Nate trusted Eliot, in some ways more than the others, his being loyal and logical in the face of any threat. He talked to the hitter about matters he wouldn't entrust the others with. That's why the hitter suspected nothing when the mastermind called him late at night to discuss a new urgent job. He needed him in on the ground floor.
"Whatever you say, boss."
Because the paranoid, weathered specialist trusted him too.
When he arrived at the pub and subsequently entered Nate's apartment, he wasn't hyperaware like he might've been at daytime, in a mark's building, under unknown conditions. He was in his second home. He walked through that door, greeted his teammate, and accepted the beer he was offered as they went to sit on the couches in the "conference room". Ten minutes later, Eliot grew light-headed and his world grew distorted. His arm moved to grip the couch as he tilted forward.
Nate, sitting next to him, sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Before the hitter could see his hesitation, he moved to Eliot and grabbed the dazed man's throat, strangling him with as much force as he could apply. Eliot choked and struggled, his hands pulling at Nate's, but he was heavily drugged and it took all he had not to pass out. Nate continued to strangle him, face passive as his friend writhed and tried to speak, struggled to breathe. Just as the suffocating man was about to pass out, the mastermind released his hold and stood back. Eliot gasped and coughed. He sat up and held his neck, wheezing breathlessly. Nate moved forward and the hardened hitter pushed himself back, moving farther into the couch because he knew he couldn't stand with the drugs making him so dizzy and confused.
"W-what are you doing?" He tried to growl, but whispered hoarsely instead.
No longer waiting for him to recover, Nate strode to him with determination and punched him in the gut. He socked him in the jaw and, when he bent over to avoid another hit to his stomach, Nate brought a heavy fist crashing down upon his back. Eliot sat back and tried to kick the man, but Nate just moved to the side and grabbed the leg, using it to pull him onto the floor. There he kicked the downed man over and over, harder and harder, until enough of Eliot's ribs had cracked that he cried out in pain and anger.
"STOP! What the fuck-" Eliot was cut off by Nate's fine loafer cutting off his airway by his stepping on the downed man's throat.
"No more questions, Eliot. You are out of line questioning me. You do as I say, when I say it, got that?" When the hitter only snarled, Nate applied more pressure until Eliot panicked, unable to breathe and with the concern of the potential of a crushed trachea. He reached up and grabbed the hand fisted in his hair, squeezing lightly, unable to nod. Nate let up and allowed his team member to breathe.
"Who?"
"What do you mean?" Nate asked nonchalantly, pulling out his phone and sending a message with it.
"Who got to you? What are you selling me for? Money? Power?"
"It's not that simple."
"Never is," Eliot closed his eyes. "So, was that all for show, to soften me up, or was it rage?" The hitter's voice was soft and dangerous.
"Doesn't matter, they'll be here any second. It's over."
Eliot pulled himself up to rest back against the sofa. That alone left his head reeling. He glared at the stoical man standing above him. "Everything I've done for the team, for you, and this is what I get? Do you realize what you've done?"
"Don't think you're so powerful, Eliot. You went down easily enough."
"Don't play that card, Nate. You know the only reason I didn't scan the area, turn down the beer, and fight back was because I trusted you. Didn't think you were this big of an idiot."
"An idiot? How so?"
There was the hitter's deadly rattlesnake smile. "Wherever they take me, prison, a hostile country, or someone I crossed, I'll get out, and I'll make you pay for this. I never forgive."
"Where you're going, I know you'll be secure."
"Who the hell could hold me?"
"Damien Moreau."
Eliot paled.