Do You?

Seven

I left Spencer kneeling over the bloody man as I stepped out on the porch, and began dialing Hotch.
As I pressed call, a heard a vehicle roar to life. My head shot up, and I saw a dark blue van hightailing it away from the house.
I hadn't seen it when we pulled in, and I figured that whoever was in there was worth questioning.
     "Spence! Let's go!" I called into the house, before rushing to the SUV, leaving my phone unattended.
      "Wh- ok," I heard him call back, and heard him start to move.
     Within seconds, we were in the van, chasing the one in front of us. We were flying down the curvy roads at breakneck speeds; I could see the van's taillights further ahead.
     Spencer was gripping his armrests tightly.
     "What are we gonna do when we catch up to them?" He asked me.
     "I don't know yet," I whispered, pressing the gas petal down more.
     I heard a loud pop, and before I could say anything, Spencer let out a surprised yell, and we went spinning into a leaf-filled ditch.
     "What just happened?" Spencer asked me shakily.
     "Somebody shot our fucking tire!" I cried, throwing open my door and walking back towards the road. Spencer followed suit.
     "Hey Spence call for backup-"
     My sentence was cut short, for I was grabbed by two people from behind. Spencer let out a strangled yell, and I turned to him.
     There were three guys around him. One had him in a chokehold, another held his arms, and the last stood in front of him with a long switchblade.
     "Get them to the bridge," the man holding the switchblade commanded. "And get their weapons off them."
     I felt one of the people behind me reach their arm towards my gun. I began to struggle, but it was no use. They took my gun and threw it to the ground.
     Then they dragged me over to Spencer, throwing my to the ground at his feet.
     "Get up and start walking," the leader demanded. "Oh, and don't try to run."  Several machine guns were cocked and pointed right at us.
     I looked up at Spencer, who offered me his hand. I took it, but didn't let go as we began shuffling in the direction the people wanted us to go.
     We walked a quarter mile, stopping at a small bridge, with rapidly moving water underneath. Spencer looked up at me with big, fearful eyes.
     I opened my mouth to reassure him, but I was tackled to the ground by two of our assailants before I could form words. My two attackers held me with an iron fist as I watched apprehensively as the other three surround Spencer.
     He was turning in a tight circle, trying to keep his eye on all three of them. Suddenly, one struck out, his fist colliding with Spencer's cheek-bone.
     He covered it with his hand, looking as if he were about to cry.
     In an instant they had tackled him to the ground.
     "John, hold his legs, Peter, you hold his legs," the man with the switchblade ordered.
     The two men obliged. I watched as the man with the blade straddle Spencer, and begin slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
     I struggled, trying to get out of their grasp, and over to Spencer, but they wouldn't let go for shit.
     I heard Spencer yelp, and shot my head up. I gasped. The man had began cutting him with the knife, just as he'd done to Mr. Phillips.
     The longer it went on, the weaker Spencer's struggles got. Eventually, all he could do was lay there, and I watched his bare pale chest rise and fall, shimmering with blood.
     "Let him go now," the leaders deep, booming voice rang out.
     The other two obeyed, and the three of them rose over Spencer. The two holding me began to laugh quietly, and tightened their grip on me.
     The man with the switchblade brought his foot back, and swung it right into Spencer's side. I could hear the bones crack from across the bridge.
     "You leave him alone right fucking now!" I screamed at them, feeling hot tears running down my cheeks.
     Spencer tried to sit up, but it was no use. The three men the surrounded him pounced, punching and kicking whatever they could. Finally, they stepped back.
     Spencer laid there, a large gash on his forehead, busted nose and lips, blood oozing from his switchblade wounds, and bruises on any uncut skin.
     I felt my heart sink. This was all my fault. I should have waited and called back up. "Stop!" I screamed. "Take me instead!"
     The men holding me clicked their tongues disapprovingly at me.
The remaining three men hovered around Spencer, and lifted him to his feet.
"No!" I cried out.
I watched helplessly as Spencer was pushed over the concrete barrier and down into the freezing water below. I could feel his name leave my lips, but heard nothing except the angry ringing that made my head pound.