by E. M. Moore
Someone has been following me, closing in on me for my wrongs. I’m too much of a coward to tell you to your face, so I’ll leave you with this: No matter what you learn, you’re a Wilder. It’s all your mother and I ever wanted. And I’m sure you have your doubts about my intentions, but a child is more than a vessel to pass a legacy down to. You were so much more than that to me. I may not have always had the capacity to show you that, but I hope that by saying it now, you’ll see.
Take care of our legacy, Dakota. You were always the one who deserved to find it. Use the map. It’s the key, it has to be. Remember the stories. Make them come alive for a new generation.
I know it’s too much to ask of you, but I’m going to do it anyway.
I love you.
Dad
Nothing could have braced me for what the note said. They are words I need to sit down with, to repeat in my head a hundred times, dissecting every last meaning and punctuation to make sense out of it. In a way, words from my father might have been the only ones I would’ve trusted regarding the treasure. His letter says both everything and nothing at the same time. He doesn’t apologize for what he did; he accepts it. He doesn’t even apologize for my childhood, but that’s quintessentially Clark Wilder. I wouldn’t have expected him to change despite the trouble he was facing. And in the end, it was always about the Wilder legacy.
Lance leans forward and snaps his fingers in front of my face. I focus on him, tears welling in my eyes. He’s broken me from my daydream, and I long to go back. I want to be surrounded by my father again. “Sounds like Clark had a lot more secrets than I ever expected.” He shakes his head again as if he has more admiration for him now that he’s unraveled some of my father’s mysteries. “I never saw that coming either. I believed him to be a crazy old man who neither had the intelligence nor the means to find the treasure.”
“My father was a far smarter man than you.”
Lance laughs, the sound echoing off the bare walls. I’ve been ripped from the confines of my mind and placed firmly back in this rickety kitchen chair with the problem still in front of me. My father mentioned the map in the note. After he died, he figured I would dig up the canister, and he was right. It would be my turn to keep it safe how I saw fit, but what he didn’t know was that I would dig it up for a completely different reason. He didn’t foresee Lance Jacobs, and he certainly didn’t foresee Stone, Wyatt, and Lucas as anything more than pesky searchers—a gnat to swat at when the annoyances became too much.
He didn’t know they would change my life.
Lance crumples the note in his hands and throws it carelessly to the ground. I leap from my chair like it’s a valuable artifact, my body protesting, but I end up retrieving it. Smoothing it out, I fold it back up, slipping it in my pocket where the stolen knife waits for me.
I don’t know where Lance’s security detail went. They’re probably right outside and would come running in if they heard us fighting, but I also wonder if his protection is part of the deal? He might have just hired them to follow us, and they wouldn’t care if I slid a knife into his beating heart.
I bite my lip and take my seat on the chair again. It’s an enticing idea to end this right now, but I don’t know if I need a repeat of killing Stone’s father. Stone could barely look at me after the first time.
“You need to stop lying,” Lance demands. “I know there’s a map. I want to know where it is.”
My heart beats in my chest like rapid gunfire. I’ve been taught to safeguard the map as much as I would watch out for my own life. Now that it’s out in the open with someone I don’t trust, I don’t know what to do. I swallow. “There was a map.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, an eerie calmness takes over. “The thing is, your team of psychos literally flushed me and my entire camp out of the Superstitions. I don’t know where the map is now. Most likely ruined, thanks to yourself.” Lance’s eye twitches, so I keep going. “You don’t think there’s mud caked in my hair for no reason, do you? Your team literally flooded us out. The last time I saw your son, he wasn’t breathing. He was pale, his lips and eyelids a soft blue, the color of a corpse. With everything that was happening, I didn’t see where the map went. I was too preoccupied worrying about Stone’s life, something you should be doing. So, congratulations, you’re an asshole and you ruined the only map to the Wilder treasure.”
Lance leaps forward and tackles me to the ground, the chair digging into my spine as my body erupts in pain again. The back of my head bounces against the tile and stars dot my vision before Lance’s forearm closes over my neck. “You better hope you made a copy!”
I claw at his arm, but his suit coat is in the way and my fingers keep slipping. He places more pressure on my throat until he completely cuts off my air. I choke and thrash about, panic seizing me as my lungs start to burn again. He lets up, and I suck in a breath. Leveling my eyes at him, I growl, “There is no copy.”
Lance roars in my face, spittle dotting my cheeks. I rumble back at him, dismissing the sting in my throat.
“And you say your father was smarter than me.”
“More copies means it would’ve been easier for the information to get out.” I swallow back the tightness and keep going. “You’ve been searching for the treasure for how many years and just now found out that there was a map? Yes, I’d say my father was smarter than you.”
“Then you’re ignorant.” He pushes off my neck and stands. I drag in a few laborious breaths as he paces and runs his hands through his thick head of hair that’s always rung fake to me. Even at his age, he doesn’t have any grays—no doubt a dye job.
“Either way, the map is gone because of you.”
“Then I guess I need you alive for a little longer, huh?”
