Delta: Retribution by Cristin Harber

talk to her. Or… Man, he was overthinking this date thing.
    His phone rang, and he sighed, answering it. “Hey, man.”
    “What are you up to?” Javier had to be at a bar and more than a couple deep.
    “Heading toward you.” Trace turned the engine over and pulled out of Marlena’s driveway. “Pour House?”
    “Yup—hey!” Whoever Javier was talking to, it wasn’t Trace. The call ended.
    The Pour House was becoming their temporary stomping grounds while they were stuck stateside. The place worked for him. The crowd was right. They brewed their own ale, and the kitchen could do more than deep-fry a basket of chicken.
    When he pulled in, there were the other Titan-loaned vehicles lined up there. They were blacked-out chargers and SUVs. Javier, Ryder, and Brock were somewhere in the dark barroom, playing pool probably. So that was how they kicked it when they were between jobs. How’d Titan’s main team do? Brock had told him something about cookouts and time spent at Jared’s wife’s gun range, aptly named GUNS. They were older. Delta was a much younger crew. Almost all of the men were his age and holding on to their own issues. Delta jived together. The more time they spent together, the more they operated like a well-oiled team. And no one had a girl.
    Except Brock.
    Rumor had it that he had a wife and family and had no problem going home between assignments. But even with that, he didn’t seem overly burdened. Trace’s chest felt tight thinking about it. But a different feeling curled around his stomach. When Delta was given the go-ahead to roam, he’d be on the next flight to hell’s backyard to find his brother’s tags in between jobs… and Mar would be in the United States.
    The Pour House’s sign loomed overhead, beckoning him into a smoky oasis. Trace pushed the glass door open and walked into the dimly lit, rowdy crowd. He nodded to a couple of guys who he’d seen before, and he found his way to the back. Just as he’d guessed, Brock and Javier were shooting pool. Ryder wasn’t too far away, with what had to be a waitress sitting on his knee. Crazy fucking Aussie .
    The waitress popped off Ryder’s lap and headed over. “Thirsty, honey?”
    “Something dark in a long neck.”
    “Sure thing.” She flitted off with a wave to Ryder.
    “Jesus, dude.”
    He laughed. “I like America. America likes me. What can I say?”
    Javier shook his head. “Like the country ever mattered.”
    “True enough.”
    “I need some help.” Trace walked over and leaned against the wall. “I’ve got a date.”
    Javier missed his shot, and the cue ball jumped off the table. “What?”
    Brock crossed his arms over his chest, remaining silent but looking amused with a down-turned grin.
    “So how’d you get suckered into something like that?” Javier drained his beer while Brock took his turn clearing the table. “Son of a bitch, Gamble.”
    “I’ve got next.” Trace wanted to play Brock. It’d be good to get a read on the guy. Even if he liked him, there was still a lot to learn. “I did the asking, so no sucker here.”
    Ryder laughed. “Well, that’s cute.”
    Brock nodded to him after he finished up with Javier. “What do you have planned?”
    “That’s my problem.”
    “You’re talking about that girl, aren’t you? The college kid?”
    “Yeah, her.”
    “Kinda young, isn’t she?” Ryder asked.
    “A couple years younger than me.”
    His buddy shook his head. “Man, war will age you.”
    A couple of them nodded. Trace felt double his age sometimes, mostly when thinking about Michael and all the fun they’d had before they joined up and ended up on two separate SEAL teams. Life had been a party until then. They’d killed it in high school. Shit, that was just a few years ago… but it felt like decades.
    Javier whistled. “Girl’s smokin’ hot, bro.”
    “Don’t I know it.” Trace cleared his head from the walk down memory lane. He wasn’t sure he liked Mar’s hotness