Delta_Ricochet

by Cristin Harber

  Surprisingly, Parker wasn’t there. Only Jared and Brock sat at the long table with Jared at the head and Brock to his right. Parker had access to everything, and Jared used him for every team and every project—and problem—Colin had ever seen. Everything had documentation, even things that didn’t exist. Parker had everything. That he wasn’t in the room threw Colin’s balance off even more.

  “I was in the shower. I didn’t see your messages.” He took the seat opposite Brock, clasped his hands like normal, and eased back as though this meeting were cool. But the silence was about to give him away. “I have no idea why I’m here. It might help if you clue me in.”

  Jared pursed his lips together, nodding. “Fair enough.”

  How could silence press Colin to the ground? He couldn’t take a deep enough breath while he waited and feigned casual calmness.

  “When I decided to found Titan group, I didn’t envision this building.” Jared placed his elbows on the table, clasping one hand over the other and cracking his knuckles. “I didn’t see, decades later, absorbing other companies that had failed, having a direct line to the White House, the CIA, the DIA, the NSA, whatever acronym you want to come up with in whichever country you choose. But I did know what we would accomplish: good things in horrible situations. I knew that plans were for shit, but planning was everything. I wanted a team I could trust with my world.” He looked at Brock and then back at Colin. “And if a problem with that trust ever came up, I needed to know that person had the integrity, deep down to make it right. No one is perfect.”

  Colin was aware of what had gone on with Jared and Brock, though he’d only heard about it secondhand. “I’d own up to a poorly handled move on that ship—or any op—and have, I think. But I don’t know what you’re asking of me.”

  Brock chewed his cheeks and nodded. “I think we agree.”

  “Then…” Colin was lost.

  “We’re not here because you messed up.” Jared leaned back at the head of the table, eyeing Colin. “More to see what you want from Titan.”

  Colin paused, too spent to have the wherewithal to think through a meaningful career discussion, and maybe that was why they were having this talk now. Or maybe they understood the team was coming off one of their worst jobs ever, and they were shoring up who was in for the long haul. The men and women on Titan’s main team had been with Jared for years, some more than a decade. Delta was new compared to them, though they were pushing several years now.

  “In what way?” He took a chance that it was better to ask for more intel than to rely on the expectation of mind reading of a notoriously unreadable strategist.

  “Good question.” Jared rocked slowly in his chair. “Everyone in this company is the best of the best. No question.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Every team I’ve built, there’s been a reason for the strengths because everyone has a weakness, and I need technical experts who are able, fluid enough, to assist company-wide as much as they do for their team.”

  Again, Colin agreed.

  “You’re not always the loudest,” Jared continued.

  Brock laughed. “But not always the quietest.”

  Colin chuckled. He couldn’t deny either.

  “But you have an innate quality, and that is the ability to naturally lead among leaders.”

  That was something Colin had noticed about himself but not a characteristic worth boasting about. “I get what you’re saying.”

  “Do you?” Jared asked.

  He went back into that container when all hope seemed lost. They might’ve let the last of the survivors die for not giving a hopeless situation a lost-cause last check. “It wasn’t only me who wanted to check bodies for pulses. We had no idea there’d be anyone standing.”

  Brock and Jared stared but didn’t add to the conversation.

  “I was closest,” Colin finally added. “Look, if there are any questions before debrief, I’ll clear them up. But I wasn’t some hero of the job.”

  “Leadership is action. Not a position,” Brock said.

  “Makes sense.”

  Brock wasn’t always in the field with them, having to coordinate in the war room and oversee more than one op at a time, but he knew when and how to get his hands dirty. Delta never questioned that.

  “I’d like to offer you an invitation.” Jared leaned forward. “Promotions are things that assholes like to say they’ve got, and you’re not an asshole, and you don’t have anything.”

  Colin’s blood rushed. Anticipation of whatever Boss Man might say suddenly made him more alive than a cup of coffee ever could. “All right.”

