Page 7

Instead of leaving my bike in front of the dorms like I usually do, I drag it up the wooden staircase and right inside my front door. Saint Clary’s dorms are actually just an old west motel turned into college living. It’s a long building, stretched out almost an entire block in length. The walkways to the exterior dorm room doors hover over a gulch that gurgles with rain water when it actually does rain. Every other day, it’s just a dried-up ravine riddled with stones. Just past the hotel, there’s a curve in Old Gulch Road that leads to the college.
Years ago, Saint Clary’s didn’t have dorms. The campus was just too small, but then the Johnsons, the owners of this old hotel, fell on hard times. They kept the motel alive for as long as they could, but once a Motel Six opened up a quarter of an hour away, no one wanted to stay at the Clary Inn, whether they were treasure hunting or not. It needed a remodel two decades ago, and the Google reviews left it with barely a single reservation throughout the summer months. A crazy occurrence considering the number of tourists we get that time of year, all of them with gold bars in their eyes. I guess the call of the new single-serve Keurig’s in the Motel Six was just too much for the outsiders to turn down.
When the Johnsons put the motel up for sale, the community reached out to the college to purchase it. The last thing we needed was another building that sat unused and seeing as how Clary’s higher education institution is pretty much the only business in Clary that makes money besides the gas stations and saloons, they were the only hope. Thankfully, they took pity on us and bought it, putting very little money into the building to transform it into dorm rooms. The dorms are full despite the fact that most students are locals. I don’t know where the farthest commuter lives this year, but last year, it was only forty-five minutes away. We’re the smallest campus of any Arizona college, but we’re also the cheapest, and as my dad always said, sometimes you just can’t pass up a deal.
I lean my bike against the closet door. She’s safe and sound in here. I highly doubt the Jacobs’ golden boys would set foot in these dingy dorms let alone stay in one of them.
And there it is again, a reminder rearing its ugly head that the one thing the Jacobs always had that we didn’t was money. When you’re treasure hunting, that can mean a world of difference. Treasure hunting isn’t cheap. The supplies alone can get expensive, and that’s not even counting the time off of work—if you’re lucky enough to have a regular job. However, there’s one thing that we Wilders have—an important thing—that they don’t: Information. And as they say, information is king.
When I decided to go to Saint Clary’s, I felt bad for taking up a room at the dorms since the commute is basically nonexistent, but I excused myself the fuck out of the house when Marilyn moved in. My dad thought it was because I wasn’t used to having another woman around, but really it was because Stone’s mother thought she was too good for us. Too good for the house my great-grandfather built. Too good for our surroundings. Maybe most of all, too good for my dad. I don’t argue with my father, though, and Marilyn made him happy, so I took myself out of the equation.
I grab some water from the tap and settle down on the couch with my book bag, hoping I took good notes while distracted about who had shown up to ruin the only good thing in my life right now. To me, college has always been a necessity. A foundation that would lead me to being one of the only members of my family to get a real job. That didn’t mean I was giving up on treasure hunting. Not at all. But I hated being the butt of jokes around town. For once, the Wilders were going to be something.
I take out my textbooks and spread them out over the rustic coffee table my dad made with two-by-fours and push my bag over the edge of the couch. When I glance down, a corner of an envelope sticks out of the front pocket. Oh shit. I’d forgotten about the letter the school secretary handed me.
I know she thinks it’s about my dad. I’ve heard the rumors around town. People know Marilyn left me with nothing. Whether that’s Dickie’s doing, I’m not sure. The secretary probably thinks this is some super secret life insurance payout or something. The problem is, he’d have to be declared dead to get any sort of payout. Right now, he’s not.
My vision blurs as I knock the letter onto the floor and pull my British Lit textbook onto my lap. Hopefully, the old English text of Beowulf can keep my mind occupied. I cross my legs in front of myself and settle down for a night of reading when there’s a knock on my door.
I lift my gaze, eyeing the white door with the peephole and the old, slide chain lock. No one’s visited me at my dorm before except for Pops. Goosebumps skitter over my skin, but then another wailing knock comes on the door, accompanied by “Dakota, open the door!”
I’d know that gruff growl anywhere. The kind that makes you feel inferior just by its tenor. I grit my jaw.Is he fucking serious? Now he’s coming to my dorm?“Two words, asshole. Fuck off.”
There’s a pause on the other side. I smile triumphantly.
My smile is short-lived. A pompous laugh erupts from the other side. “Little Dakota, growing some ovaries. I like it.”
I glare at the door as if I can see right through it to Stone’s pretty face. If looks could kill... I’m just saying, he’d be maimed right now, and he probably wouldn’t be laughing it up.
“Open up,” he says again. “We need to talk.”
“We need to talk like I need a hole in the head, Stone.”
“Aww, come on. We’re family, right?” His voice carries through the door, and I wonder how many people can hear us. We’re talking about a motel that was made in the early 1900s. Soundproofing wasn’t a thing. Embarrassment crawls all over me. We’d already gathered a crowd outside of the school when they hid my bike. Tomorrow, this conversation could replace that in the rumor mill.
I push all of those worries aside and laugh, my stomach twisting at the word family. I don’t let the grief overtake me though. Not in front of this pompous prick. The day I show him my raw emotions is the day I’m packing it in. I don’t even dignify his question with an answer.
He lowers his voice. “It’s about the treasure.”
I smirk. When is it not about the treasure?Everythingis about the treasure. “Then I’m not sure why you’re coming to me.”
“Just open the fucking door.”
I pretend like I’m thinking for a moment even though he can’t see me. “Um, no. Go away before I call the police.”
It’s his turn to laugh. “Lionel? He wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”
I roll my eyes. Is that literally everyone’s damn opinion? Maybe Clary should get on that and think about replacing him.
When I don’t answer, Stone knocks again. This time, the sound makes me jump, like his huge fists are testing the sturdiness of the old construction. Newsflash: It won’t be good for my door. I already see it bowing under his strength.
“If you don’t open up, I’ll make your life a living fucking hell.”
“In case you’ve been sleepwalking over the past few months, I’m already there. So, you can just fuck right off, Jacobs. I have nothing to say to you or your friends or your father.”
A few metallic clicks sound and the door springs open. I toss my English text off my lap and jump to my feet while the threesome stride in, each one wearing heavy, dark gazes that would shrivel others. Don’t get me wrong, they are equal parts menacing…and sexy. I hate to admit it, considering our families’ past, but Stone is a fucking god dropped into the middle of nowhere. His gray-blue eyes are as cold as the Arctic but make me heat in places that shouldn’t considering who he is.
Wyatt and Lucas flank him, each of them with their own signature sexiness. Lucas looks as if he just woke up twenty-four-seven. His hair askew, ruffled, but in that put together way that I don’t understand how guys can pull off. Wyatt? He wears a cowboy hat everywhere. If you’ve never seen him up close, you might not understand what this does to a girl, but holy fucking shit, that low brim, just disguising his piercing blue eyes sends goosebumps skating over me, the edge like a razor blade.