Seth wakes with a sudden jerk- head bouncing up quickly only to fall back to its original position of hanging low over his chest. Legs twitching in front of him as his calf and thigh muscles tense with awareness and his back spasms sharply against the back bars of the chair he's apparently sitting on. Drowsily, he goes to wipe the forced sleep from his eyes only to find he's unable to move his arms. Confusion begins to cloud his mind and he quickly shakes his head to clear the fuzziness. Slowly lifting his head up, Seth opens his eyes to get a bearing on what the hell is going on.
Looking around, he realizes he's in a large stone room. A fire is roaring in the hearth in front of him- blasting heat and light into the room- and it's doing a good job too as the room looks as if it would be dark and cold without it. Turning his head from left to right as far as he can, he gets a pretty good layout of the room- one door; a big ass desk; rug on the floor, and not much else by the looks of it. It also seems like Seth is alone in the room, unless someone is being very quiet and lurking in one of the dark corners.
Looking down to see what is wrong with his arms, Seth finds that his jacket and shirt are gone, and he's been left in just his undershirt and trousers. His arms are pulled tightly behind him and when he flexes, he can feel the rope scraping against the tender skin of his inner wrists.
Fuck! Looks like I'm tied to the chair.
He tries twisting his wrists, pulling at the restraints, but nothing gives. He then tries to stand up, maybe he can get to the wall and somehow batter the chair into submission. He's stuck, his feet are just as firmly tied to the chair as his arms are.
Letting his chin drop to his chest once more and closing his eyes again, Seth tries to remember just exactly how he got into this mess. They'd planned to finally take down Malvado, having managed to locate his latest hideout under another bar/diner (Malvado was a wily creature, but quite a creature of habit it appeared). They'd fought their way through several previous versions of the Titty Twister over the past months- although none were quite so elaborate as the original. Malvado had always managed to slip from their grasp- long gone before the brothers took down his men and his livelihood.
Richie and Seth had staked out this latest bar for several weeks, tracking the movements of merchandise, and noting the amount of regular workforce/flunkies. Only wanting to attack when they were sure that Malvado would be present, they agreed that the timing had to be right and that Malvado needed to be almost defenseless without the usual amount of cannon fodder from previous hits, so he couldn't make his escape. They'd become very competent at killing Culebra and to quote Samuel L. Jackson, the Geckos had become the weapons you used "when you absolutely, positively, got to kill every motherfucker in the room."
They'd figured out the perfect day for the attack. On a regular basis, many of the flunkies leave under the cover of night, for a couple of days and return with trucks containing people. Seth had been sick to his stomach having to sit back and watch the humans being frog marched into the bar, never to be seen again. He'd only managed to hold himself back with the knowledge that they were going to defeat Malvado as soon as possible and put a stop to this once and for all.
Groaning to himself, Seth begins to knit the missing pieces of his memory back together. They'd kept to the plan, they'd waited until the trucks had all left and the bar was in full swing. There would be plenty of bodies and noise to allow them to slip in and take out the last few guards without causing a scene. The brothers had made their way through to back of the bar without too much ruckus- they'd been fully equipped and ready to kick ass- and there they'd found the elevator that would take them into the depths of Malvado's lair.
Inside the elevator, they'd taken out the weapons concealed in the bags that they carried. Seth had stakes hanging in special pockets on the inside of his jacket, a holster under each arm with a fully loaded revolver in each, and a shotgun in his hands. Richie was equally equipped with the added bonus of extra strength and wicked fangs.
The last thing that Seth can fully remember is the elevator stopping with a sudden jolt. This had caused both men to pull their shotguns into an upright position and jump to either side of the door- their backs and turned faces pressed against the wall so they were looking at each other. They were ready to deal with anything or anyone waiting for them when the doors finally opened.
As the doors slid fully open and no-one entered the elevator from the corridor, Seth had let out a quiet sigh of relief before nodding at Richie to instigate action. The brothers led with their shotguns before popping their heads out to make sure their side of the corridor was free. Nothing was seen by either Richie or Seth so they had moved out of the elevator and headed to the left in search of Malvado, and then nothing.
Seth assumes that maybe the corridor wasn't as empty as they thought and someone had managed to cold-cock him.
