A/N: Don't own nothing but my twisted imagination.

Haven't had to warn my sweet readers in a while, but this one warrants it. A brutal chapter awaits below. I swear, I held my breath as I wrote this and couldn't stop until I reached the ending. What a rush. You can thank the frigid temps of the Chicago winter for keeping the library where I work closed so I had a chance to write this.

But be warned, non-con assaults and rough violence abound. If that's not your thing, please, feel free to skip this chapter, as this will probably be the worst one of all... however,

if you are enjoying the thrill ride of this tale of horror, then once again, I shall get the hell outta your way...

"Got your hands bound – your head down – your eyes closed.

You look so precious now." – Tool, Prison Sex

"The breath I've taken and the one I must to go on.

Put the grenade pin in your hand, so you understand who's boss.

My defeat sleeps top to toe with her success…." –Matilda, Alt-J

Chapter 14 – Shattered

Karai collapsed onto the leather sofa in her living room. Again, she pulled the cell phone from the pocket in her slacks to check for any messages from Kenso. It wasn't like him to leave her without a word, even to simply inform her that he was on task. The man was diligent and thorough. A worm of worry was beginning to wiggle in the back of her mind. However, the notion that anything could have possibly happened to him was beyond ridiculous. He was sent merely to shadow Malcolm, nothing more. Had he determined it was necessary to actually make contact with the imbecile, she was certain that Malcolm was no match for Kenso. Her knee bounced with irritation. What could be keeping him from reporting?

She tapped the phone lightly against her leg, then held it up again. She scrolled through to the number Donatello had given her. At the memory of the purple clad terrapin, Karai shivered. She hoped that was the last dealings she would have to endure with that one. Something about him was unsettling. It wasn't just the intelligence in his eyes, but somehow looking into them made her feel as if she was standing on the edge of bottomless pit. Anything could dwell within the dark depths of those dark eyes. She swallowed and looked again at the number. Leonardo's personal number. Just looking at it there made her heart flutter. It was as if she held a part of him in her hand. She was tempted to call. Just to hear his voice. Then what? Hang up? Her hand fell away as she huffed.

"This is absurd. I'm behaving like a school girl with a crush," she said with some disgust. And yet, the temptation remained. She stood up and paced.

He had looked back at her. She had seen it with her own eyes. Whatever feelings were bruised with his discovery of her . . . interactions with his brother could heal, she was sure. But waiting for him to come to see reason was not something she was prepared to do. Never a woman to allow fate to make its decisions for her, or to sit idly by as things worked themselves out for better or worse, she knew action was needed. In order to secure herself in his heart the way she wanted, no, the way she deserved, she had to deliver his brother. The sooner the better. Karai just knew this was the key to smoothing things out between them. She had to find Michelangelo. And her instinct was screaming that Malcolm has something to do with his disappearance.

"Kenso, where are you?"

She ran her hands through her hair and growled out in frustration. Hefting the phone in her hand, she stared at it. Finally, she closed her eyes. She took in a breath. She'd give Kenso the time he deserved. Then she would contact him. The only reason she had not tried to get in touch with him sooner was the delicate nature of the task she had assigned him. She could not risk a dull ring tone or even a vibrating noise to give away his location in the event that he was concealed. Weak-minded fool that he was, Malcolm was still a trained ninja. She would not compromise Kenso. Not yet. She would resort to tracking him if she had to. In fact, she decided as she placed the phone on the coffee table, she would give him a day, then that was exactly what she would do. Track him. If Kenso hadn't contacted her within 48 hours from the time she last saw him, then she would know for certain that something had gone wrong.

"He'd better have a good reason why he didn't report," she muttered and pulled her top over her head and crossed the room to her bathroom for a long soak in the tub. Thoughts of Leonardo resurfacing in the back of her mind, warming her. Though, truth be told, she'd have liked a visit from his brother after such a long stressful day. Raphael was always good at working the stress from her body. He'd wring every last drop of it from her before he'd finish, then hold her in those arms like constrictors, so tightly . . . all night . . . as though he were afraid to let her go.