  “More like I’m inviting you to own what you’re already doing.”

  “Leading,” Brock added.

  Colin’s eyebrows arched. “How so?”

  “We want Delta’s second in command to be clearly established.” Brock tilted his head. “And you were born for this.”

  A sudden chill brought Colin’s excitement to a stop. Why had his father texted him just before this? Had he had any influence on this decision? If so, Colin didn’t want second in command. He could do it. Hell, he already did! But, there was no way that he’d take any title or almost promotion if anything but his Delta work had earned it. “What does that mean?”

  “What?” Jared asked.

  “Born for this?” Colin followed up.

  Brock’s forehead tightened. “Don’t read into it.”

  “Your father had nothing to do with this conversation,” Jared added, reading Colin’s mind.

  He wouldn’t dare second-guess Boss Man, and even if the slightest shred of doubt remained, he nodded. “I was born to do this. No matter who or what my parents are.”

  Having diplomat parents who happened to be spies was very cool. But not many people knew the badass spy part, and the diplomat part came with its own headache that he’d been sensitive to, starting back in elementary school, when his father had been vetted via the press and Congress. Whenever there was any kid who had different attention, there was always trouble to follow. Colin handled it well. Sophia, his sister, had a harder time, and from that time forward, he’d been sensitive to how his peers perceived successes.

  “We know,” Brock said.

  “They have nothing to do with it,” Jared reaffirmed. “Now, what do you say? Want to officially try out the number-two hat? Or are you going to make me use one of the assholes you just met?”

  “Wait, who?” Colin had missed something.

  Jared batted away the question, and Brock said, “He’s talking about the other team. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not because I’m all over second in command.” Colin stood up, shaking hands with Jared then Brock. “Man, such an honor.”

  “Keep your head up and your standards higher.” Jared pushed out of his chair. “Focus on the job. That’s the only way you’ll keep everyone coming home alive.”

  Coming home alive. He’d known what he was doing before, how important and risky their jobs were, but for the first time, his Delta teammates had to officially trust his decisions. “Nothing else comes first.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The voicemail notification stayed on Colin’s phone from the time he saw it when the plane touched down in Iowa. He, Javier, and Sophia deplaned, walked to baggage claim and then picked up their separate cars. Sophia had talked Javier into a few days off, mini-vacation to see the sites of Iowa. Javier said he didn’t care, so long as he could get her naked, and that was Colin’s first clue he needed to put space between his buddy and his sister.

  But his father wasn’t calling Sophia. Colin had casually checked-in, and she didn’t have a clue, but guessed it had to do with the news quickly making its way through Titan Group. Right after their talk before the op debriefing, Jared and Brock made their announcement, and Delta had welcomed it with hoots, hollers, table-slaps, and congrats. He wasn’t one to get red in the face, but his cheeks might’ve tinged with color.

  Safe in the con
fines of a purposefully generic, mid-sized vehicle in a color that could only be described as dirty car but was labeled as off-white, Colin hit the voicemail button.

  What’s your old man have to do to get a call back? Your mother says to call.

  That’s what he had to do. Play the mom card. Colin knocked his head against the rest and hit the call back button, keeping the speakerphone on to exert as little energy as possible on the call. God love his father, but at times, living up to his expectations was killing Colin, and he still hadn’t recovered from that hellhole floating in the Indian Ocean.

  “It’s about time.”

  His eyes sank shut. If he’d called back after the first text, there would have been a similar response. The timing didn’t matter. “How’s it going, Dad?”

  “Good. Got anything you want to share?”

  “Sounds like you already know?” Where was the fun in sharing when he wasn’t sharing? There was no surprise, no hope or anticipation. All Colin was going to do was give a confirmation of what the man already knew—and how? He didn’t want to know, since Jared and Brock said his father had nothing to do with his nearly secured promotion. “It’s not a done deal, anyway.”

  “Of course, it is. You’re just younger than someone who would normally nab that job. Strictly precautionary.”

