A/N: I just realized how similar Derek treats both Mike and Spencer…. (I suppose I should apologise for being gone so long; and making it clear that, no, I'm not dead.)
Warning: Non-Con.

Chapter 6: Horror.

He was tired. He was exhausted. The room was spinning, and all Mike wanted to do was sleep. Even now, the idea of never waking up again seemed almost… pleasant. But Derek wasn't letting that happen was he? Derek had told him to stay on the line; Lord knows he only did it because hanging up would take too much effort.

Behind the door, Mike thought he heard footsteps. Paul was back, and if he caught Mike on the phone… well, nothing good could come of that. He yelled frantically, trying to warn Derek.

"Are you okay? Is it Paul?" Mike replied with a muffled yes, "I'm going to mute the phone. Michael? I'll do everything I can to get you out of there as soon as possible. I promise." Then, a click. Derek was gone.

"Penelope?"

"God of Chocolate Thunder?" she said in her usual chirpy tone.

"I need a favor; it's not related to this case."

"Anything for my – Wait, what's wrong? My love doesn't sound okay."

"I need you to trace Spencer's phone." He said hollowly.

"Morgan. Spencer is not cheating on you." Garcia replied, honestly a little irritated, "You have to trust him."

"I do."

"Then what aren't you telling me?"

"Spencer's in the hospital. I'm –"

"What! What happened?" Garcia screeched, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. He collapsed, I don't know what – I'm scared he might have…"

"Relapsed?" Garcia finished, suddenly somber.

"Yeah." Morgan mumbled, forgetting why he'd originally called, "I don't think he'd… betray me like that…but –"

"But what?"

"Nothing." He changed the subject, "I need a trace on the phone currently in contact with Spencer's. It belongs to a 'Mike, a friend of Spencer's, who might be hurt."

"I'll get on it." Garcia said, before hanging up. Morgan hoped she'd be quick about it – considering what Spencer had told him about the bruises on Mike's wrists, Mike was in serious danger.

A doctor interrupted his thoughts, "Agent Morgan? You can see Dr. Reid now. Don't worry, we didn't give him any narcotics. He doesn't seem to be in much pain, so it's alright."

"Thank you." Morgan sprinted to Spencer's room. Spencer was pale, like he'd seen a ghost, but seemed fine. He sat up seeing Morgan arrive.

"Derek! I know it looks bad, but I swear to god, I didn't." Spencer said quickly. He'd been clean for 4 and a half years, and there was no way Spencer would jeopardize that. Morgan kissed Spencer's forehead softly.

"I know, I know, but I was worried sick. You scared me, Spence.

Spencer bit his lip and looked away. "I'm sorry, okay?"

Morgan nodded in response, kissing Spencer. Quiet clapping was heard behind them. Spencer and Morgan broke their kiss abruptly to see SSA Aaron Hotchner standing in the doorway.
"Prentiss, Rossi, and Jareau are back at the hotel." Hotch said, getting down to business, "The man we're looking for is James Phillips. He is considered armed and extremely dangerous. With an IQ of 182, he could go toe-to-toe with Reid. Seems to be a hitman for hire, and is a suspect in over 35 unsolved murders around the country. Prentiss is looking into Interpol for any similar cases. Phillips was convicted of possession of heroin, he's been smart enough to stay off the grid since then."

Spencer screamed loudly, as if he'd been stabbed. Morgan shot up, "Spence?"

"My shoulder's on fire." Spencer grit.

"Get the doctor." Morgan ordered. Hotch left the room in search of a doctor, leaving them alone. Morgan crouched in front of Spencer's bed, looking him in the eyes. "Mike's in trouble and I need to go find him. I wanna stay, but he needs my help, I'll be back soon."

"The monstrous act by definition demands a monster."
― Rick Yancey

"Ah, Mikey. How ya feeling?" Paul asked, smirking. Mike couldn't answer – he was hurting far too much. He'd strained his throat screaming. "Oh. I'm sorry," Paul removed the socks from Mike's mouth, "Is that better?" Mike wanted to nod, but he didn't want his neck wound to be bleeding as freely as the one on his stomach was.

"P…aul."

"Mikey. I'm sorry I was gone for so long; I had some things to take care of. You need anything?" Paul asked, his fingertips softly dancing a waltz across Mike's heavily bruised cheek. Mike was committed. He loved his job, he loved his friends, part of him loved Paul… But the job trumps everything, was worth everything – except this.

"To be…away…from you." Mike said slowly, every word a struggle.

"And you will be… soon." Paul said, grinning as he unbuckled his belt. Mike filled with panic. This could go nowhere good. Mike couldn't find his phone, but Derek could hear this, right?

"Paul, please." He croaked, "Why are you doing this?"

