Moreau's Revenge - 002
Moreau let other people underestimate Eliot. If they got themselves killed it wasn't his problem. Granted, he had underestimated Eliot as well. His men had let him down. But that was behind him now. More or less. The Russian's still owed him. Having them pick up Eliot just saved him the trouble of loosing men or of Eliot catching on before it was
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Cole was leaning casually in the doorway, waiting for Eliot to regain consciousness. Being an ex-marine and a sniper, he had a surprising amount of patience. Much more than the rest of Moreau's men at least. They were in a dark room. Clearly underground. No windows to speak of. It looked and smelled like a San Lorenzo cellar, mixed with the smokey head of cigars. That was the only thing about waiting around in the damp and the dark that was bugging Cole. Cigars. Smart snipers did not smoke. It was a liability and a risk. Evidence, DNA, distraction. It wasn't worth it. Pushing off the wall, he made his way to where Eliot Spencer was held up. A pair of heavy cuffs held his arms together above his head, short chained, hands close together, less than a few inches give. Leg's chained apart, same deal, mere inches to budge. Personally he felt Moreau was being just a tad bit paranoid, but it was Eliot, and the big boss had been locked away by this guy and his team. What a joke. Eliot on a team? He rubbed the scar on his cheek idly, flipping the butterfly knife in his hand open and shut. He had to wake up fairly soon, didn't he? Why Moreau even had him down here was a mystery. They already checked him for weapons, wires, whatever. The hired geek even zapped him with that electrocanon thing. What more risk could Eliot pose, chained up like this?
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The main thing was Eliot was unconscious, which automatically lowered his danger meter by several notches. But when they considered that he was locked with arms painfully stretched over his head, his whole body's weight supported only by the biting cuffs around his wrists, the answer was probably 'not a whole lot'.
Still, when Eliot finally started regaining his senses, he didn't do it slowly or haltingly. He snapped awake at the imminent sense of danger and tried to lash out before even opening his eyes, and was stopped only by the chains that kept him in place.
A low groan escape the caught retrieval specialist from the strong jerk he gave his body. His blood deprived arms awoke with new pains from the movement, and relentless fire spread from his wrists at the blood trying to get to his neglected arms. He bit back the moan, however, when the white dots finally danced out of his vision enough to allow him to focus on a familiar face in the room.
Oh shit. He was in trouble.
Mustering a grin he didn't feel, Eliot showed his teeth. "Heard you were dead, Cole."
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Oh good. Sleeping beauty was awake. Watching him jerk around made Cole suddenly thankful for the extra chains. Although he didn't flinch outwardly, he counted at least 15 ways Eliot could have smacked him down in the first few seconds. Maybe he hadn't gone soft, after all.
Cracking his knuckles, he sent that grin right back at Eliot, as if they were old friends, rather than enemies. He flipped the butterfly knife open and shut again, wishing Moreau wasn't running interference. He could have given Eliot a few things to remember him by, real quick.
"Came back when I heard you weren't."
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With both the movement and the reflecting shine, it was incredibly difficult to avoid looking at the knife but Eliot managed it. He kept it in his peripheral vision and allowed his eyes to fix unerringly on Cole's ugly mug instead. The scar made it easy to focus on.
"So even Hell spat you back out. What, the scar made you too ugly for demons?"
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Oh, how badly he wanted to wipe any look but pain off that idiot face. The southern twang in Eliot's voice grated at his nerves every time the hitter spoke. Mainly because it was Eliot Spencer.
He had that same dangerous southerner to blame for the scar stretched across the side of his face. He narrowed his eyes just barely, fixing Eliot in his sights. Moreau better have big plans. Big, painful, slow plans.
"The devil himself gave me a free pass to walk right out, just so I could collect you."
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Eliot was nervous. Cole was bad news and made it no secret that he hated his guts. That the sniper was just standing there flicking around a butterfly knife meant he was under commands of someone, and there was only one person who held Cole's leash so well.
He always knew a few bars and an underground prison wouldn't be enough to hold back the likes of Damien Moreau. Fitting that the money launderer should be compared with the devil.
Eliot released a short bark of laughter and ended it in a sneer. "I'm surprised they gave the job to a coward."
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Cole met that sneer with a dangerous, measured smirk, flicking the knife shut again and delivering a short, hard punch straight into Eliot's gut.
He took a step back, turning on his heels at the bark in his ear that followed the outburst. Being a Marine had taught Cole a lot about orders and how far you could push them. Moreau was on his way. Rolling his shoulders he turned around again to face Eliot.
"Funny, I seem to remember you being the one who took off."
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Getting a sucker punch while chained up seriously sucked. It was enough to drive the air from Eliot's lungs and have him curl over in reaction, but the chains prevented most of that anyway. He swung idly in place, placing new strain on his arms until his shoulders screamed in worse pain than his blossoming gut.
Yet all Eliot did was grin through his gritted teeth.
"Yeah," he said with another bark of mocking laughter as soon as he caught his breath, "that's why you had to blackmail and drug me to get me here, and only dare to face me when I'm chained up. Right. Cause you're so brave."
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"If it were my choice I'd have let you down a while ago, see if you really have gone soft." Sure, Cole knew what happened to the idiots in the warehouse, but he wasn't them. It wouldn't be the first time the two of them had gotten into it.
He stepped up closer, meeting Eliot eye to eye, his stare calm again as he counted in his head how many more hits he could get in before Moreau walked through the doors. He put a finger to the device in his ear, muting the microphone on it.
"With what he has planned for you, I'd keep that ugly little mouth shut while you still can."
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Eliot took note of the action, assuming the other wore a wire for communication then. Was Moreau hearing this? Not that it mattered at this stage, it wasn't like he would change how he made his plays.
Trying to keep his upper body as still as possible, Eliot moved his lower legs to check the range of his chains. Not good if how quickly he reached the end of his leeway was anything to tell by. Instead, he went to work the feeling back into his hands, trying to move one finger at a time. It was hard when he could barely tell his numb limbs from a mass of pain.
"You still need your hand held by Moreau. I can see where you'd be edgy."
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"Please forgive the meager hospitality, my old friend. I hope you don't take it personally. I do not have quite the funds I did the last time we caught up."
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No doubt Moreau could still see the fear warring with worry, all running through his eyes like a some guilty private show.
He finally settled on disgust. "A little girl? That was low, even for you."
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Eliot's emotions might as well have been a flip book for Damien as he watched them shoot across the hitter's face in rapid procession.
"It would have been rather unfortunate if you had decided not to come."
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He will just have to ask the questions he wanted to know outright and rely on his calm front to mislead Moreau from his true concerns.
"Yeah, I probably wouldn't have. Was the girl even real?"
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Moreau walked right up to the hitter, a loose, half empty glass in one hand as he regarded Eliot Spencer with a look somewhere between predatory and disappointed. He let those shine through as he swirled the dark amber liquid in his glass idly, leaving it down at his side.
"It's a shame you had to leave, Eliot. You were the best. We could have accomplished so much more, together." Past tense, but the compliment still earned a glare from Cole. He still had a score to settle with Eliot and Moreau was just what, having a friendly chat?
"I'm afraid I cannot be quite as hospitable this time around."
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"Was?" He focused his glare on Moreau, the same look that cowed a good number of stronger men before him. He didn't expect it to faze Moreau, but it brought his point across.
He was making a mistake though, he was showing he was too invested in the girl. It was a bad idea, so Eliot let his slip slide and tried to bring his attention back to the rest of the conversation. What else did Moreau say? "I'm still the best." His gaze skipped to Cole again, finally acknowledging the sniper's presence once more. "Look at the second rate you settled on."
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