Fireteam Delta by J. Halpin (ebook reader that looks like a book txt) 📕

few blocks away from the wagon, and he glanced out the wood-framed window to see a familiar face. The same young woman who was with the scarred man. She was talking with one of the caravan’s merchants.

“Shit.”

He had no idea what she wanted, but it was definitely something he’d have to bring up with the others.

Summers threw on his clothes as quickly as he could. He got about three steps down the stairs before he saw Synel at a table in the bar. She looked to be in the middle of an argument with a much larger, much angrier merchant.

“Morning. Just in time for the show,” Cortez called over.

Summers looked to see Cortez and Logan sitting with Asle, watching the man speaking to Synel.

It wasn’t long before the two were shouting. The last time he’d seen two elves fight like this, it had ended with one jamming a spear into the other.

“Asle, any idea what this is about?”

“He’s from the city. She’s cheating him,” Asle said, gesturing to Synel.

“Is that something you think, or something you know?”

“It’s what he’s saying, but it’s probably true.”

Summers had heard Synel mention how much more dangerous getting here had been from what she’d expected or prepared for. It wouldn’t surprise him if that had affected the final price for whatever goods she was selling.

“Okay . . .”

“Should we do something?” Logan looked to Summers.

“She’s a pro. She probably has it handled.” Summers watched as Synel stood, and then slapped the man hard enough for the clap to resound throughout the entire room. “Maybe not.”

Summers walked quickly to the bar as the man recovered. As it turned out, he was a moment too slow. The man’s arm shot out to grab Synel. Summers was there a moment later, his hand on the man’s head. He pushed forward, slamming the elf’s face into the hardwood bar. His unconscious body fell to the ground a few moments later.

Synel backed up, eyes wide as the man’s limp hand fell with him. She said nothing.

It occurred to him that he might have killed the guy.

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“Okay, it was cute and a little hot at first, but seriously . . .”

Summers spoke in English, his head in his hands. He sat across from Synel, who was still staring at him, wide-eyed. Things had happened so fast, he didn’t quite realize what he’d done.

From Cortez’s account, the man—who had a good ten inches on Summers—had been hit so hard, so fast, that it looked like a blur even to her. That, and the distinctly head-shaped imprint in the solid wood bar was a good sign that something was wrong. Summers was strong, but he wasn’t that strong. Or that fast, for that matter. Thankfully, the guy had left the bar still breathing, brain damage notwithstanding.

Given all the other odd side effects he’d encountered, Summers could only assume this had something to do with the fog, which had just fed Synel’s belief that he was—again—some kind of godling.

“Asle, do not translate that.”

“What is cute?” Synel asked, speaking English herself.

She was picking up his language far too quickly for him to be comfortable.

“What is hot?” Asle asked.

“Nothing,” Summers replied. “Let’s just agree that I’m very strong. No more god thing, all right?” Summers put his hands on the table. “How ’bout you? Are things going to be okay after . . . ?” Summers tried to think of a word she’d understand. “After he’s done sleeping?”

Guards had already taken the man Summers laid out long ago. Asle had, thankfully, had the foresight to steal the guy’s coinpurse, which was useful when they needed to pay for the bar Summers had dented.

“I will find another buyer.” Synel cleared her throat in an obvious attempt to hide her amusement. “And thank you.”

Summers didn’t doubt that people would be lining up for blocks for the supplies they’d brought, given how desperate the city seemed to be.

“If you’re done flirting, can we get going? We got shit to do,” Cortez called over to Summers.

“Right . . .” Summers started up. “Sorry, but we need to leave.”

Summers felt the door open behind him, and the chill winter air outside rush in.

Synel nodded just as Summers heard Cortez speak up.

“Scratch that. We have a problem. A big one.”

Summers turned to see a familiar, scarred face staring back at him from across the room. Four elves flanked him as he approached the group. They were all holding M4s.

Summers froze in his seat.

“Well, look at this.” The scarred man smiled at the group. “And what’s your name?” The man looked to Asle.

She turned her head from Summers back to the man.

“Ah, manners. Name’s Rhodes. Arnold Rhodes.” He held out a hand to Summers.

Summers just stared back.

“Now, don’t give me that shit. I know you know what I’m saying. Your name is Summers, that’s Cortez, Logan, and the woman there is the caravan master for that shit that just came in.” He gestured to the men at his back. “Keep playing coy, and I might stop being so polite.”

Summers watched as Rhodes’s hand fell gently atop Asle’s head.

Rhodes smiled again. The right side of his face failed to show anything, clean skin giving way to rough scar tissue.

Summers felt for the sidearm in his waistband.

“What do you want?”

“Good.” Rhodes’s smile fell. “Right, so I’ve been talking with a few of your friends in the caravan, and they have told me some interesting things. Well, full disclosure, I didn’t do the talking. I don’t know what the fuck these people speak.”

Rhodes whistled, fingers outstretched, and a man handed him a small pistol. “But I get by.” He worked the action. “Anyway, point is that there’s a lot of talk about you having some interesting