Chapter 3

Nate woke to a hot, stabbing pain in his right shoulder. He gasped as another spasm ripped through his body, and opened his eyes to see a blurry image of Sully moving above him. He blinked several times. The other man's hands pressed tightly down on his shoulder.

"Ow," he said with effort. "Sully, that really hurts."

Sully reappeared in his field of vision. "You awake, kid?"

Nate nodded.

"You're a real magnet for bullets, you know that?"

"I…" Nate began, trying to remember what had happened. The smoke bomb…Sully coming out of nowhere and pushing him out of the way; the burning sensation that knocked him back. It took him a moment to realize he must've been hit in the shoulder by the same bullet that was meant for his head.

"It's still bleeding," Sully continued, placing more pressure on the wound. "Not pouring, but not stopping, either."

Nate turned his head to examine the wound. His right arm was covered with blood, oozing down from underneath Sully's hands, just beneath his collar bone. The red stain on his shirt was growing slowly but steadily in diameter. The bullet barely missed the bulletproof vest, which had been removed. He tried to lift his head to get a better look, but a sharp pain in his clavicle prevented him from moving too much in any direction. Nate exhaled sharply, and lay back down.

"Easy," Sully said as he helped Nate rest his head onto the cement floor. He examined the tissue around the bullet hole with cautious hands.

"It looks bad," Sully said as he pulled back. "A lot of the skin's torn. They must've used expanding bullets. Your collar bone doesn't look too stable, either. Might be a fracture there." His eyes deepened in concern as more blood poured onto Nate's shirt.

Nate followed his gaze to the ugly wound. The mangled flesh mixed with a slurry of wet and dried blood, along with dirt and what appeared to be tiny pieces of metal. He tried again to move his arm, but the sharp pain returned with renewed intensity.

"Try to stay still. A piece of the bullet might be caught in an artery."

"Who are these people?" Nate asked.

"I don't know," Sully replied as he took his outer shirt off and began to shred it into long, rectangular pieces. "Hired help. Fernandez owns the mansion, but he's just an art collector. He doesn't have the stomach for this kind of stuff." His voice was calm, but his actions were hurried. "Right now, I'm more worried about that shoulder. We have to stop the bleeding."

Nate looked around at their surroundings. They were in a cell, bare except for two large, circular metal rings attached to the ceiling. The iron bars that made up one side of the cell faced a narrow, empty hallway with a door at the far end. His vest and gun were both gone, as were Sully's.

"Where do you think we are?" he asked.

Sully's hands worked quickly to wrap the makeshift bandages around Nate's shoulder.

"I don't know kid, but I have a bad feeling about this one. It feels like somewhere off site, not on the mansion grounds. There was nothing in the blueprints about a dungeon in the basement, but then again, who knows how accurate those blueprints were."

He looked down at Nate as he began tying the first one. "This is going to hurt."

Nate nodded, and grunted in pain as Sully tied the bandage tightly around his shoulder.

"Cuervo…" he managed to say.

"They played us," Sully replied. "He knew the manuscript was in another part of the house. Having you go up into the library set us up so we couldn't escape in time." He exhaled in anger. "The next time I see that son of a bitch…"

The door at the end of the hallway opened with a loud creak. Sully stood as five men filed into the dark hallway. Their boots echoed off the cement walls as they neared. A key inserted into the lock, and the guards who captured Nate and Sully entered the cell. They stood at attention on either side of the iron door. A third man entered, while the two remaining guards stood outside.

The man that was clearly their leader stepped into the dim light. His face revealed itself incrementally under the single bulb until there was no mistake of his identity.

"We meet again, Victor Sullivan," said the man with a heavy accent and a malicious smile.

. . .

Sully replaced the look of shock on his face a second too late. The other man continued to grin.

"I know what you're thinking," he said. "What are the chances of this happening, after you so deftly escaped from my grasp twenty years ago? A million to one? Ten million to one? This is fate, my friend, giving us a second chance."

"Murillo," Sully said with disdain. "I should've known you were behind this. This place reeks of your stench."

The smile on Murillo's face resumed at full force. "I see you haven't changed much. Still getting caught for doing second rate work." He paced the small space in front of Sully, stopping to look down at Nate. "And who is your friend?"

"Don't know his name," Sully shrugged. "Some kid we picked up yesterday for the job."

Murillo continued to circle Sully.

"Why take the time to bandage him if you don't know him?"

"I'm not a monster, like you. I wasn't going to let him bleed to death."

