Badass: A Stepbrother SEAL Romance by Linda Barlow, Alana Albertson

in my dreams.
    * * *
    Cassie
    While Shane was filling up on gas, I walked around, studied the landscape and felt ever more excited about our adventure. It wasn’t just being with Shane, which I was appreciating more than usual after clinging to his fine ass for the past half-hour. I was excited to be in Mexico. Since he lived in Southern California, it was probably no big deal for him, but I’d only been to Mexico once, for a brief visit over the border. I’d been reading blogs and studying maps of the Baja peninsula ever since he’d suggested the road trip.
    I pulled out a road map, since I had nothing better to do while I waited. Shane was tinkering with the engine and he certainly wasn’t going to consult me about that.
    When he finally looked up, I pointed to a spot on the coast and said, “If we can fit it in, I’d like to explore around here. I was reading this blog about two guys cycling in Baja and they had some really cool pictures of an old Mexican guy—I think he’s descended from Mayans or Aztecs—who has a little camp on the coast. He grows beans and vegetables, catches fish, and lives off the land. He prays to the ancient gods of the sun and the moon. He’s a shaman and a seer.”
    I glanced up at Shane. I couldn’t even guess what he was thinking behind his heavy sunshades. “A shaman and a seer? Old gods? I thought you were some kind of scientist.”
    “I am. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have a spiritual side.”
    He snorted. “You want the guy to tell your fortune or something?”
    “I just thought it would be cool to talk to someone who believes in ancient traditions that are lost to most of the residents of the land. He’s probably a wise man, even if he isn’t really a seer.”
    “Yeah, well, it’s out of our way. The trip’s already a thousand miles, and I’m not going to make it even longer so you can go bow down to the Aztec gods.”
    “Fine,” I said, snapping the map closed. What a jerk. I left him and walked over to a battered old soda machine that I hoped was working. The sun was hot and my throat was parched.
    “Hey, baby,” a low voice said from the other side of the soda machine. “Need some help with that, little girl?”
    I instinctively backed away from the voice even before I saw the guy. He stepped around, a huge man with greasy dark hair and massive tattooed biceps. He looked like a serious biker, and not the kind you wanted to run into if he was with his motorcycle club buddies. Or even if he was by himself. Thuggish, with a nasty gleam in his black eyes.
    “No thanks,” I said, grabbing my soda and turning back in Shane’s direction. He was paying for the gas.
    Another dude came up behind Biceps. He was younger—maybe late teens and didn’t look quite as vicious. Behind him I could see two huge shiny motorcycles, all snazzed up with lots of chrome and various emblems and skull and crossbones type stuff.
    Biceps sidled after me. Yuck, he had wicked BO. “Who you ridin’ with, girly? The Cub and me could use a fine old lady like yourself.”
    The emphasis he put on the word “use” gave me the shudders. I didn’t look back, but hightailed it over to Shane. He looked up, saw me and the two guys, and his expression turned ice cold. It was a subtle change, but I felt it. He didn’t move; he didn’t speak, but there was something in his body language that made the two bikers hesitate.
    For the first time ever, I was aware of what it meant to be with a Navy SEAL. If I should ever need protection on this trip, I had it.

Chapter 22—Shane
    I placed my arm around Cassie’s shoulder, clutched her to my side, and led her back to my ride.
    Bikers. I didn’t recognize their club patch, but in SoCal we had plenty of motorcycle gangs, mostly offshoots of the Hells Angels, or the Mongols. Either way, I didn’t want to fuck with them—I never went looking for trouble, but I was more than capable of handling any chaos they sent my way.
    But I didn’t like