Chapter Text
Eliot fumbled with the lockpicks. This was going to be difficult enough without his hands being uncooperative. "Jus'...don't bring that stuff up. Alright?"
Nate gave him that analytical gaze of his. Finally, he nodded. "We all have things in our past. Things we aren't proud of. Things we wish we could take back."
"Yeah. My time with Damien-"
"Is none of my business, Eliot. Only if you want to talk about it. I won't bring it up again."
Heat pricked Eliot's eyes. He nodded. Once. He didn't trust his voice to not betray his shame. They say confession is good for the soul. He just wasn't sure confession would save his soul from all he had done. And confessing to Nate was not high on his list of priorities.
"When do we make our move? I assume we don't want to go head-to-head with Moreau."
Nate was perceptive on that account. But part of Eliot wondered if it would be possible to not face Damien. "I've been clocking the guards," Eliot's throat felt like shards of glass shifted every time he spoke. He coughed. "They have a night shift. Damien don't come in with those," he whispered.
"Okay. So, we can work with that."
"Not we. Me. I'm the hitter. I can work with that. You stay out of the way."
"Eliot, we agreed that I call the shots. I'm the one with the plans. I know everyone's skillset and what they can do."
"You don't know every...every..."
Nate clutched his forearm and stared hard. "Are you okay? Maybe we need to give you some more time."
"There's no more time! Once he finds out that I'm not as out of it as he thinks, it's game over. You know that. Or...at least you should, Mastermind."
Nate's mouth opened. Closed. "Fine. Do what you do. What do you need me to do?"
"Stay out of the way." What he didn't tell Nate was that a lock inside a cell holding Eliot Spencer wasn't an oversight. Damien did not tolerate oversights. No one knew better than he did what may be waiting on the other side of that door.
Sure enough, as soon as the door swung open two of Damien's men stepped inside. A flick of their wrists extended their collapsible batons.
.
.
.
Nate stepped back as Eliot straightened his spine.
"Took you long enough to try something, Spencer," the man nearest Eliot said.
Eliot chuckled. "Couldn't have anything to do with being drugged, beat up, anything like that could it?”
The second guard smiled. " Don’t seem like the Eliot Spencer that everybody whispers about. What's the matter, old man? Getting soft?”
Nate watched the chilling smile cross the hitter's features as he said, "Don't you wish?"
He charged both men, taking a couple of baton hits as he did. One caught his hip, the other slammed into his side. Nate squinted one eye knowing how much it had to hurt, but Eliot hurtled into the fray.
In sixty seconds, both of Moreau's guards lay unconscious at Eliot's feet. He twirled one baton in his fingers and grinned despite likely being exhausted. "Ready for this?"
"I doubt it, but we can't stay here. Are you ready for this?"
The smile on Eliot's face wavered. "Not by a long shot. Ain't got much choice." He motioned for Nate to follow. "C'mon."
Nate swallowed the lump in his throat. Normally, he would have no problem trusting Eliot to plow through all obstacles in his path. But something in Eliot's reluctance to face Moreau niggled at the alarm bells in his mind. He didn’t want to think about the reasons why.
Nate followed the hitter down the long, quiet corridor. Why was everything so quiet now? Surely there were more guards here. Even drugged, Eliot was not a man to be trifled with. There would need to be someone to keep him in line.
After rounding a corner to the right, Nate saw the reason. Damien Moreau stood between them and the door to freedom. The man smiled. “Bravo. We knew this day would come, dear Eliot.”