Murillo stopped his pacing. He stared at the puddle of blood that had collected on the floor near Nate's shoulder. He looked back into Sully's eyes, and held the stare. When they broke contact, he motioned for the guards and nodded toward Nate.

"Get him up."

Nate grunted in pain as the guards hoisted him to his feet. His head spun from the sudden change in position.

"Since we are such good friends, Victor, I will not insult you with pretenses." Murillo nodded again toward one of his men. The guard twisted Nate's injured arm behind him, forcing out a cry of pain.

Sully moved a fraction of a step toward the guard, but forced himself to stop. He stood with clenched fists.

Murillo pointed a gun at Nate's temple.

"If he doesn't know anything, he's of no use to me."

"Even you're not that twisted, Murillo. He's just a kid."

Murillo narrowed his eyes. "But I think you're lying to me, my friend. I think you know this boy, and I think he's of value to you." He cocked the gun. "I will remind you of how this goes. I count to three, and if you haven't given me information concerning the manuscript, he dies. One. Two…"

"If you kill him," Sully threatened, "you'll never find the manuscript."

Murillo's features filled with curiosity. "I'm touched. Victor Sullivan has developed a soft spot." He turned to Nate. "We'll have to see exactly how much you mean to him, my young friend."

. . .

The guards brought in a set of long, heavy iron chains that threaded though the metal rings in the ceiling. They ended in metal cuffs that engulfed Nate's wrists.

Nate's shirt was ripped from his body as the lever that raised the chain groaned to life. Excruciating pain shot down from his arms. They were forced upward until his feet barely touched the ground. He turned to look at Sully, and saw something that he had never before seen in his mentor's eyes. Fear.

Murillo dug his fingers into Nate's wound until fresh blood poured out. Nate bit down on his tongue, but a scream still rose from his lips.

Two sets of rough hands restrained Sully as he lunged forward.

"You bastard!" He spat from where he stood.

With surprising agility, Murillo kicked Sully's legs so his knees smashed down onto the hard concrete. He pulled Sully's collar back to make him look up at Nate. A trail of blood ran down the length of the younger man's body.

"Give me the location of the men that took the manuscript," he said into Sully's ear, "and I will think about killing him quickly."

Sully turned to him with seething eyes. "And if I tell you I don't know where they are because the same men also betrayed me?"

"Then I will cut off his flesh, piece by piece, strip by strip; and you will watch him beg for death."

Murillo stood and patted Sully on the shoulder. "I admit, I was hoping you won't give in right away. I've made some changes to el látigo since you were last acquainted."

As if on cue, one of the soldiers opened a long, rectangular case and placed the whip into Murillo's palm. He examined the weapon tenderly, running his fingers along the thick leather rope that split into multiple braided ends. Tiny metal spikes poked out from each of the braids.

He turned and with practiced ease, sprung the whip to life. It cracked loudly in the air before the tiny spikes pierced into Nate's chest.

Nate screamed loudly. The burning on his chest overpowered the pain in his arm.

With the flick of his wrist, Murillo withdrew his weapon, leaving multiple jagged openings in the skin, quickly filling with blood.

"I'm going to kill you," Sully said, still forced to kneel on the floor. "You touch him one more time, and you're a dead man."

Murillo smiled at Sully. "Empty threats do you no good here." The whip shot out from his hand and caught the younger man a second time.

Nate's scream muffled into a grunt as he bit down hard on his tongue. The room dimmed in and out of his vision.

"Hijo de puta," Sully spat out in anger. "He doesn't know anything."

"Tell me where the manuscript is, and this will all be over." Murillo readied the whip a third time.

"Wait."

Murillo hesitated.

Sully looked up at Nate, who appeared to be unconscious. His pale body swayed lifelessly beneath the chains.

"Look, we can settle this like men," he said, straining to calm his voice. "Let the boy go, and I'll tell you where you can find it."

Murillo grabbed onto Nate's shoulder and dug his thumb into the bullet wound, making a fresh rivulet of blood appear. Nate's body shivered, but he made no sound. His head hung limply below his shoulders.

"Do you think I'm a stupid man, Victor? Tell me the location first." He grabbed Nate's jaw to tilt his head up. "I don't think our young friend can take much more of this."

"Okay," Sully conceded. "Okay, I'll tell you. Bring him down first."

"The location first."

"I need to make a call. I'll contact Cuervo and set up a meet to buy it back. He's only in it for the money. I'll say you're willing to double the price. You can take it from him when he shows. That's the best I can do."

Murillo considered Sully's words. "One phone call. He stays here until you return."