Bastard SEAL: A Bad Boy Forbidden Baby Romance (Contains bonus book Based!)

by B. B. Hamel

  He had to have been taunting me. I couldn’t think of any other reason why Omar would sit there where he was easily seen. He had more skill than that, more training; he knew exactly what he was doing. That bastard was just rubbing it in my fucking face.

  Which really pissed me off. I reached back and felt the grip of my weapon, squeezing it reassuringly. I couldn’t fucking wait to put a bullet between his scumbag eyes, to take him out of this world forever before he hurt another person.

  As I moved across the neighborhood, I watched Tara’s parents get into their car and pull out. I briefly wondered if she told them and then decided that she hadn’t. I was monitoring their incoming and outgoing calls, or at least I was watching who was calling and who they were calling, and I hadn’t seen anything strange at all. I wasn’t actually listening to what they were saying, because I wasn’t a total fucking creep, but I had to know if Omar tried to contact them.

  So far, they were clean. No, Tara hadn’t told them. I checked my watch, and it was just about seven in the morning. As I walked up her driveway, I figured her parents had just left for church.

  It took me a few seconds to pick their front door lock and slip inside. I shut the door softly behind me and glanced at the stairs leading up.

  I could easily sneak up and give Tara a nice surprise. I was willing to bet she’d thank me for it.

  Instead, I went into the kitchen and started cooking breakfast.

  Not long later, Tara came downstairs just as I was just finishing up the bacon. She stopped, stared at me, rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and then stared at me again.

  “My, mother,” she said, “how big you’ve gotten.”

  I grinned at her. “The better to make your body sweat, my dear.”

  She shook her head and crossed her arms. “Why did you break into my house?”

  “Cooking you breakfast.”

  “That seems like something an insane person would do.”

  “Probably,” I said, grinning. “But this is fucking delicious.”

  She sighed and sat down at the table. “Coffee?”

  “Sure.” I poured her a mug and put it in front of her. “Eggs, bacon, pancakes?”

  She sighed, almost as if she were resigned to her fate. “All three, please.”

  I made her up a plate and put it in front of her. “Enjoy.”

  She took a bite of the eggs. “Seriously, why did you break into my house?”

  “I haven’t seen anything from Omar, which worries me. I wasn’t leaving you alone in this house.”

  “Mason will be up soon,” she said.

  “Mason can’t protect you,” I pointed out.

  “He’s stronger than he looks.”

  “Of course he is. He’s my son after all. I bet that toddler could take most grown men in a fight, no problem.”

  “Is that how you measure strength?”

  “It’s the only strength I know, princess.” I made myself a plate and sat down across from her, digging in.

  I could feel her watching me, and that was fine. This was a weird situation, and she needed to get used to the idea of me being around.

  At least until Omar was caught. Past that, who knew what was going to happen.

  “I didn’t tell them, you know,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “How?”

  “You didn’t call the police.”

  She paused. “You’re monitoring our calls or something?”

  “I am, but that’s not how I know.”

  She clenched her jaw. “You can’t spy on us.”

  “I’m just checking to make sure Omar doesn’t contact you. I’m not listening.”

  “Emory, this is so weird.”

  I put my fork down and sipped my coffee. “I know that. I get it. But the threat is real.”

  “Is it? Can you show me proof?”

  I grinned and reached into my pocket. I handed her the photograph with the Urdu writing on the back.

  She shook her head. “Fuck. Really?”

  “Really. And the words basically say that they know who I am and who Mason is.”

  She looked at me, terror in her eyes. “They know?”

  “I don’t know how. I guess they kept tabs on you after you left the resort and put two and two together.”

  “So this is real,” she whispered.

  “It’s real, princess. Very real.”

  “Should we tell my parents?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Let’s only tell people who really need to know for now.”

  “Aren’t they in danger too?”

  “I doubt it. Omar isn’t stupid. He won’t waste his one chance to get at me by hurting your parents.”

  Just then, the sound of a crying baby filled the room.

  I made a face. “He do that every morning?”

  “Sure does,” Tara said, standing.

  I stood faster. “I’ll get him.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “That’s okay.”

  “At least let me bring him down.”

  She looked at me, lips pursed, and finally nodded. “Fine. Bring him right now.”

  I walked around the table and stopped next to her, stooping down to put my lips against her ear. “While you’re down here, think about the night we made him. Think about the way I made that fucking sweet body of yours feel.”

  Before she could respond, I walked past and headed upstairs.

  I didn’t know a damn thing about babies. I knew they pissed, shit, cried, and needed to be fed. That was pretty much the extent of what I knew.

  So it was pretty fucking weird to walk into the nursery and see my son lying there, crying loudly.

  “Good morning, little boy,” I said. I gently scooped him up into my arms.

  He seemed so tiny, practically disappearing into my arm muscles.

  His cry got quieter and quieter as I bounced him softly, and slowly it stopped. He blinked up at me with eyes identical to my own, and I felt something inside me, however brief.

