; dark hickory eyes scanning the room for any possible exits, only to fall upon the constant pacing of Morgan in the cage next to him.
He may be older but he certainly wasn't senile, having picked up on the budding romance between the agent and their bubbly tech some time ago – though of course, having been caught by the inseparable pair while he was leaving his own date with their Unit Chief a few weeks prior, certainly had a lot to do with his newfound knowledge. Rossi had brushed off their curious, knowing gazes with a few sarcastic remarks, easily placing the heat back onto them, only for Garcia to blush in embarrassment while Morgan stood tall with a smug, goofy grin.
Yes, Rossi understood why the younger man was furious; why he couldn't sit still, but if they were planning on getting out of this shit hole, he needed Morgan to focus.
"Derek," he barked, perhaps a tad too harsh – clearing his throat as the man whirled around to face him.
"No, I ain't sitting down," he growled, brows knitted with furious defiance.
"If you want to help Penelope, you need to calm down," a low blow, but a reasonable one.
"You haven't eaten much today, and your caloric intake is less than your input, so the energy your burning through is greater than…" Reid rambled, while nervously fidgeting his one cuffed hand; clattering the chains as his other hand, now in a dirty cast, laid limp at his side.
"Spence," JJ's soft voice cut him off, giving him a gentle smile as she shook her head.
"What!" laughing in disbelief, Morgan shook the large bolted lock against the thick fencing of the cage. "We're just gonna sit here?"
"For the moment…yes," Aaron gurgled, leaning against the cement wall, as he held a torn piece of his shirt over his still bleeding nose. "We need to regroup and you're making everyone anxious."
Rossi uncrossed his legs; now numb from the cold cement floor beneath him and clasped his hands over his knees. "Well the only thing we can do…" he started.
"Is to make a profile," Emily interrupted; she was braver then most and was sitting on the edge of the mattress having given up on finding comfort on the barren floor. "What do we know so far?"
"They're organized. Reeks of military training," Rossi started, glad to find something to focus on.
"It was all planned. Has been for quite some time," Prentiss added; throwing her hands up to indicate the room around them, only to jostle the chains in frustration. "That spiked strip was put there on purpose."
"So what…," Derek halted, deciding to lean against the wall; arms crossed, muscles rippling with tension. "Strauss said this was a team bonding trip. Was that just a bunch of bull shit?"
"She had nothing to do with this!" Rossi narrowed his gaze, feeling that protective urge kick in for the woman he had been sharing a bed with.
"Yeah, Rossi? Are you certain about that?" his voice had dropped, daring the older man to disagree.
"I don't think she planned on getting a tree branch lodged in her leg, Derek," JJ piped up, not caring to defend the woman, but understanding that their anger was distracting them from seeing the facts.
Rossi smiled in satisfaction; beaming at Derek, only to catch sight of the darker man's slumped shoulders, an indication that his valor had been battered and bruised – cruelly revealing his vulnerability. It was an abrasive exposure, that the older man instantly recognized to mean one thing – the women Morgan loved was in danger and he had been unable to protect her, and suddenly the small victory left Dave feeling pathetic.
Silence infused the space, coiling the suffocating tension around the room like a vile serpent, until Reid broke the standoff.
"Someone's watching us," he stated, so matter of fact – it jarred the team out of their momentarily reclusiveness. "Those cameras keep moving. Mostly zooming in and out."
David had been so keen on exits he had paid little attention to the small hidden cameras tucked discreetly in the corners of the room, feeling his jaw clench as he muttered a slew of his favorite profanities.
"The question is…" Emily gritted out; nibbling on her thumb, pulling at the tender skin of the nailbed. "What are they trying to figure out?"
"Well there's eight cages," JJ stood up, spotting the empty cages, which were obviously meant for Strauss and Garcia. "Which means they had something planned for all of us," hearing Derek's sharp intake of breath at her mistake, she blanched and instantly added. "They still do," though it lingered over all of them, doing little to alleviate their dark thoughts.
