Acting on impulse, you show up at your boss, Aaron Hotchner's, doorstep in the middle of the night. The resulting night of passion kickstarts a timeline of events you never could've imagined. Crazy how one night could cause so much pain and pleasure.
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**Anything in italics is a flashback**
TW: graphic depictions of violence
The air is sticky and you bite back the metallic taste in your mouth. Your head lolls backward on the chair and you struggle to lift it up.
"Let me get a better look at her," A distant voice calls and you struggle to get your eyes open. As soon as they're open you attempt to quickly survey your whole body for injury. Surprisingly, for being tossed into your car and driven away, you have nearly no major injuries.
The air smells damp. It's musty. You look around for any windows or doors. You're in some sort of bunker. Probably underground. The pipes running across the ceiling tell you it's probably a bigger industrial building of some variety. There's a set of stairs in the corner leading up to a heavy iron door.
Both your wrists and ankles are bound to a chair. There's no gag in your mouth. They obviously have located themselves somewhere they don't believe you will be heard. Your heart races but you attempt to take a few deep breaths. Your stomach aches with hunger. You have no idea how long you've been out. You can't possibly even begin to guess how far you could be from Quantico at this point. Is it morning? If they drove through the night you could be hundreds of miles away.
You see the heavy metal door open and crane your neck hoping to see what the outside looks like. You catch a glimpse into a stairwell. That confirms the big industrial building theory.
You look at the two men and one of them looks familiar. Scarily familiar. You rack your brain. The taller one leans forward, gripping your face tightly in his rough hands. He jerks your head from side to side, surveying it, "No bruising, no cuts. Good work." He slowly looks over the rest of your body in a way that makes your skin crawl.
"Ryan said every inch of her was perfect," The other man leans against the wall across from you. That's when you feel it. You feel sick to your stomach. You recognize him. He was in the bar that night. That night you got a little too drunk and took Ryan back to your room.
"Ryan?" You scrunch up your brows, finally speaking for the first time. It's been hours since you've spoken and your morning voice is thick and gravelly.
"Oh she speaks," One of the men grins, "You remember our friend Ryan." He nods and leans forward, his face up close to yours. You pull your face back a little bit away from his. He places both hands on the chair on either side of you.
"Do you really think you'll get away with this? Abducting and killing an FBI agent?" You spit in his face and he reaches forward, gripping your face tightly with one hand. He tilts your face up so you can look him in the eyes.
"Kill you?" He chuckles softly and runs his thumb across your lips, "Do you realize how high of a price a federal agent fetches?"
You roll your eyes and lean forward, biting down on his thumb as hard as possible. The man lets out a loud yelp, the taste of blood quickly filling your mouth. A hard slap is delivered across your face and you can feel his bloody thumb leaving stains on your face. In an instant, the cold muzzle of his gun is tucked up under your chin, tilting your face back up to look at him.
