He felt like a single mom, trying to open doors and get up the stairs, his arms being preoccupied with carrying the four grocery bags he'd just bought. The damn elevator was shot, despite Hardison's attempts to reboot it earlier that day. Eliot huffed. Maybe the hacker would get more exercise now with the stairs being his only option; well, he wasn't in dire need of a workout, per say, as the hitter had him and Parker in strict fighting training, but it was always good to be active.
Speaking of, he wasn't exactly out of breath by the time he reached the apartment, but he was gonna have to get inside quickly enough to set down the bags before he dropped them in the hallway. Damn Hardison and his orange soda addiction. He wouldn't get a chance to secure the building before lockup downstairs if he didn't put the groceries away quickly enough, and he definitely wouldn't if Parker decided to block his way in favor of pestering him about why he didn't buy 100 bottles of chocolate syrup like she'd asked.
Gee, he may as well have been a mom.
Shaking his head at the thought of the pair's antics, he bumped into the door to open it, seeing that it was left open.
He froze once he stepped inside, the door slowly swinging back until it clicked closed. His eyes darted around the room at the dozen or so men in dark casual dress, high-laced boots, dark gloves, and staid composure. Not to mention the gun each held, four standing behind and aiming at a member of his team, the rest aiming at him. Parker, Hardison, Sophie, and Nate, in order left to right, knelt with their hands apparently restrained behind their backs and black cloths gagging them. Nate had a black eye, Parker worried a split lip, and Hardison looked like his right arm hurt, probably a dislocated shoulder.
The hitter growled.
"Easy, champ, one wrong move and your friends' brains make some pretty art of the walls." The man out of uniform, without a gun and taking a step toward the hitter, wore a smugly victorious smirk. "Just set the bags down and don't bite while I check you for weapons."
Eliot narrowed his eyes but did as he was told. He set the groceries down by the door and turned to face the evident leader of the group. The intruder strode across the room to face the tense man. He began to run his hands across his body in search of a weapon and continued as he moved behind the hitter. Once he was done, he immediately wrapped his arm around the shorter man's neck in a choke hold, his other arm providing leverage for his grip. Eliot's hands instinctively grabbed for the arm strangling him, but he stopped when the armed men instantly cocked their weapons. His hands remained in a loose grip as the man held him to effectively cut off his air. Eliot tried to gasp but there was no way to. He didn't resist, just snarled and waited.
The man chuckled darkly as the hitter stilled his small resistance. He tilted his head forward and whispered into his ear, "Oh, what fun we'll have."
He continued to strangle the hitter, amused by his small jerks as he forced his oxygen-deprived body not to fight back. Finally Eliot was about to pass out, letting loose a grunt and tightening his clutch on the man's arm. The man sighed and let go. Eliot stumbled forward a bit and held his neck, gasping and coughing. He straightened the moment he could breathe again, facing his attacker and resisting the urge to cough more. This wasn't the time for such a luxury.
"You're not gonna escape me again, Spencer, not before I'm through with you." He moved to him and grabbed his jaw. "And don't think I'll leave you with your dignity this time." Releasing him, he punched him in the face. Eliot's head swung with the hit. Before he turned it back, another landed in his gut. He took a jerky step back but otherwise granted neither reaction nor response. The man continued to punch and kick him until he paused to stand back and admire his work.
The hitter was still standing, facing the man defiantly, but not without drawbacks. His face was bruised and his split lip bleeding. He favored his left side, where the man's right hook had broken a rib or two, and the kicks had dealt the rest of the damaging blows to his chest. The shorter man's breath rattled a bit but he flicked his long hair back and waited again. He'd been pushed back toward the trussed-up team, so he was only a few feet from them now. He never looked back at them, but they knew that they were his main concern and he knew exactly how they'd react to all of this, so they did him a favor by remaining still and quiet. This wasn't about conning or fighting their way out of it.
This was a war of attrition.
This was survival.