Undercover - Spencer Reid x Reader

Chapter Twenty-two

This chapter contains a partially graphic description of SA [!]
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I pulled my car into the driveway, it was pretty stranded, but easy to get to the main highway from here. I asked Morgan not to tell Garcia or anyone else what we were doing until we figured out if something was actually going on, and I could tell it was bothering him. Don't worry, I wasn’t being completely stupid. I gave Garcia the book before we left. I just hoped she was smart enough to check the book if we quit answering. I pulled out my flashlight, it wasn’t that dark, I just needed to be sure I had it. My gun was already out of the holster. We walked around the outside first, like we did with every other case.

“Let’s check inside now.”
“Jasper, I don’t think anything is here.”
“Gotta be safe. I’ll go around back, you go through the front.”
“Why don’t we go through-”

Our radio’s started playing a static sound, and we turned them on.

“Hello?” I replied.
“Jasper what the hell are you doing?” Hotch questioned.
“What do you mean?” I answered.
“Garcia said you guys left,” He said, “And Morgan I specifically asked you to keep him at the bureau.”
“He has a good lead, Hotch. Just let us finish up here and we’ll go back to the bureau right after.”

Aaron started to ask something else, but he was cutting out. I blew it off and we walked through the front door together. The door wasn’t open, so Morgan did what he always did. The door flung open, swinging on it’s hinges before we stepped up onto the platform. We looked around for a minute before I noticed a weird smell coming from the doorway.

“Morgan, do you smell that?” I asked.
“Yeah. What is that?”
“I hate to say this but it reminds me of-”

Just then, a clear mist that I could barely make out blew out of these beakers that were positioned on the top of my door frame, blowing into our faces.

“Scopolamine,” He replied.

The last things I remember was falling down, rolling off of the makeshift porch and into the grass. The pounding headache and blurry vision was hard to ignore, but it seemed our quad turned into a pentagon. There were 2 new people who I definitely didn’t recognize. They looked nothing like the security footage or anything else we had found. But the 3rd one, that was the older woman from the cafe. I think. It was scopolamine after all, I could be seeing anything, but god it was so clear. I tried to stay awake but the dose was so, so heavy. We were pulled into the back of the van before my eyes fluttered shut. I was unconscious but I could remember parts of the ride. It was bumpy throughout the entire thing, I think. And the place we pulled into was stranded, I think. 

When we woke up the afternoon sky that I remembered seeing had turned into a dawn sky. There was a small window we could see out of. We. Me and Morgan. Where was he? I looked around the area, it looked a lot like a storage unit. It wasn’t that big, there were some racks, a few chests, the chair I was tied onto, but where was Morgan? I tried to ignore my missing friend and focus on where I was. Three chests with an odd lock I had never seen before keeping the three of them locked together. The racks had a bunch of weird trinkets on them that were blocking my vision from the other side of the unit. Beside me was a wooden table, was it made of snakewood? Snakewood was pretty rare and from what I know is only sold in northern parts of Europe. Maybe that will be helpful. The table was covered in a white towel that had blood spatters around it.

On top of the towel was a tray with a bunch of different medical tools that looked like they'd been used recently. Please don’t be from Morgan. Above me was a fancy chandelier with blinding light, and above the three chests was the small window. I continued looking around but there was nothing that could help me get out of here. I looked down at my body. I was shirtless, my vest and radio were gone, but luckily my pants were still on. That meant that my pick might be in my pocket. I ran my fingers over my back pockets, trying to feel for my pick. It was sharp enough to get through the rope, and hopefully enough to figure out what's in those chests then get the hell out of here. I pressed my hand against my pockets but I couldn’t find it. Dammit.

Just then, the door flung open and I heard 3 separate locks click. One of them definitely has experience in lockpicking. The guy walked up to me in a ski mask and a white hoodie. Pathetic.

“Show your face. You guys haven’t cared that much, why do you care now? Cause you know we’re getting out of here?”
“Your friend Derek might be, but you won’t. Not for a while. You’ve already been here just over a day.” He whispered.

His voice was kind of high, it was smooth too. He had no discernible accent.

“You don’t scare me. I’ll get out soon.”
“Maybe,” He shrugged, “But you won’t get out without some scars.”

I spit on his hoodie. It wasn’t smart. But it felt right. He picked up a scalpel and scraped over my abs, leaving shallow but sharp marks. I tried not to flinch, but it burned. He rubbed some kind of cream over the cuts that tugged at them, seeming to make them wider. I bit my cheek, drawing a bit of blood from my mouth as the blood rushed down my abs and onto my pants. I took a deep breath, shooting a look at him.

“You scared yet?”
“No. Because losers who don’t sort out their grudges are just that, losers. They’re not worth any emotion of mine.”

He pressed his hand on my abs, running it over the scars as well as places he had cut. He was enjoying this. Sick freak.

“I might be a loser, but you're gonna think just the same of your “lover” here in 24 minutes.”
“What?” I mumbled.

I was taking a lot out of me to talk, I could still feel the effects of the drugs.

“You heard me.” 

[!] He pressed his hand hard against my abs before moving it down to pants, sliding his hand down my boxers. I shuffled in the chair, trying to shake his hand away. But he just giggled before walking out. I took a few deep, shaky breaths as I dug my nails into the skin of my palm. No, don’t let them get to you. [!] The 24 minutes felt more like 24 hours, but when he came back he didn’t say anything. He put a piece of tape over my mouth  before putting a laptop down in front of me. It looked like he was facetiming someone. He was. My team.

“Jasper.” Hotch breathed, pacing around the room just out of frame.
“Oh no no no. I don’t like this. Jasper, are you okay? Well obviously not but-”
“Shut up. We’re making a deal. This isn’t time to talk.”

“You’ve already said that you want a one way ticket out and you’ll release Jasper. And we told you that you started this and that wasn't gonna happen.” Hotch said, “Because if you truly wanted out you could just go. You want a chance to get us all cornered. This is no longer just an attack…”

The rest of what Hotch said faded out. I wasn’t focusing on him. I was watching Spencer. He didn’t seem to be paying much attention either, he just looked hurt. At some point, the guy said something and my entire team walked out. Except Spencer.

“We aren’t making a private deal. You aren’t getting out of here. End of story.”
[!] “That’s not it Spence,” He mocked, running his hand up and down my neck.
“Then what do you want?” He replied, his voice was shaking.
“You to watch. If you leave or hang up, he dies. If you look away, I cut him. Got it.”

Spencer nodded, this seemed to hurt him as much as it was hurting me. Whatever else they talked about disappeared, all I could feel was his hands on me. All over me. He ran his hands over my boxers, my abs, he kissed my jaw. He kept touching. A tear slid town my face as I watched Spencer’s face drop, I think he was crying too. I tried to dissociate. I tried and tried, but I couldn’t. At some point, I could no longer see Reid, the laptop and the guy were gone. God, why was this happening to me? [!]
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Icky men.