Dread begins to trickle down Seth's spine with that final thought. He's here tied to a chair, some clothes missing, but relatively unscathed (slight headache and raw wrists) and totally alone. The question running around his mind causing this intense feeling of dread is- "Where the hell is Richie?"
Richie's mind is much less cluttered with dread- in fact he's rather happy that his brother isn't with him at the moment. He's pretty sure if Seth had been in the room, then Seth would be dead and even if he has to suffer through this pain and torture to finally die alone, it's better than the alternative of having to watch his brother die a slow and painful death. (He's positive that Malvado wouldn't make Seth's death a quick one, he would draw it out for his own pleasure and for Richie's pain.)
The Lord had started his torture by biting Richie- part draining him and turning his neck into a bloody, torn, weeping wound– which had hurt like a motherfucker. Malvado's intent was to see into Richie's mind and to find Santanico's location, but fortunately for them, they'd known that this was a possibility and had prepared for it in advance.
Richie had no idea where Santanico was- she had set off without a backwards glance with her own agenda. They had discussed the brother's plan only and had not spoken about her plan at all. So her plan and location are completely absent from both Richie and Seth's minds, the only thing that Malvado could possible glean from them was her car driving away. That there is another reason for Richie's good humour, even though he's tied to a wall as his undead life's blood slowly seeps from each of the tiny cuts that Malvado and his goons had been slashing into his body over and over for the past several hours- reopening each cut as soon as it healed until he'd lost so much blood that the wounds had stopped healing. He's pleased that Malvado will not get to Santanico because of him or Seth
Malvado has been constantly asking him about Santanico , how to find her, where has she gone and what is she planning. He's been taking great pleasure in torturing him, using his sharp golden nail to slash open Richie's skin, allowing his blood to flow out and down his bare chest and arms. The blood forming little rivers of red as it flows down chest, soaking into his pants. The blood from, his strung out, arms coalescing into large drops before becoming too heavy and falling to the stone floor with subdued splash- he thinks he must look Dali's "Crucifixion", more bloody, but less naked.
The torture is pointless, but without end- all Richie can say is, "I don't know."
Richie has not felt this weak since he's been a Culebra, and he's pretty sure that without help he's not going to make it out this time. This thought actually causes him to smile and he's pretty sure that the euphoria is now due to the blood loss and not just being grateful that he's the only one suffering.
He really hopes that his girl has a back up plan.
He tries to raise his head when he hears the door of his prison opening, but the energy it would take is beyond him.
"Well, well, well, Richard. Looks like we're going to have to start on your hermano to get my answers," Malvado drawls out. Gripping Richie's hair tightly and pulling his head back to look into his eyes, he says with a rueful smile, "I only started on you first as I knew that it would take a long time for you to die, but I can see that you really are willing to die for her. She does seem to inspire incredible loyalty- you only need to look at poor Carlito as an example. That poor, poor pendejo has been her devoted slave for centuries and look at what she does to him! She runs away with a low life criminal in a cheap suit."
Malvado suddenly lets go of Richie's hair, causing his head to drop back onto his chest before Richie can spit out any scathing retort – probably just as well as he doubts that his dry throat would be able to say much.
"If you're lucky, Ricardo, I might let you down from the wall once I've got what I need from Seth. Imagine the smell of that hot blood pumping through his veins when I break him. Do you think you could resist him if you were free?"
If Richie's heart was still beating, it would have stopped at the image Malvado just helped conjure up. The blood loss euphoria is cut dead as he imagines the worst possible scenario and he just hopes that he's succumbed to his wounds before Malvado is finished with Seth. He would go insane if he killed his own brother to quench his thirst, and even worse if he was selfish and turned him, then Seth would never ever forgive him.
Richie closes his eyes and thinks about his girl. He'd hoped that they could help her to be free, that they could be the heroes in her messed up history of slavery and pain. "I'm sorry my love," he whispers out loud in the hopes that she still has some contact with him- that she can in someway hear his apology, "I cannot be there for you if it means I will kill my brother. I cannot live with that burden."
Richie finally allows despair to seep into his bones and muscles as he sags fully in his restraints. Death could not come soon enough.