She shook her head as she slipped from her slacks and started the bath. No good thinking of Raphael now. That situation was over. Dead. The way he looked at her tonight told her without a doubt he was done with her. He looked as if he was ready to tear her limb from limb. But thankfully, Leonardo had stopped him. Yet another sign that Leonardo's heart was not decided. Not yet.

He looked back. I will win his heart, yet.

Mikey reluctantly leaned forward as Malcolm guided his head towards his body. He closed his eyes and brought his arms up, wrapping them around the man's waist. He turned his face and pressed his cheek against Malcolm's length, embracing him. Malcolm's body jerked and he made a soft sound with the contact. Michelangelo stayed that way, holding him, all the while trembling with his eyes closed. He felt Malcolm stroking the top of his head. After a moment, though, Malcolm started to pull away. Mikey eased back, eyes open and locked upwards to meet Malcolm's cool gaze, avoiding the rigid flesh only an inch away from his face. A soft smile played along the edge of the man's mouth. He jerked his hips at Mikey and the turtle flinched back.

"That was nice, Mikey. I like hugs. But now you give me what I deserve," Malcolm said quietly.

Mikey blinked at him, trying to get his eyesight to focus. Trying to understand what Malcolm wanted. The row of lights behind Malcolm's head were turning different colors and bouncing, making him feel disorientated and dizzy. The room tipped to one side then swayed a little before it rocked to the other. The grip on the back of his head tightened and Malcolm forced him forward. Michelangelo's lips swept across his penis and Malcolm groaned, grinding it hard into Mikey's mouth, clenched shut, lips pressed tightly together. Mikey's face turned to the side as he shook his head, vaguely starting to understand what the man wanted from him. His heart sped up and his stomach turned. He braced his hands on the front of Malcolm's hips. Pushing weakly away from him.

"N-No," he choked out, strangled by terror and revulsion.

Malcolm took the sides of his head in both hands, ramming his cock hard into Mikey's mouth, splitting his lips apart. Mikey struggled weakly, shell against the wall, as Malcolm jammed his hips forward. Finally, Mikey's mouth opened with a cry of disgust and it was filled with the man's flesh. The taste of salt and musk overwhelmed him. He moaned and growled, choking as Malcolm slowly pulled back and thrust forward, deeper into the back of his mouth. Tears spilled down his cheeks. The feel of the man's thick member against his tongue and lips mixing with the tang of his pre-cum made his stomach roil. Anger suddenly spiked within his frantic heart.

No! He didn't want to do this! He wouldn't! He wouldn't!

The panic and fright, the repulsion and fury rose up and engulfed him. The room bled red around him as his eyes went white with rage. The salty, fleshy taste was replaced by the cloying, bitter, coppery flavor of hot blood as Mikey's jaws clamped down. The howling shriek out from the depths of Malcolm's chest brought a wicked sense of satisfaction. With a simple twist of his head, he knew he could tear the now softening flesh free, but his gentle spirit, battered and abused, endured still, and something held him back from this savage act of revenge. In a blur of movement, he released Malcolm and the man fell back with a broken shout.

Mikey's mind screamed, Run! Go! Run!

Malcolm continued to howl and shudder in agony where he lay collapsed in a heap on the floor, holding his bloody fists over his groin. Mikey spared not a moment to even consider the man. He scrambled and lumbered to climb to stand on legs that felt like they were attached to someone else's body. It took too long to find the door knob and when he finally did, his fingers couldn't seem to understand how to operate it and it took both hands to grasp it firmly enough to twist and pull. Malcolm's body blocked it from opening all the way and Mikey whimpered and groaned as he strained to squeeze through the narrow opening. He squirmed and flailed until he stumbled out into a dark hallway with a victorious cry.