"Is there any…significance to the order?" came Hotch's nasally inquiry, as he sputtered and blew his nose into the soaked fabric; gritting his teeth as his swollen eye throbbed, aggravating his pulsing migraine. Inhaling a breath through his mouth, trying to soothe the constant ache of his face and change his focus -needing to bring his team back together, hoping to discover something, anything that would help give them answers.
Rossi took in everyone's position. Emily was at the end, right next to him with Morgan on his other side. Then there was an empty space, followed by Hotch, JJ, Reid, and another empty cage at the end, but before he could determine any meaning, the large grate door swung wide open; scratching angrily against cement and then swinging closed behind them.
The fluorescent lights surged to life as two burly men walked into the room; one swinging a thick wooden baseball bat, while the other held a small leather doctor's bag. It was only when they parted that the tall, raven beauty stepped into the room; bright eyes twinkling with mischief as pearly whites flashed upon her face.
"Trying to figure it all out, are we?" she mocked; fingers twirling the ends of her dark curls, as she perched herself onto the end of the giant table.
"Where's Garcia?" Morgan growled, fingers clutching the harsh wiring of the cage.
"Ah, ah, ah…" shaking her head, as she tsked in amusement. "That's not how this works…Agent Morgan."
The taller man chuckled to himself, as he leaned against a steel beam, and then slowly tapped the bat against his boots. "Is Garcia the one in the suit…" he taunted, sending Derek a nasty smirk. "Or the one in that cute little bra?"
"Fuck you, man!" Derek roared; shaking the cage door as it rattled on its hinges. "Don't you fucking touch her!"
"Considering I'm not locked in a cage…," the man shrugged arrogantly. "I can do as I please."
"Nicolay!" the woman's clipped voice, echoed in the cold space – effectively ending the conversation, only to bring her heated gaze back to the fuming Agent. "Your Baby Girl…is that right?" arching a brow as she innocently twisted a lock around her finger. "Is with the rest of our associates getting all…stitched up."
The shorter man next to her; dark hair peppered with grey, huffed in agreement as he unzipped the bag, slowly taking out sharp medical tools, including syringes and several rolls of gauze and tape.
"Why don't we get started," taking out an elastic, she swiftly brought her curls into a pony tail. "Let's see, which one of you…" taking her time to look between Hotch and Reid. "Needs the most help."
Rossi felt fear prickle down his spine, as he watched Aaron's gaze narrow at the woman, while Spencer sat wide eyed; fingers tapping against his leg as his mind raced with possibilities.
"Eeny, meeny, miny, moe," she jokingly sing-songed, only to look behind her. "Which do you think, Nick?"
Lifting his hand to rub against his thick goatee in fake contemplation, the man smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "How about…the one getting blood all over the fucking place."
"Oh, yes!" clapping her hands in glee. "Agent Hotchner," she purred, kicking her legs back and forth. "You are making quite a mess."
David grit his teeth; feeling his back stiffen as the man named Nicolay dragged one of the wooden chairs with an attached head rest and leather straps, across the room, not stopping until he was a few feet away from the table.
The woman took out a set of silver keys; dangling them around, before tossing them to Nick. "Let's fix that nose of yours," sending Aaron a deceptively dashing smile as the burly man headed towards his cage.
"What are you doing?" Derek barked, pacing the cramped confinement like a lion – seething with tension.
"Agent Morgan," the woman crooned; brows furrowed in annoyance "You don't listen very well, do you?" jumping off the table, she slowly walked over – heels clicking pointedly across the floor, only to pull a gun out from the holster around her belt.
Taking a moment to stare at Derek, giving him a slow perusal. "You and I are going to have a lot of fun together…" tilting her head to side with coy scrutiny, only to step closer to the cage and lower her voice. "But…not as much fun as my men, are going to have with your precious…Penelope."
