Page 5 of Delta: Retribution

CHAPTER THREE

Two weeks later…

The leather chair creaked as Trace leaned back into it. He stared down the giant war-room table. All around them were computer and television screens. It was his first time at Titan’s HQ, and after running through hell with Jared and Brock, he was okay with a cushy leather chair—for a moment.

Delta had been called home and was in a rebuilding phase. The men already on the team had seen it coming with the recent catastrophe in Somalia. They’d lost four men, then Brock had become their new team leader. Everyone seemed about as comfortable as Trace had been with the idea of returning to civilization, even if no one minded a comfortable chair every once in a while.

Delta was a ghost team. They weren’t meant to traipse into war rooms. They received their orders wherever they were, appeared, did their work, and disappeared. They defined “off the grid,” melting into their own shadows when they were done with a job.

Trace found comfort in that, more than he had in the last few weeks with his SEAL team. God, that had killed him, and he’d changed. Cracked, really. There was no saving him.

And then Delta became an option, and he thought he might make it. No trails, no existence, no life—nothing other than a team he meshed with, who let him dance with his demons without comment. That was how they liked it.

Brock Gamble, Titan’s former second-in-command, was the team leader. He got what made Trace tick, pushing his anger into training and letting him roam wild without any questions.

Brock threw a pile of key rings onto the table. Sudden apprehension tickled Trace’s nerves.

“We’re grounded for a couple weeks.” Brock glanced at Trace. “Temporary, but expect to stay a while.”

Apprehension churned itself into anxiety. “Keys?”

“One of them is for a townhouse, the other a car.”

“Temporary,” Brock had promised. A house and car didn’t sound temporary. The urge to puke hit him hard. He’d been tricked… He had to get back overseas and work on his own projects. He didn’t have time for team building and trust games or whatever else was planned for them.

Jared walked in, cracking his knuckles, and dropped into a chair. A bulldog trotted—slowly—into the room and plopped down next to him. “Never thought I’d see you boys sitting around a conference table.”

No shit.

But no one said anything. Brock leaned forward and ran his hand over his chin but stayed mum.

Jared continued, “As you may’ve heard, GSI is gone, has been for a few months, and we’ve secured their contracts.”

GSI had been a Titan competitor in the black-ops, private-security world. Jared flashed a look at Brock, but nothing registered across either man’s face. But it was noteworthy, if for no other reason than it seemed to create an interesting dynamic between the two.

“You’re still our ghost operations team. But I need Delta filling in where the main team can’t be. Standard jobs based out of the States. Anyone who can’t handle it, I’ll understand.” Jared glared directly at him.

Hell. All eyes in the room shifted to Trace.Great, fuckers. Trace made no show of noticing.

Brock cleared his throat, pulling all eyes forward again. “Everyone good?”

No one said a word, and that was the right response.

Jared nodded. “If you want out of your contracts, that’s fair. I’m changing the ground rules on you, even if it’s only temporary.” He stood, and his bulldog did the same, pacing along the length of the room. “If you want to stay off the grid, go underground, then take a sabbatical. Go off the clock until Delta’s back on the darkest, dirtiest missions that exist on earth.” Trace could feel the eyes begin to drift his way again. Jared cleared his throat. “But for now, until I add a few more bodies to the main team, I need you.”

Brock nodded. One by one, Delta nodded. Ryder. Luke. Javier. Colin. Everyone except Trace. He hadn’t nodded, yet no one seemed surprised.

“Trace?” Jared crossed his arms.

Maybe a sabbatical was what he needed—but what guy in his twenties did that? A guy who was cracking up. The key ring of doom was going to be his death. A car and house? The thought made him itchy. He couldn’t handle the humdrum of civilian life. Seriously, what was he supposed to do? Find an ammo store he liked, buy a coffee maker, and watch TV until Brock called him up and said to grab his go bag?

Grounding the team was a death sentence. Delta was starting to feel like the only way he’d survive after Michael’s death and the questionable falling-out with his SEAL brothers.

Once a SEAL, always a SEAL? Didn’t feel that way.

If Jared would put him to work right away so he didn’t have time on his hands, maybe Trace could handle life with a leash around his neck. He chewed the inside of his mouth. As long as he was busy, he wouldn’t leave Delta. He couldn’t. It was how he functioned at the moment.

Trace squared his shoulders. “If the team’s in, I’m in.”

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