steal her away, but don’t marry her. Fuck. Even now, I hate that I’m connected to him. Hate that there’s more than just family feuds tying us together.
However it happened, though, Dad got the girl. Whether I hate the bitch or not, it felt damn good to have taken something from someone who has stolen so much from us. A smirk parts my lips as a memory of Lance showing up at our door comes to mind. I’d never seen someone so irate. So out of his mind with jealousy and anger. We can’t compete with the Jacobs’ money, but I guess money isn’t everything, is it?
Stone and I still haven’t looked away from each other, so I stand witness to his brows pulling in at my sudden smile. That boy doesn’t miss a thing. Always watching and calculating to the point of being creepy. He sets my teeth on edge, skin prickling under his scrutiny.
Well, he’ll just have to wonder what’s going on inside my head. Lord knows I’m never sure. But one thing I do know with certainty, whether Dad’s here or not, things won’t change on this front. The Wilders and the Jacobs are destined to be enemies, and that means I’m on my own.
I turn and walk away, leaving the media circus and the prying eyes of the Jacobs family behind me. The least I can do is tell the evil stepmother that they’re calling off the search before she finds out from the news—or worse, from Stone.
I grip my hiking bag straps and take off down the trail toward the truck. The Superstitions might be behind me right now, but I’ll be back. When everyone else returns to their normal lives, I’ll be up on the trails.
I have two things to search for now. The treasure and my dad. Neither one is going to stay lost forever.
1
Two Months Later…
Finding shit in my father’s house is like looking for gold in the Superstition Mountains. No wonder my family has never been able to accomplish either task.
“Paperwork, paperwork,” I mumble to myself as I sift through the disarray of books and journals in his study. To think this is only a miniscule portion of his stash. The War Room is something else altogether. I glance at the ticking, old-time clock on the wall. “Shit.”
Being late is nothing new for me because if it wasn’t about the family business, it wasn’t important. However, since Pops went missing, acclimating into the real world has been a priority, even if I have failed at it so damn epically.
I turn and run right into an open drawer. A slew of curses spit from my mouth as I rub away the pain in my hip. With more force than necessary, I slam the drawer closed, listening to the contents inside get thrown backward into the wood. If my father were still around, he’d be asking me what in the Sam hell I’m doing in here. Sam hell was one of his favorite phrases. To this day, I still don’t know what it means. Anyway, he’s not here, so I quickly shake that thought away. Dwelling on things was never a Wilder forte.
Apparently, finding receipts and work orders for my father’s ancient truck isn’t either. They’re about as elusive as searching for treasure. I make my way out of the study, pausing in the hallway. My father’s old room is to my left. The raw wood walls that make up the house quickly dig the roots of a bygone life into me, tangling around my ankles and making me just stop and think. Just for a moment.
A moment is too much.
I take a deep breath and start forward. I don’t have time to search for the paperwork, not if I want to make it to my first class on time. Somehow, though, I get sucked out into the garage. Beside the camping gear and the prospecting pans, shelves of rusty tools on decaying work benches decorate the century-old building. I scan the area, all the while my head telling me I need to leave or I’ll be subjected to everyone turning and looking as I make my way into my first class at Saint Clary’s this semester, History 201. It’s okay. The professor wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. I lost all respect for him when he thought he was going to talk about the history of Clary back in 101. Please. The guy is a dumbass. I know