  I was holding and looking at my son, really looking at him, for the first time.

  This was why I was here. Because of Mason, Tara was really in danger. Because Mason was my son, and Omar knew he could use that to hurt me.

  I cradled Mason in my arms. “Sorry to pull you into this, little man.”

  He just looked at me.

  “Not much of a talker. I get that. I’m not either. But I bet your mom talks to you constantly. I bet you never get any peace and quiet.”

  I rocked him in my arms as I carried him slowly downstairs. I walked into the kitchen and Tara looked up at me, biting her lip.

  “Well?” she asked. “What do you think?”

  “He’s my son, all right,” I said. “The boy nearly ripped my arms out of my sockets when I tried to pick him up.”

  That made her smile. “Here. I need to change him and feed him.”

  “All you, mommy.”

  She made a face and took him from me.

  I watched as she walked into the other room and shook my head.

  What a bizarre thing. That was my baby, and my baby’s mother.

  And out there somewhere was one of my biggest enemies, looking to destroy us.

  I was going to have to up my game this time.

  I grinned to myself, almost looking forward to the moment when I could crush Omar’s skull in the palm of my hand.

  9

  Tara

  His son, all right.

  As I changed Mason, I couldn’t stop thinking about that. Emory was such an intense man, an enigma in my life. But now that he was back, and apparently intended to stick around for a little while, at least until the danger went away, I was beginning to have hope. It was a strange feeling to have in the middle of the most dangerous situation of my life, but ever since I’d found out I was pregnant, I’d been feeling scared. I was used to being scared.

  But now I had a reason to feel less scared. Emory was here, the ghost man, the handsome SEAL who knocked me
up. I didn’t know where any of this would lead, if it would lead anywhere, but for the first time since Mason was born I finally felt like I was going somewhere.

  As I was finishing up with Mason, I heard a knock at the door. “There you go, little boy,” I said, strapping his diaper on and pulling on his clothes.

  “I got it,” I called out. But as I scooped up Mason and walked into the other room, I saw Emory had already opened the door.

  “Who is it?” I asked him.

  “Nobody,” he grunted.

  “Nobody was there?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

  I made a face at him. “You’re being weird. Who knocked?”

  “Just a package.”

  “Let me see.”

  He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  “Emory, this isn’t your house, in case you forgot. Let me see.”

  He sighed and shut the door. “It’s just going to upset you.”

  “Emory.”

  He held up a photograph. It was a picture of the two of us sitting in the café from the other day.

  “They’re messing with us,” he said.

  I felt fear drop into my stomach. “How did they get that?”

  “I’m not sure. Omar didn’t have a camera when I spotted him, and this was taken from a different angle.”

  “There are more of them?”

  “Probably.” He shrugged. “They normally work in cells.”

  “Cells?”

  “Groups of terrorists embedded in a country. I’d guess he’s running a group of ten guys, some of them Pakistani, but I’d bet most of them are radical Americans.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said, shaking my head. “Americans work with these people?”

  “Unfortunately,” he said. “It happens more often than you’d guess. People are easy to turn if their life isn’t going the way they planned, and The Network is one of the best at identifying those vulnerable people and exploiting their fear and anger.”

  “Ten men,” I said softly. “How can you protect us from ten men?”

  He grinned at me and stepped close. “You don’t think I’m worth fifteen men?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Listen to me, princess,” he said. “I’ve got more man in my little toe than any one of those terrorist fucks out there.”

  “Still. Fifteen?”

  “I’m a SEAL, and don’t you forget it. I’m worth at least fifteen of them.”

  I sighed, shaking my head. “I really think we should go to the police.”

  “No,” he said firmly. “I have orders. Now, I need you to do something for me.”

  “What?”

  “Take Mason and go up into the nursery.”

  I raised my eyebrow. “Why?”

  “I need to sweep the neighborhood. I might be able to grab this guy if I hurry. I need to know exactly where you are while I’m out there. Go into the nursery and lock the door, and don’t open it until I get back. Understand?”

  “Okay,” I said softly.

  “Go.”

  I stared at him for a second. In the short seconds while he was giving me my orders, he had transformed from a cocky, grinning asshole into a serious and intense mystery. It was such a strange transformation, but in that moment I could see that there was so much more beneath the surface of his cocky attitude, so much more down underneath it all. I wanted to find out what was there, to pry him apart and learn his secrets, but I knew I likely never would.

  I turned and headed up into the nursery. I shut the door behind me, locked it, and sat down in the comfortable chair, Mason in my lap.

  I began to read to him to pass the time. He was too young to really understand what I was saying, but he seemed to like to hear my voice. He squirmed in my arms and my thoughts wandered as I read the same familiar story, the same story I always read to little Mason.

  Things were moving so fast. Just a week ago I was a totally normal person, starting back up at college. Sure, I was a single mother, but there were hundreds of thousands of single mothers all over the place.

