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Tempt My Trouble

Summary:

A particularly difficult case keeps the FBI on their toes. Malcolm gets too close and finds himself plunged into yet another nightmare.

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BTHB - Chained to a wall (ch4.)

Notes:

Happy Birthday, Hannah!! I love you <3 This was supposed to be a one-shot for a prompt that you really like, but the story kept running from me, and now here we are! I’m really sorry I couldn’t finish it all on time, but it’s 90% done, I promise :P I’m so thankful for this show because we got to meet <3 I hope you like this!

Chapter Text

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 1

Malcolm wakes up slowly, eyes refusing to obey, mind aching for the rare ‘time off’ it was getting. He hasn’t slept in days. There is a case. Always a case. … Granted, he’s a chronic insomniac anyway, but whenever there is an unsolved case, things seem to get worse. 

Malcolm blinks the sleep from his eyes and stares at the darkness ahead. That’s not his bed. It’s a small dark place, and he’s stuffed in it. 

His heart skips a beat. 

He’s in his father’s chest… locked just like that girl. A minute’s panic consumes him as he tries to wake up from the night terror, tries to get hold of his dreams because he knows he's not really in a box…

Is he?

No. If not, then where is he?

Memories of the past hour filter through and Malcolm sighs. He’s not in his father’s box. He’s in the trunk of his attackers’ car. 

Great! He thinks. Plunged from one nightmare into another. 

He can still hear the loud buzzing in his ears, and the muscles at the back of his neck are still twitching. Malcolm knows it’s because of the electric jolt. He never got tased before, but now he can add it to his roster. 

Tased on the job. Check. 

He had everything under control until a third person snuck on him. The taser that was jammed at the back of his neck is the reason he’s in this trunk on an unexpected journey to his death. 

Always the corner. Always. 

Malcolm tries to move around and realizes that his hands are tied together—zip ties by their feel. They’ll be easy to break if he has more room. His legs are free, though, and Malcolm kicks at the taillights, hoping to dislodge them—maybe someone will notice them. 

Where are they taking him? Their lair? Maybe they’re going to drop the car in the river, leaving him trapped in the trunk. The thought almost sends him into a full blown panic attack. It’s illogical, he argues with his overactive imagination. They said the boss wanted to see him. So unless the boss is Poseidon himself, he shouldn’t worry about being thrown into the water. He forces himself to relax and to think of his next move the second the trunk is open. 

The car is driving over a smooth surface—Asphalt. It’s slow and steady enough that Malcolm doesn’t feel as nauseous as he thought he’ll be. The speed at which they’re going suggests that they’re still in the city. Although it’s quite late, they don’t speed up. They understand the risks of attracting attention.  

Left with nothing else but to wait, Malcolm works on his strategy for what’s to come. One: He should find Emily and Sarah. Two: He should bring the operation down. Three: Accomplish one and two without dying hopefully.  

 

<><><><><><><><><>

2 𝖍𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 𝖊𝖆𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖗

When Malcolm first got his job with the FBI, he picked a place just a few blocks away from the office so he can walk to and from work every day. He loves walking, for many reasons. He walks to organize his thoughts, walks to stay in shape, and walks because he hates driving. But mainly, he walks to exert himself as much as possible in hopes of collapsing when he reaches home. Because the only way he can sleep is when he’s exhausted enough to pass out.

Tonight he wishes he took a cab.

It was a long day. The FBI had all hands on deck for their recent case. The kidnapping of Business Tycoon Daniel Brady’s two daughters, Sarah and Emily Brady (19 and 21). The girls were taken from a nightclub downtown four days ago and haven’t been seen since. There were no witnesses to the kidnapping and no security camera footage. Their usual bodyguard was sick, and the replacement one, Max, went for a bathroom break, and when he came back, they were gone. The driver claimed he saw nothing unusual, as well. 

The first assumption was that the girls slipped away to go on a wild adventure. It’s not uncommon for people their age and from their social class to do that. Kids would disappear for a few days and end up in Hawaii or Tahiti. Malcolm knows this first hand (Ainsley had planned an exotic adventure with her friends before he found out and foiled her schemes. She was not happy .) 