My stomach drops. Queasiness overtakes me at his implication. I’m now only alive because I know what the map looks like, have burned it into my mind. That’s why we never took copies. My father and I both studied it in every possible way. We could’ve gotten rid of it ages ago, but it was a piece of history. A piece of my family’s legacy that we wanted to come out at some point—displayed under glass, gawked at by strangers, dissected by experts.
I may have it memorized, but it’s not the same.
I right my chair and sit back in it. My midsection protests, but I ignore the pain and pull my shoulders back. “We’re in quite the predicament here, aren’t we?”
“You Wilders have always been a pain in my ass!” He’s screaming by the end of his proclamation.
“The feeling is mutual, Jacobs.” I shake my head. “The fact that any of them ever looked up to you boggles my mind. You’re pathetic. You’re unethical. And I’m not sure you care about anyone but yourself.”
The corner of Lance’s mouth turns up. “You don’t want to talk to me about those boys. You think you know them, but you don’t.”
“They’re not your boys,” I seethe.
“Lucas only wanted someone to pay attention to him. He was the most easily manipulated, if I set Stone aside for a minute. Lucas was so desperate for a family, it was almost laughable. Wyatt was a harder nut to crack. The loss of his father shook him, and all it took was a little help with lawyers and advice and he would’ve done anything for me, too.”
“You built yourself a nice little entourage.” I swallow the bile rising to the surface. He knew what he was doing to them all along, exploiting their loyalty. I wonder how long it took them to realize Lance Jacobs was a piece of scum using them to do his dirty work? Unmarked hands aren’t a sign of strength and wisdom. You have to get on the ground and do it yourself to grow.
Once they figured out who he really was, there was no chance in getting them back.
“Too bad you hurt them, too,” I snap, the knot in my gut twisting more since I don’t even know what happened to them. I thought I heard a faint call as we were leaving, but that could’ve been wishful thinking—an echo taunting me. “If you hurt me, you’ll never get them back.”
“I can’t hurt you, Dakota. I need you. You’re going to help me find the Clary Treasure.”
“The hell I am.”
He narrows his gaze and stalks toward me. “You will.”
I laugh because he’s out of his fucking mind. He can’t manipulate me like he did them. He means less than nothing to me. I shake my head. “Not ever.”
“I told you before that I’d share the money with you, but you’re quickly losing that dangling carrot. Keep denying me and you won’t see one cent of the treasure.”
“It’s not about the money for me. I won’t help you because you don’t deserve to find it. It’s my family’s legacy.”
“Maybe you didn’t understand the gist of your father’s note.... You’re not a Wilder.”
His careless words ding against my armor, but they don’t sink all the way through. The note in my pocket says it all and more. I don’t have to have Wilder blood to be a Wilder. “It doesn’t matter.” We glare at each other for a long time, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. He’s trying to figure out his next step. I smirk. “A wise man once told me that ‘in order to have the upper hand, you have to be the smartest man in the room. The one with the most knowledge.’ And that’s not you right now, Lance. I hold all the cards. Let me go.”
He sneers, the glint in his eyes so different from Stone’s, it’s hard to see the likeness. If there is any, it’s buried so deep it’ll never see light. “You mistakenly believe you know more than me.”
“I’m the only person in the world who knows that map inside and out. You need me, but I will never help you. It’s over, Lance. Let me go.”
In response, he places two fingers in his mouth and a loud whistle rips through the room. The metallic stairs outside clang. The door opens, letting in a waning, sunset glow before it shuts again. It’s the leader of the merry band of troops who tried to kill us—the one who tackled me twice last night or whenever that was. He zeroes his gaze in on me as he stands behind Lance, his gun crossed in front of him.
“Dakota needs persuading to help us.”
“She does, does she?” He grins and the missing tooth stands out.
“She has something that I want inside that practically non-existent brain of hers. She thinks I won’t do whatever it takes to get it.”
The leader glances at Lance. “Torture is extra.”
My mouth drops. Of all my wildest dreams about what could go wrong while searching for the treasure, this was never it. I never imagined it would get this far. I know people die in the Superstitions, and I know not all of them are natural deaths, but this? This is something extraordinary.
“They’ll never forgive you,” I tell him, grasping at straws.
“You underestimate me again.”
I shake my head. “You underestimate me. You always have.”
Lance turns to the leader. “How much extra?”
He looks me up and down. “I think she’ll talk for ten thousand.”
Ten thousand? Jesus Christ. How much is he paying these assholes?
Lance nods toward me. “Make it happen. I need her alive and somewhat functional.”
The leader grins at me, a sadistic glint in his eye. These guys get off on this, that much is clear. It may be about the money, but no one willingly gets into this shit unless they like it, right? Even Cole must crave the power in some way or else he wouldn’t lead a gang.
“Yo!” he calls out.
The stairs creak again, and Lance moves to the background as the five men approach me. “The girl needs some persuasion to talk.”
“How far are we going with this?” the one who brought me the bucket asks.