The corridor seemed to stretch and extend out impossibly far in both directions as Mikey twisted and tried to make out which way to go. His mind was a repeating shriek of run, run, run, with each drum beat of his pounding heart. He spun on his heel. His face darted one side then the other. His legs carried him across the way and he fell against the opposite wall. The ceiling danced and suddenly the hallway was above him, under him, over him. He cried out with disorientation and fright. What was happening to him? Too late, he realized that he was tumbling down a flight of stairs.

His head cracked against the edge of the steps. His kicking legs carried over, banging into the wall as he rolled, unable to stop his downward trajectory. His aching tail struck a stair as his weight came down onto it and he screamed. But the sound was cut off with his breath as his temple crashed into the steps as he fell forward. The wind was forced from his lungs as he slammed and tumbled down to the hardwood floor below. He lay in a broken heap on his shell, stunned and unmoving. He tried to remember how to breathe as his chest squeezed, demanding air.

"Haah, haah," he panted, feeling the coursing pain throbbing over his entire body.

Dazed, he cracked his eyes open in time to see a ghost hovering at the very top of the stairs above him. His fingers dug at the floor next to him.

Get to your feet!

His vision blurred and his head spun and the ghost was closer.

Move!

He blinked and groaned; trying to turn to his side. His body felt heavy and clumsy. It jerked and floundered.

Get up!

The ghost materialized into the clear form of Malcolm. Mikey whimpered.

Too late!

The man's pale face was twisted nearly beyond recognition; his expression deformed and terrible. Mangled into a demon's face full of hatred and rage.

Mikey started and with flailing arms, tried to get his bearings to roll over onto his hands and knees. He just managed to when he was kicked in the ribs. The force knocked him to the side and he rolled. Malcolm stomped onto his bandaged arm and Mikey howled in pain. His aching head took the next blow. Mouth filling with his own blood, mingling with the salty, bitter taste of Malcolm still on his tongue, he choked on his yelp. He spun instinctively to shield himself with his shell, curling in to a ball; bracing himself to be torn to pieces. The floor beneath his thighs grew wet as his terror released his control on his bodily functions.

But instead of more blows to his body, he felt Malcolm grip him around one ankle. He kicked with clumsy effort. Bucked his body. Twisted and shouted. Clawed at the floor until the fingernails splintered and cracked and his fingertips bled. Malcolm dragged him across the dusty floor of the dim foyer; leaving a trail of blood, sweat and other body fluids behind.

At the front door, the man twisted. He snarled and made strangled sounds between a string of curses and words that Mikey couldn't understand. The language was garbled and more growls than any human language that existed. Malcolm viciously kicked Michelangelo in the groin several times, keeping his ankle suspended, legs spread to offer no resistance or protection.

Mikey's world was a bright agony. Wave after wave of constricting pain crushed him. His cries turned to hoarse animal sounds of pain and misery. Escape from the horrible pain was the only coherent thought. But there was no way out; there was nowhere to flee from the relentless pain.

Moonlight reflected off the snow as the cold air blasted over his shaking, wet flesh. His body tumbled down the snowy steps in a disjointed pile of limbs. He landed with a grunt and a moan. He crawled forward with quaking arms. Fingers digging into the icy snow, fists curling, searching for something to grasp onto, face sliding with eyes clamped tight. Another blow had him rolling to the side. Then another as Malcolm steadily but surely moved him towards the shelter's doors by kicking and shoving him.

Every instinct in Mikey knew, knew, that he could not go back into that dungeon. He would met his death there. But before he could even try to make a move to fight or escape, his body was lifted out of the slush and gore by the rim of his shell. The tension pulled at the ligaments keeping his shell attached to his back. Then tumbling once more, he fell into the darkness. He lumbered forward, smearing the sticky pool of blood remaining from the Foot solider's gruesome demise with his scrambling arms, elbows, knees and ankles. Trying and failing to rise up and stand.