However, the girls’ parents were offended and angry when this option was even suggested and adamant that their daughters weren’t like that. Coupled with their friends’ testimony and the fact that there were no credit card transactions at all, the FBI was forced to abandon this possibility and look at it as a possible kidnapping. When Mr. Brady wasn’t contacted for any ransom after forty-eight hours, the worst option was brought to the table. The team was looking at a possible trafficking situation. As usual with human trafficking cases, they were running against time to find the girls before it was too late. 

Malcolm drags his legs through the streets. He’s almost home. Finally. He’s tired, mentally and emotionally exhausted, and nowhere near finding a break in the case. Well, he has a theory, but no one wants to listen to him.

Agent Colette Swanson was named primary on the case, and she doesn’t like anyone second guessing her profiles—most of all, Bright. Malcolm hates how hostile she is towards him. He tried to lie to himself and pretend that she just doesn’t like him. But the truth is she doesn’t trust him. Because of his father… no one trusts the son of the serial killer. She’d said as much once during their dispute about a profile. It had hurt, but he swallowed it down like a big boy and acted like she never said it. The sting, however, was still there, and it played in his mind every time they argued.

 

Just like in yesterday’s department meeting. According to her, they were looking at a coincidental kidnapping. The girls were pretty, vulnerable, and they weren’t regulars at the place. No one knew them or would notice them leaving. The MO seemed to match that of several cases throughout the city. Therefore, she had everyone looking into the major human trafficking rings and their associates. Her profile was reasonable, and so everyone accepted it. They respect Colette, trust her—she has a commanding presence and an impressive closure rate. Malcolm can’t deny that she’s good at her job either. It’s just he thinks she overlooks stuff sometimes. 

So, he proposed another theory... 

After she finished her debrief, he threw in the possibility that this was a targeted trafficking case. Swanson had rolled her eyes, shut him down, and urged the others not to waste time. The eye rolls and the scoffs he received were discouraging, but Malcolm didn’t back down. He explained his point of view anyway: that while he agrees that the girls were kidnapped with the purpose of trafficking, this looks more targetted than coincidental. He had suggested that someone with a vendetta against the father paid for the girls to be trafficked. Maybe a disgruntled business partner, or so. 

He supported his hypothesis with the emails sent to the girls advertising the club’s excellent atmosphere and secret visits by many celebrities in disguise. Malcolm had asked the club managers, and they denied knowledge of said emails’ existence or their contents. The girls were catfished to that club for a reason. It was also the same day that their bodyguard had called in sick, and they were unprotected. It was targeted. 

“Mr. Brady said he didn’t have any enemies,” Colette had countered. 

“A business tycoon like him, he’s bound to have at least one. When are they ever honest with us?” Agent Reynolds replied, and Malcolm gave her a grateful look. 

Swanson gave Agent Reynolds an icy glare before shutting Malcolm down again. “Agent Bright. I’m well aware of your need to always steal the spotlights, but this is a delicate matter.”

Malcolm clenched his jaw. Of course, she’ll attack him personally. It’s because she knows his theory is possible, or even right.  

“We don’t have time to waste any resources based on a hunch.”

“But I’m right. If we catch the person behind this, they’ll fess up. It’s faster, and we’re running out of time.”

“The emails could be a prank.”

“And they could lead us to the actual culprit. At least have cyber look into it,” he implored.

“Fine!” and if looks could kill, Malcolm would have dropped dead. “I’ll put Perez and Johnson on it. And in the meantime, we will proceed as already planned. We don't have the time to make mistakes. I’m primary on this case, and I won’t lose the girls because I followed your hunch.”

“It’s not a hunch—” he tried to say, but she cut him off. 

“We have coincidental emails, a mystery villain, and no actual leads to go on. If you wanted us to listen to you, then you probably should’ve prepared a list of suspects. The way I see it, this case has just turned into yet another bad father’s past endangers his kids’ lives. Bad things sometimes just happen, Agent. There doesn’t have to be a reason for it. Now let’s get back to work. Time is of the essence.”   

 

Remembering what she said makes Malcolm wince again. He’d ignored her and looked into any possible suspects in Daniel Brady’s life. 