“Keep her limbs, but I don’t think it’ll take much to get her singing.”
I swallow the fear down. I’m sick of people underestimating me. I didn’t sit back for years listening to all the bullying and snide comments just to give in now. This will be another test of my fortitude, and they can all go eat a bag of dicks because I’m not giving in.
27
The knife drags across my thigh.
The blade isn’t from the same set as the one in my pocket—fat lot of good that did when two huge, trained men came at me, restraining me to the chair while three more lingered in the background. No, this blade was pulled out of a weapons belt. It isn’t the type you have to flip open like Wyatt’s, either. It’s a knife that glints in the light, its sharpness parting skin like warm butter.
The cut stings, pain flaring out, but I grit my jaw, breathing roughly through my nose.
“Tell Jacobs what he wants to know,” the leader demands, standing back with his arms crossed. He fractures in front of me through tears I refuse to let fall.
“She’s going to show us where the treasure is,” Lance announces, finally moving out around the gang surrounding me. However, as soon as he sees the blood dripping down my leg with my sweats hiked practically to my panty line, he steps back out of view where he’s been hiding this whole time.
Fucking coward. He can’t even watch while his team works. “You’re weak,” I bite out at Lance. “Watch them do this to me.”
He doesn’t give in to my taunt, but I think I see a glimmer of respect from the man holding the sharp blade. Not that it changes his mindset because he goes back for another cut.
My leg looks like a gory movie as blood spills down my skin in rivulets. The first crimson drop splatters on the tile floor.
“Show us where the treasure is,” the leader commands. His face says he can do this all day, so I try to give him the same one back. I don’t know how long I can last with blood loss, but I’m not showing Lance where my fucking treasure is. I would never forgive myself.
“It’s been missing for a couple hundred years. If my family could’ve found it already, we would have.”
“But you have the map,” Lance scoffs from the back.
I growl. “We’ve had the map this whole time. The son of the original finder drew it. It hasn’t helped.” I thought changing tactics might work, but it doesn’t. The ex-military crew doesn’t care. I wonder how many slices ten thousand dollars buys?
My tormentor draws the blade across my skin again, and a fresh cut opens up, this one a smidge deeper than the others.
My nostrils flare as I breathe out, determined not to cry.
“But you’re closer, aren’t you?” Lance guesses. “I see what Stone was doing now. You had the knowledge, and he had the technology. How much more ground have you covered with them than you ever did with your father?”
I press my lips together. Mr. Blade Happy peeks at me, then shakes his head. He makes another cut, the fourth horizontal slice over my thigh, and I grind my jaw through the pain. “The least you could’ve done was draw me a picture.”
Lance roars in the background. “Is this really worth it, Dakota? If you help me find the treasure, you can go on with your life. It’s done. It’s over. Isn’t that what you want?”
“You don’t understand any of it,” I tell him, tears slipping over now as the cuts become too much. “You never did.” The two men holding my wrists cinch their grip tighter, and pain flares.
“Tell me you’ll help me find it,” Lance growls.
“No.”
This time, Mr. Blade Happy uses the very end of the blade to prick my skin. The tip plunges lower, and he keeps going and going until I scream. He yanks the knife free and a flow of blood immediately follows—the crimson color running out turning my stomach. Dizziness sweeps over me, and my head hangs.
“Patch that one up,” the leader demands.
One of them retreats to the kitchen and brings back sterile bandages like the ones we used on Lucas. The memory of Lucas, Stone, and Wyatt keeps me still. It captures hope in my heart. I don’t know what they went through in the flood, but if they lived, I can do the same for them.
Bucket Guy wipes at the blood with a paper towel that I hope won’t give me an infection, then he dresses the wound and tapes it up, slapping it when he’s done. I growl, kicking out at him. “Sadistic fucks.”
Mr. Blade Happy laughs. “I don’t know, I kind of like her.”
“She’s a penniless whore,” Lance calls.
“Not everyone has money to throw around,” he counters.
I eye Lance’s hired team. “You can keep going, but I’m not giving in. Not to him. Not ever. He’s the worst kind of human being.”
“And I reckon he doesn’t care about that,” Mr. Blade Happy offers.
“Neither do we,” the leader barks, nodding toward me. The guy with the knife slices my thigh again, faster this time, and I’m almost positive it didn’t hurt as badly.
Black spots dot my vision, the edges of the room turn fuzzy, and their figures start to swim in front of me. If I pass out right now, will they stop or will they keep torturing me? Maybe I can be asleep for most of it? That would be nice.
One of the guys holding my hands yanks my hair back, and my head snaps up.
Well, it was a nice thought, but it’s not going to happen.
“Help me,” Lance commands.
“Fuck. You.”
Bucket Guy lifts my shirt. He finds the now-bruised area where my ribs have been hurting and digs his finger in. The pain is so white-hot that I gasp, unable to scream. My eyes feel like they’re going to fall out of my head if they get any wider.
Eventually, he lets up, and I can’t help the whimper that leaks out.