  How do you know? It hung on his tongue, begging to be released, but Colin didn’t waste his time. It didn’t matter. “What’s new with you and Mom?”

  “She’s working on her Mandarin.”

  “That’s cool. And you?”

  “I’ve been waiting for this call.”

  Colin pinched the bridge of his nose. There were a hundred things his father had done since he’d first sent the text days ago that were infinitely more interesting than this phone call, but this was the only thing on his mind. Didn’t they have anything in common anymore? “Thanks. That means a lot.” He glanced around the rental car parking lot. “I’m getting ready to pull into my hotel. I’ll call you when I have a minute. Sound good?”

  “Great. I can’t wait to hear more about it.”

  Colin ended the call, tossing the phone onto the passenger side, and dropped his head against the steering wheel. Where had everything gone so wrong?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Everyone who was leaving for Jax and Seven’s bachelor/ette party from Mayhem’s compound had already left. Almost. The only straggler besides Adelia was the bride-to-be, who wouldn’t leave her side, which earned Adelia the title of most irresponsible bridesmaid—though the tardy party foul wasn’t entirely her fault. They’d gone back and forth, and Adelia threatened to tie Seven to the back of a Harley-Davidson dragster but relented when her best friend pointed out the ticking clock.

  “You’re lucky it’s your special day,” Adelia grumbled.

  “If I’d known how easy it’d be to get my way, I would’ve agreed to get married sooner.” Seven’s pink hair swept across her eyebrow bar, obscuring the mischief in her gaze. “Pretty dresses and you giving in easy.”

  Adelia hummed as she concentrated on the computer screen in front of her. “Are you watching?”

  Seven poked her head out of Mayhem’s business office. “Yes, of course.”

  “’Kay. Then we’ll get out here.”

  “Relax.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She scrolled through the screens.

  “They can only have so much fun without me.” Seven toyed with her tongue ring. “Even if Jax is there. I’m fifty percent the guest of honor.”

  True enough. A bachelor/ette party could only start so much without her, and she’d throw a rare hissy-fit that only true Mayhem royalty could if anyone said that she was late to her event. Forget that she was the bride-to-be; Seven was Cullen Blackburn’s daughter. That mattered to more people and places in their world.

  Adelia didn’t know how someone so sweet and caring could be Cullen’s daughter. But it didn’t hurt that her best friend was a MC princess—even if her father, the founder of Mayhem, gave Adelia the shivers. He was one guy she didn’t mind spent more time behind federal bars than not, and neither did Seven. The asshole.

  Adelia’s fingertips hovered over the keyboard. Each fingertip had a pulse. She’d made hundreds of bank account transfers over the years and funneled funds out of Mayhem without raising suspicion. But the risk was still there. If the Club’s treasurer cleaned up his messy accounting, there would be too many loose strings that had no answers.

  “The seller is expecting the money,” Seven pointed out. “No one’s going to walk in.”

  True. This was the least risky time they’d ever spent in Mayhem’s office with everyone at Seven’s party. “I know.”

  Seven’s boot heels clicked as she crossed the office, and her hand rested on Adelia’s shoulder, a reassurance that the same thing would happen as always. They’d remain anonymous buyers and use their faceless network of angels who’d sweep trafficked people into a better life. “I double checked right before Victoria did my makeup.” Seven squeezed Adelia’s shoulder. “We have our ladies ready for the incoming girls. Make the purchase and be their savior.”

  No one knew how to do this part like she did. “I love ya, Seven.” And with her best friend’s confidence, Adelia keyed in what she needed to access Mayhem’s bank accounts.

  Mayhem had large sums of money in hundreds of bank accounts, though the clear majority of it was amassed in a few dozen bigger ones. On paper, their main source of income came from automotive-related businesses: car repairs, renovations, custom work, et cetera. But in reality, they bought and sold weapons. Since before she knew how Mayhem made their money, Adelia had been privy to sensitive information—like when they expected bursts of income. That was part of life as Tex raised her. He taught her how to shoot and fight, how to work with Mayhem as a productive part of the Club, and the higher he climbed into leadership, the more she was brought into the fold.