Malcolm’s search had yielded many names. Yet one name really stood out. Marcus Henby. He was one of the original investors in the startup, which was now an empire. 

One day, Henby’s name was removed from all the websites. Malcolm faintly remembers his mother speaking about it. Something about a business scam? However, all online sources of such disputes have disappeared from the internet. Malcolm wasn’t sure who was behind it: Brady or Henby. Lucky for him, he knew a friend who kept archives of newspapers, and that’s where he got the information. The information he read was enough to paint Henby as a perfect suspect. 

Malcolm smiled. He had a name. Colette was wrong. He comes from a wealthy family, and he knows you don’t get that much money without having some buried skeletons in your wardrobe. 

Then he started digging and asking questions. He even went to meet the man himself, who refused to see him without a warrant and threatened to call his office should he come again. Malcolm politely left… only to ambush the guy on his lunch break in the nearest restaurant. He’d introduced himself with a bright smile, and the man, seeing that he was with guests, couldn’t not reciprocate. He had asked a couple of questions before he was given a card and a promise of a “call my office, and we can schedule a proper meeting.”  A promise that Malcolm knew Henby will not honor. He was lying through his teeth, exhibiting aggressive behavior, and his body language was screaming foul play. It didn’t matter, though, because Malcolm had enough.

Tomorrow he’s planning to show his findings in the next department meeting and ask for support to issue a warrant. Getting Henby to cooperate will lead them to the girls faster. 

All he has to do now is sleep and relax for a bit. Tomorrow is an important day. 

 

<><><><><><><><><>

 

Malcolm finally reaches his loft. It feels like he’ll collapse the minute he enters. He hopes he’ll be awake enough to fasten his restraints before passing out. 

He pushes the keys inside the lock and turns it open, and is surprised when one turn is sufficient to let him in. Didn’t he lock the door before leaving this morning? It won’t be his first time. Maybe he was too preoccupied to lock it.

Silence greets him. He hates it. Gil had suggested he gets a cat to keep him company, but Malcolm isn’t really a cat person. Granted, he loves Gil’s cats very much, but they’re different—they’re Gil’s cats. Maybe he should get a bird. Jackie loves birds, and she can help him pick one that can get accustomed to his… loud screaming. 

Malcolm doesn’t bother switching on the lights when he enters, relying on his own memory to navigate his place. When he’s halfway to his bedroom, he hears movement. Stealthy and quiet, but still audible. There is someone in the loft. Malcolm stops, stills his breathing, and listens. He is a few steps away from the other light switch. Once he opens it, he needs to be quick. Malcolm reaches for the other light switch, flicks it open.  

The light fills the loft, and Malcolm sees the intruders. Two men are standing on opposite ends of the room, and Malcolm doesn’t know where to direct his attention. That’s why the door wasn’t locked. 

The man to his left is smiling. Teeth bared like a wild animal who’s just spotted prey. A silver tooth shines where the light reflects over it, and somehow it makes him more menacing. The man is staring Malcolm down contemptuously. He’s holding a butterfly knife, and he keeps flipping it. The second man is a few inches taller than Malcolm and carries himself well. He’s more athletic and clearly the muscles between the two. He, too, is eyeing Malcolm hungrily, and like Silver Tooth, he’s armed with a shiv. 

Malcolm realizes that these people aren’t burglars who he just happened to stumble upon. These people are here for him, ready to fight. He wonders if they were planning to ambush him while he slept and were surprised to find an abandoned bed and an empty loft. Do they know he’s an FBI agent?

“Did Marcus Henby send you?” Malcolm ventures, trying to gain some information beyond the basic assessment of the two men before him. 

Silver Tooth’s smile broadens, but he shrugs. 

“Did he also tell you to take two other girls? Emily and Sarah?” Malcolm continues. “They were taken four days ago from Lux Night club. Do you know anything about that?”

Muscles looks at Silver Tooth. “That’s a first. This one talks too much.”

“Right, I also have a gun,” Malcolm says. He doesn’t—he left it in his office safe tonight. “But I don’t have to use it. I work with the FBI. It’ll be bad for you to get involved in anything. Maybe we can talk. Figure something out?” 