"You already know why." Paul replied, stepping out of his boxers, "You said you love me. Time to prove it." He climbed onto the bed between Mike's legs, and yanked down his boxers.

"Paul, this isn't love." Mike's voice were razorblades in his throat, "Don't do this. Please." Paul had had enough of Mike's pleading. He punched Mike in the face, causing his head to snap to the side. The wound on his neck bled more heavily, causing a small puddle to pool beneath his head. Paul punched him again, cutting his cheek open. The pounding in his head returned as Paul raised Mike's feet, sending pain shooting up his spine. His head spun.

Paul lubricated himself before forcing himself inside Mike. Paul moaned – Mike didn't. His breath caught painfully in his throat, it felt like he was being torn in half. As Paul thrust, Mike whimpered: he didn't have the energy to scream. Mike had no control over the tears streaming down his face as Paul gripped his hips roughly, bruising them, and digging his fingernails into Mike's skin.

"You don't know what you do to me."

"Oh my god." Morgan said, holding up Spencer's phone.

"What is it?" Hotchner asked. They were back at the hotel, Morgan sharing with Hotch, seen as Spencer was in the hospital.

"Just listen. The bastard's … got Mike."

"We have to intervene. Where is he?"

"I don't know. Garcia's working on pinpointed the signal now."

Then, from the phone, a loud moan echoed through the room. Both Morgan and Hotch knew Paul had just climaxed, and even if they weren't the victim, they both knew it would be a horrific experience they wouldn't forget.

Paul pulled out, and Mike shuddered. Blood and semen spilled onto the already blood-stained mattress. Mike really wanted to curl into a ball and die. He'd underestimated Paul's evil. It was cold. Very cold. Mike shivered as Paul climbed off him.

"The signal's coming from a huuuuge mansion. The address is… uh oh… 27 Freemont Street." Garcia said.

Morgan frowned, "Uh oh? What's up?"

"27 Freemont, it's Graceland. You're victim's a federal agent – Michael Warren of the FBI, graduated top of his class last year, requested an assignment in D.C, but was shipped off to Graceland… for reasons unknown. 'Paul' is Senior Agent of the FBI, and Mike's training officer: Paul Briggs. His record's sealed, but I know he has–"

"I know him." Morgan cut her off. Whether Paul knew it or not, his reputation preceded him. "That it?"

"Be careful." She whispered, "Come back in one piece."

"Don't worry, Babygirl. We'll be fine." He hung up, turning to 'his' team. Hotch had put Morgan in charge of this rescue mission, which had priority, now that they knew Mike was one of them. Morgan told them where they were going – they had no choice in the matter – but none objected. They packed and sped off, sirens blaring.

"Wow. Mikey." Paul breathed heavily, panting like a dog as he got redressed, not even caring that his unwilling participant was bleeding profusely, "You were amazing."
The two men were covered in sweat and Paul really wished he could shower, but knew he didn't have the time. He zipped up his pants and went for the door.

"Graceland is a house for undercover agents living in SoCal." Morgan explained, "I didn't know Mike was an agent."

"It's Briggs I'm worried about." Hotch said, "He holds the record for the highest training score from Quantico. He knows what he's doing and won't get caught unless he wants to be.

Mike exhaled deeply, trying to control the bleeding he had no way of putting pressure on. He could feel trails of warm liquid trickle down his arms. The ropes had rubbed his skin raw, and cut into his wrists. The tightness of the rope was painful, but managed to stop the bleeding somewhat. His shoulders felt as if they'd been torn from his sockets.

"Ambulance is en route." Prentiss announced, "They'll arrive after us."

"We're almost there, Michael." Morgan said under his breath. He was driving for about another minute before his pulled up the house, Jareau and Rossi following.

"Prentiss, Morgan. You search upstairs. Rossi, Jareau and I will search downstairs." Hotch ordered. They all nodded anxiously, and ventured inside. Morgan feared the sight that would await him.

Mike could hear the sirens nearby. He already had a headache, and the noise was ear-splitting. He thought he heard footsteps downstairs. Paul was back. Oh shit. No, no, no. Fuck, no. His head was a wreck, and Mike really hoped he'd pass out.

The team split up and began to systematically search each room. Finding nothing, Rossi, Jareau and Prentiss all yelled, "CLEAR!" contrasting with Hotch's, "I FOUND SOMETHING!" in the kitchen, just as the ambulance pulled up outside.

On the fridge, there was a note. You didn't have to be a profiler to know it was written in a hurry. The ugly, childish scrawl gave that away. It said 4 words that chilled them all to the bone.

TELL REID HE'S NEXT.

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. My laptop's been a little... stupid, but I hoped you liked this chapter.