  There weren’t many single mothers that were also wanted by international terrorists.

  All of it felt so unreal. My emotions were twisting in the wind, shifting from one extreme to another. One second I felt terrified, and the next I felt safe with Emory around. I barely knew him, and I already felt like he was the strongest person I knew, like I could trust him instinctually.

  It seemed like he’d do anything for me and Mason. I got the sense that he was already sacrificing just to be with us, protecting us the way he was.

  I didn’t know how we could ever have a normal life after this. I didn’t know if there even was anything after this. He never said he was going to stick around and help with Mason or if he even wanted anything to do with Mason. In fact, he barely ever spoke about his son, although he had gone out of his way to hold him.

  And on top of everything else, all the confusion and the danger, there was the way I felt every time he was close to me.

  My heart began to beat fast when Emory was near. My stomach felt light, nervous, and I could feel excitement running in my veins. Every time he said a single dirty thing, it drove me wild, my panties practically dripping and useless. I was trying hard to resist that, since sleeping with him again was only going to make things more complicated, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Not around him. He was too attractive, delicious, strong. Not to mention the memory of what he did to my body still lingered. Even though that was my first real experience with sex, I knew it was extraordinary just from talking with people I knew.

  He was an incredibly capable man in everything he did, and he drove me absolutely wild.

  Emory Rush, my mystery man, my SEAL.

  What the hell was I going to do?

  10

  Emory

  It was a beautiful Sunday morning in the suburbs as I tracked dangerous terrorists through the well-manicured front lawns.

  Fortunately it had rained the night before, which meant they had left tracks. Not easily visible, but enough for me to get a sense of their general direction.

  They had cut across her neighbor’s lawn and headed through that backyard, cutting across to the street behind Tara’s. There they went onto the sidewalk and fortunately left a few muddy boot prints on the concrete.

  From there they cut across another lawn, left more footprints, but the trail eventually went dead another street over. They probably got into a car at that point and drove off.

  I looked around. There was a single house on the corner, a cute little thing with a single old car in the driveway. I headed up its front path and knocked on the door.

  I waited a minute, and slowly the door opened.

  A little old lady with frizzy white hair was looking out at me.

  “I’ve already found Jesus, if that’s why you’re here,” she said.

  I grinned at her. “No, ma’am, that’s not why I’m here.”

  “Good,” she said. “I always hate turning religious folks away, but I’ve got a cup of coffee to drink and a paper to read.”

  “I just need one second, if you don’t mind.”

  “Talk fast, young man.”

  “Was there a car parked out front of your house? Maybe left between five and ten minutes ago.”

  “As a matter of fact, there was,” she said, sounding annoyed. “A big white van. If they were your friends, tell them they’re not welcome to park out front of my house.”

  I repressed a smile, keeping a serious face. You had to hand it to the elderly; they were cranky and curious, which meant they were great for spotting out people and things that didn’t belong.

  “Can you tell me anything about them?”

  “Just saw one boy driving. Looked like an Indian fella. He just sat in the car. Then I heard the doors open and shut, and then they drove off.”

  “Did you see how many there were?”

  “No, I didn’t. Are y
ou done?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m done. Thanks for your help.”

  “Have a great day.” She slammed the door in my face.

  I grinned to myself as I headed back to Tara’s house.

  Although I hadn’t caught them, I had learned a few important things. First, I was reasonably sure that Omar wasn’t working alone. It was my guess that Omar was the one the old lady had spotted behind the wheel. Omar would stand out too much in a white, middle-class neighborhood like this one, especially in a place like Indiana. There probably were only a few thousand Indians in all of Indiana, and people tended to take notice of people who looked unfamiliar.

  Which meant that the three separate boot tracks leading up to and away from Tara’s house were likely Omar’s accomplices’. I couldn’t be sure that Omar only had three people working with him, but he’d definitely brought three this morning.

  Finally, I knew he was being careful. He knew I was around, which meant he couldn’t risk any more obvious and direct actions. Dropping a picture off at the front door and then running away was probably the extent of his confidence.

  Still, this situation was getting worse. Omar was definitely working with a local cell, probably local people who could blend in pretty easily.

  This whole thing felt strange as I made my way back toward Tara’s house. Why was Omar coming after me through this girl? He knew who I was and where I lived. I understood that he likely didn’t want to risk coming at me directly, since I wouldn’t be such an easy target. He wanted to go after the girl, since right now she was my biggest weakness.

  But why get an entire local cell involved? He was taking an enormous risk just to get some revenge. Sure, I’d killed plenty of his comrades back in Pakistan, but he was a smart man. He knew that he was more valuable to the cause alive, and coming after me was begging to get killed.

  Plus, he was risking local American jihadists, which weren’t exactly common. Every natural-born American who was turned toward jihad was an enormous success for The Network, and although there were many of them out there, there weren’t enough that they could risk any of them getting captured, killed, or identified.