Derek surged forward, rattling his chains as the cage door violently shook, only for the woman to raise the gun and aim it at his head. "Agent Hotchner!" she shouted, silencing the room. "If you even flinch in the wrong direction, I will put a bullet through his head," giving Aaron a seething look, waiting until he reluctantly nodded in defeat.
Nicolay unlocked the cage; glaring down at the wounded Agent, only to release his cuffs and quickly haul him up to a standing position and then shove him out into the open room. Aaron stumbled forward, knees wobbling, only to catch sight of the other man holding up a long needle and syringe – his crooked smile, nearly menacing over his unshaven beard.
"Sit," Nick growled, pushing him towards the wooden chair.
Aaron hesitated, feeling nausea sweep through him, even as his training kicked in to defend himself, though as the woman tutted in annoyance; raising the gun just a little closer at Derek, he took a shuddering breath and sat down.
The man was callous as he quickly strapped his wrists in place, only to grab his face; fingers digging angrily into the tender flesh of his bruised cheek and then slam his head back into the headrest. The moment the buckle clicked into place across his forehead, panic churned his gut as fear settled into his bones.
Opening his eyes; shocked to see the woman leaning over him with a wide grin.
"Ivan, bring me some gloves," she called behind her; tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "This is…gonna hurt."
"Please don't," she pleaded, eyes glistening with tears – gritting her teeth as the man hovering over her loosened the tourniquet and harshly jiggled the sharp branch still lodged in her thigh.
"Don't what?" Pavel teased. "Help you?"
Erin clamped her eyes shut; willing the searing pain to stop, but feeling utterly helpless.
"No…I…," she mumbled, blinking away the stars that blurred her vision. "Don't hurt…her," she coughed; licking her lips – tasting soot, sweat and what she prayed wasn't blood, only to change her focus to Garcia.
Pavel chuckled. "Your friend is in good hands over there," giving a small nod to Alexei, who was now palming Penelope's breast. "See, she doesn't say a thing."
"Stop it!" she sputtered, trying to sit up only to get pushed back down. The sudden movement sent burning spasms ricocheting down her leg and the only thing she could do was vomit.
Pavel quickly turned her over, letting the putrid liquid cover her arm and drip onto the floor.
"Was that necessary?" he glared, scuffing his shoe with exaggerated disgust. "I tell you what, I give you this medicine, and stitch you up…and Alexei over there…," lifting Erin's head so she could see the other woman. "Gets to have a little fun. Understood?"
She shook her head, trying to roll away, only for him to grab her arm; a swift, harsh shove of the needle into her soft skin, and she suddenly grew lax – a cruel betrayal, that succumbed her body with comforting warmth.
Pavel leaned closer, his hot stagnant breath, tickling her face. "Was that so hard?" gently brushing the bangs out of her eyes, he then turned her head back towards the other table, so all she could do was watch.
Watch as Alexei's hand trailed slowly back up Penelope's still body, gently cupping her chin, thumb tracing her plump bottom lip, only for him to get lost in the crimson of her tangled hair – honey locks, now caked with blood from her head wound.
He ran a hand over her locks, twirling the now red curls and smiled.
Looking back up, he smirked at Erin's narrowed gaze – ignoring her slurred moans, and continued a leisurely perusal back down Garcia's still body; hand squeezing her soft tummy, before jumping to her knee and rubbing the bruised flesh through her torn stockings.
Taking his time, he rolled one plum stocking down her leg, and then the other – tossing the ruined fabric to the floor.
His large hand squeezed her bare ankle, drawing an intricate pattern as he slowly made his way back up her leg to the smooth flesh of her thigh, only to disappear underneath her skirt – deliberately snapping the elastic of her panties; sending a clear message to the Section Chief.
"Little dove," his husky voice whispered over Penelope. "Time to wake up."
To be continued…
Title Chapter – Inmundus: Unclean