Malcolm's hand gripped his throat and forced him back and up onto the mattress. The collar was snapped into place as Mikey squirmed and fought, snapping now with jaws swollen and bloody, doing everything in his frenzied, drug-addled state would allow to try and break free. An elbow struck his snout, a knee went to his ribs. Mikey gasped, momentarily laying still to catch his breath.

Then Malcolm reached up and yanked, pulling down the long horizontal bar that hung over the mattress down to waist level. The chains suspending it through large rings attached to the ceiling rattled and creaked, screaming along with Mikey's strangled growling and Malcolm's nonsensical ranting and cursing.

Mikey flailed uselessly as Malcolm brought first one leg then another up and over the bar. He secured his calves with the attached leather belts, forcing Mikey's legs to spread wide. Mikey bucked and thrashed, but was unable to do much now that his bottom half was up high, off the mattress, forcing the back of his head hard into the mattress. The metal collar around his neck was strangling him. But still he fought as Malcolm grabbed a wrist and snapped a restraint around it. The cold steel bit into his heated, tender flesh. He punched weakly and with little impact as Malcolm wrestled with his free arm, finally restraining it the same as his other. The spacer bar was in place between his bleeding wrists, attached to a short chain connected to the metal bar supporting his legs.

Malcolm staggered back. He fell eerily silent. Panting, hair mussed, groin painted in a dark red stain, he turned and pulled on a chain. Mikey's arms went up over his head as his knees were forced all the way back over his chest. He squirmed and wiggled and snarled. He screamed and sobbed. Malcolm hung on the chain, staring at him with a blank expression. Devoid of any emotion. His gray eyes were flat and faraway.

Crying and gasping, Mikey stared at him, pleading with his eyes from his awkward position. His sobs turned into a repeating whimpering, whining sound as Malcolm slowly looked around as though only now discovering where they were. He let go of the chain and turned as if in a dream. He looked over his shoulder and found Kenso's head where he left it.

With a trembling finger that he wagged at Mikey, Malcolm told Kenso's head, "Watch him." Then he limped to the side of the room and fell to his knees. He picked up the cattle prod and considered it for a few seconds before he tossed it to one side. He didn't want to kill the boy. Just teach him a lesson. He pulled the duffle bag close to his chest and for a moment he hugged it to himself and rocked, mumbling and sniffling. A few minutes passed and then with a ragged sigh, he stopped. When he turned around he held a thick rubber band in one hand. Mikey's nunchucks in his other.

Voice full of despair, Malcolm said, "Now I have to hurt you."

Mikey started a renewed attempt to break free. He squirmed and struggled, growled and groaned. The chains rattled, the restraints remained as before. He felt Malcolm's hand rest on one knee and he froze.

"M-Mal," Mikey ground out. "P-Please d-don't . . . I . . . I-I'm sorry," he choked on the apology, feeling deeply shamed for being so weak as to ask for forgiveness to try and get out of experiencing any more pain. He made himself sick.

"I appreciate the apology, I really do," Malcolm said.

He jumped as Malcolm caressed his throbbing, swollen tail. Then the man gripped it and with swift movements, he wound the rubber band over and around and around the base of Mikey's tail. Winding it tightly. The fragile flesh covering the thick appendage could not withstand the sharp edge of the band and began to bleed as it cut through. Like his primitive cousins, Michelangelo's tail was thick and muscular, but unlike them, the skin covering it was delicate and thin. The effect of the rough handling was instantaneous. Electric pain shot up through his spine and down his thighs making his ankles and feet jerk. Immediately, his tail began to tingle which was swiftly replaced with a terrible pressure. It felt like his tail was blowing up like a balloon, expanding and expanding until he was sure it would burst. The pain was a steadily increasing pressure, threatening to drive him mad.

"Haah! Haaah! Ungh, anngh," Mikey groaned and ground his teeth together, squirming in his agony. "Stop! T-Take it off! Take it off! Please! It hurts! Aaah! Hahn! P-Please! It h-h-h-urts!"

