FREAKING OUT ² ➢ spencer reid

XIV

When I came to all I could feel was pain. My face ached, my eyes barely opening at the sight of a bright light being shined in my face. I blinked profusely, carefully tossing my face to the side to try and avoid it. As I did a hand tightly gripped my face, squishing my cheeks together as it pulled me back to the light. I shut my eyes tightly, groaning at both the pain and the brightness.

"Morning beautiful," a raspy male voice chuckled.

I groaned again. He tossed my head away, giving my temple a pretty decent slap. After blinking a couple more times I finally felt the fuzziness behind my eyes fade away. The second I managed to see I started to panic. I breathed heavily, darting my head around to view the area around me. By the looks of it I was in some sort of warehouse. I sniffed the air, immediately being filled with regret when I recognized the smell of dried blood and pungent sweat.

I was tied to a chair, my hands roped around my back. Weirdly enough the cut on my leg had been bandaged. I raised my brow, bending down to examine it before looking back up at the man who stood in front of me. He smiled at me, his gaze following mine as he giggled to himself. "I couldn't have you bleeding out before we had a little fun," he said.

Despite the situation I was in I still managed to roll my eyes.

Slowly he walked around the back of the chair, eyeing me up longingly. His fingers traced my skin, sending a shiver up my spine as I closed my eyes. As he rounded the back of the chair he yanked my hair at the root, turning my face to meet his. I groaned and threw my body side to side, hoping by some miracle that if I moved the right way I could escape.

Once again he laughed, tightening his grip around the stands of my hair. "Isla Rafferty," he breathed, "pretty name."

I spat at him. Even though I knew the next few moments of my life didn't look very promising I wasn't going to give in without a fight. This guy was a killer and even though it wasn't my job to catch him anymore I still had the opportunity to make his last few moments with me as difficult as possible.

He closed his eyes, breathing heavily out of his nose as he wiped his face.

I moved my arms behind the chair, gripping the rope tightly. I tried to tuck my fingers underneath a loop, hoping maybe it'd lead to some way out. Before I could though, he loosened his grip on my hair and moved it down to my neck. His fingers trailed along the sides, his hot, disgusting breath hitting my upper back as he slowly lowered himself and wrapped his hand around the front and squeezed.

I opened my mouth, feeling the air in my windpipe slowly dissipate. As much as I wanted to scream and fight for dominance, I didn't. I stayed perfectly still, feeling the life rush out of me as the seconds passed. There was no way in hell I was going to give him the satisfaction he wanted.

As his grip on my throat tightened everything went black again.

The torture went on for days and by what I assumed was the fourth I was ready to quit. My body was done, barely holding on as the moments passed. On top of the suffocation and the slapping he also cut me. By day two he decided it'd be fun to try something new, claiming all of his other victims weren't special enough for this opportunity. According to him I was his magnum opus, the kill that'd get him famous. He told me about Marcus, his partner in crime. The two of them working together to make a name for themselves. Apparently at a young age they met online, instantly finding an affinity for one another. At first their friendship was tame. They discussed things like video games and school, eventually steering the conversation to girls. They liked hurting girls; at least that was what Kane said to Marcus about himself one night, hoping he felt the same. When he did there was no going back.