  Mayhem had a simple code: be loyal. Their consequences for failure were equally simple: death.

  Stealing from Mayhem was a death sentence, one that she had already escaped long ago in Brazil when Adelia had been trafficked. Her father was a pimp and sold her—twice.

  Ending up with Mayhem had been nothing but luck, and from the day they took her away, she’d lived on borrowed time, eventually figuring out why she’d evaded the sex trafficked life she’d been meant for and what she was going to do about it. This. Her wrists rested on the edge of the desk as her finger clicked the mouse, hopping from one account to the next, searching for the right bank account with the words she needed to see—pending transfer—and enough money to cover the purchase of new merchandise. “Almost there.”

  Seven perched on the edge of the desk, and her leather skirt inched closer as she read over Adelia’s shoulder. “Check the Las Vegas chapter. They just had a big classic car show down there.”

  “Legit money.” Adelia bit her lip and clicked into that account. Bingo.

  The sum of money displayed in the bank account. Seven hopped off the desk, throwing her arms into the air. “Woot, woot. Our plans haven’t been spoiled yet, and I won’t even be noticeably late.”

  “Thank you, Jesus.” Adelia made a wire transfer to finalize the purchase of the women she’d agreed to buy earlier and initiated bank transfers to cover her last transaction. “Let’s go.”

  A burner phone pressed to Seven’s ear as she made the untraceable phone call, reading the wire confirmation number to the seller. They’d been a team for so many years that they flowed. Adelia did the procurement, funding, and rescue. Seven would help with calls and mobilizing the unnamed network of Mayhem’s old ladies across the country who would wordlessly help whoever they saved.

  Clunk.

  Adelia opened her eyes, not realizing she’d shut them, and stared at the burner phone on the desk. Money would disappear the way it appeared, and women and girls would be saved when old ladies she didn’t know pretended to be the buyers of terrified women and naïve girls.


  She’d seen the scene, sometimes much worse than others. The merchandise, as the women were called, was sweaty and exhausted, with curling hair that had frizzed into knots and straight hair that was nothing more than tangles. Their clothes were dirty or rags, and they were packed into dank light-less boxes where the air was heavy and hot with the breath of too many people in too small of a space, speaking too many languages.

  Seven’s eyes glistened as though she knew where Adelia’s mind went. “It’s done, hon. We’re good.”

  Adelia shook the image of what her life had almost become from her mind. She could rack her brain for days, wondering where the next buy would be or which chapters they could skim money from. She could obsess over which Mayhem chapters had surges in business or pester her sorta-step mom, lawyer to the criminal underworld, Lenora, to see what she knew. But it would be a never-ending spiral.

  Seven folded the corners of a piece of paper, and Adelia tapped her teeth, knowing how quiet Seven was keeping her nerves.

  Seven scrunched the paper as Adelia cleaned the browser history and closed tabs. Her ears pricked. “Did you hear something?”

  Seven’s tongue ring froze on her lip, and her eyes darted toward the office door. “No?”

  “No, period, or no, maybe, I’m not sure?” A tickle of sweat sprang under her hairline.

  Seven’s pink hair fell over her forehead, and she slapped it out of the way. “Just hurry up, or Ethan will walk in and shoot us both in the face.”

  Adelia glared at the screen. She needed to confirm that their activity history was wiped away. Ethan might be a messy bookkeeper for the club treasurer, but she wasn’t about to leave clues for him to stumble upon. “What do they have? Dial-up?”

  Seven picked a piece of cardstock from her purse and folded it into a tiny shape. A complete confirmation popped on screen.

  “That took long enough.” Seven popped the origami into her purse. “I want a drink the color of my hair.”

  “Me too.” Adelia took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”