"Well, you know, you hurt me," Malcolm said softly as he rested his head on Mikey's quaking knee, moist with perspiration. "How could you?" he hissed. "You're so selfish. I thought you were good. I thought you'd be there for me. Give me the love that I give to you," Malcolm's voice cracked. He braced his mouth on Mikey's knee. The pale eyes watched Mikey panting through his pain. "You're a greedy pig. I told you. I told you that if you're bad, I will have to punish you. And I tried, Mikey. I really did. I tried to make you happy. But . . . You take and take and only want sex. Well, now I can't even give you that. Because," his throat caught, "you hurt me so cruelly. But I have an idea." He smiled and his eyes remained cold and alien. "Let's hope this will satisfy you."

He raised one section of the nunchaku up and in his writhing pain, Mikey barely registered Malcolm shifting, positioning himself to do something. But when the end of the weapon knocked up against his entrance, Mikey's agony became eclipsed by a terror like nothing else he'd experienced. His heart seized in his chest. His eyes grew to saucers, wild with horror. Complete and overwhelming.

Not his babies. Oh god, he wouldn't. He could take anything else but that. Anything.

"NO!" Mikey shrieked, unable to articulate anything else, "NO! NO!"

His protests were dissolved into grunts and groans of pain as Malcolm shoved and pushed, driving the rough, rigid handle of the weapon deep, deeper into his body. Once Mikey's body was penetrated as far as Malcolm could get it, he pulled it out slow and then drove it back inside. Mikey screamed as Malcolm repeated the actions. Then, he left it inserted inside him; one end hung, dangling by the short chain, shaking and making a small noise from the trembling of Michelangelo's body. A thin trickle of blood coated the links, traveling down to drip in tiny, delicate spatters on the mattress below.

He hung for a moment on Mikey's quivering, suspended legs. He turned his head a planted a gentle kiss against his knee, now soaked with sweat. He glanced down at Mikey's face, turned to the side, frozen in a silent scream of anguish. Only the sound of his broken panting, wheezing softly, could be heard above the tiny sound of the nunchucks' chain. Malcolm felt a sense of mollified satisfaction.

"I hope that will satisfy you for a little while."

Malcolm sighed. Then he turned to leave. Hobbling to the stairs, he paused, bracing one hand on the wall, the other on the railing. He glanced once more at Mikey.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this!" he shouted suddenly, sounding like a petulant child. He began to mutter and complain with each struggling step up, clutching at his bleeding groin, gently cradling it, knowing it would be a long time before he'd be able to enjoy himself with Mikey. But he wouldn't let something like this damper things. No. He had everything he always wanted. He just had to get Mikey to understand how much he loved him. He would get this patched up and be good as new. Lord knows, he'd been through much worse as a child. At the double doors he stopped once more, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the heels of both hands.

His voice only wavered a little as he said, "Once I get rid of that awful tail, we'll start over. Okay? We can just start over. Do it right this time." He gave a shaky laugh. "Because I can forgive you, Mikey. That's how much I love you." He clapped and laughed out loud then disappeared, slamming the doors closed behind him.

Mikey lay, lost in his agony. Lost in his mind. Lost to the world. Shattered.

A/N: Woo, that was really one of the heaviest chapters I think I've ever written. What do you think? Fingers too numb to type?

Big thanks goes to Novus Ordo Seclorum for the song suggestion of Prison Sex, it fits Malcom perfectly. And again, to TheIncredibleDancingBetty for her wonderful input on just what happens when you wrap a rubber band around delicate flesh...just wait. And also for her helping me out with some of the more gruesome aspects of this situation between Malcolm and Mikey, having someone to bounce ideas off while remaining not only helpful, but non-judgmental and imaginative and well-informed is a really wonderful thing! So, thank you again for everything, IDB!

Be sure to head over to StealthyStories II for the upcoming fanfiction story awards will be starting soon! We need readers' votes - you don't have to be an author to participate, either!