“You can’t shoot us both at the same time and dodge our knives,” Silver Tooth says with his amused expression. 

Well, fair point, Malcolm thinks desperately. “I just want to warn you that this won't end well,” he tries to sound sincere. 

“Yeah,” Silver Tooth agrees. “For you, it won’t.”

They eye each other for a few more moments, and then the room spurs in action. 

Malcolm ducks behind the living room couch as Silver Tooth throws his knife. It misses anything vital, nicks him on his bicep, and falls on the floor with a loud clang. 

Adrenaline pumping, Malcolm reaches for the knife. Well, it’s no axe, but it’ll do. He peeks up and throws it. A hand yanks his collar, and he’s thrown against the wall just as he hears Silver Tooth curse and scream. Muscles pins him against the wall, his arm pressing against Malcolm’s neck, applying enough pressure to keep him in place. Malcolm’s hand curl around Muscles arm, trying to pry it away. His eyes widen in terror as Muscles brings his own shiv up and aims it at Malcolm.

Before he gets the chance to use it, Malcolm kicks out and hits him between the legs. The arm around his neck loses its grip, and the shiv falls out of Muscles hands as he bends over. The profiler delivers a brutal right hook followed by a left one. He finishes with an uppercut that sends the man hugging the floor. 

He stays there.

Panting, Malcolm realizes that he has only one set of handcuffs. He must improvise… and he needs to call for backup as well. 

He looks around. Where is Silver Tooth? 

The pain igniting at the back of his head answers him. He staggers forward, uses the back of the couch to break his fall. He turns as quickly as possible and makes space between him and Silver Tooth, who’s very angry. The smug smile is erased, and instead, a deep growl and rage color his expression. It fills Malcolm’s heart with pride despite how dizzy he feels. The knife he threw hit its target, and now the man’s thigh was oozing a steady stream of blood. 

Silver Tooth looks like he’ll kill the profiler if he gets the chance. He is holding the broken neck of one of Malcolm’s whiskey bottles, and Malcolm assumes that’s the source of his pain. He reaches a hand to the back of his skull, winces when he touches an open wound, and brings his hand back to find shards of glass and blood. He feels the blood wetting his shirt.

Muscles is still out cold, though. That’s good—one person at a time. 

“We can still end this,” Malcolm says and feels nauseous the second he opens his mouth. 

“I’m two seconds from saying screw the payday and ending you now,” Silver Tooth growls. 

So it was a grab job. 

Muscles moans. Stirs. Malcolm takes this as a sign to move. He cuts the distance between him and Silver Tooth. Silver Tooth lashes out with the broken bottle, but Malcolm deflects. He grabs that wrist, flips, and bends it outward. The man cries out and tries to break the hold but fails. The glass falls from his hand, and he growls as the move brings him to his knees. Malcolm is always appreciative of this move—one of the very first self-defense moves Gil had taught him. 

The profiler whips out his handcuffs, slaps one around that wrist, turns Silver Tooth, and cuffs his other hand behind his back. Under him, Silver Tooth keeps spitting insults and threats. Malcolm sighs and takes a minute to catch his breath. He needs to find something to tie Muscles up and then call this in. 

The roaring blood in his ears is the only thing he can hear as he makes his way into his bedroom. Malcolm grabs the spare portable bed restraints he has and makes for the living room. Once he has Muscles restrained, he can call for backup. Malcolm storms out, and as he’s walking towards Muscles, he hears a zap. It’s so loud that it's audible over the blood rushing in his ears. It’s only a second later that he feels the burn at his side and his body spasms. His legs give out. Hitting the floor with a thud, Malcolm lets out a shuddering gasp and tries to fight the wave of unconsciousness threatening to take him.

A third figure hovers over him. Malcolm’s vision is spotty, and he can’t make up his features. Where did he come from? More adrenaline surges in his system in a desperate attempt to keep him awake. Malcolm twitches on the floor and tries to regain control over his muscles. He gets his knees under him, and as he starts to move away, the metal is jammed against his neck this time. Malcolm sees white and is out before he reaches the floor.