Page 102 of Weston’s Treasure

I was thinking Travis was now mostly a dick, and he was probably texting me my exit papers.

Shit. I was going to be so screwed.

My phone vibrated. I pulled up my texts and tapped on his name.

Then pain sliced through me. My world stopped and I wished with everything inside of me I could turn back time. Memories flashed in my mind, cold and heartless.

You embarrassed yourself, you sure as hell embarrassed me.

I stared at the image of my father beaten and bloody and didn’t know what to do. Couldn’t begin to comprehend what was going on. So many thoughts were racing through my head I jumped when my phone buzzed again.

“Hello?” I managed to choke out.

“Don’t do it, Scout!” I heard my dad yelling and my body froze. “Whatever it is, don’t do it.”

“You got one hour to get to the boathouse and call in or your father’s dead.”

“What?”

Suffice it to say, I was in shock. Totally and completely paralyzed.

“One hour, Silver, or dear old dad kicks the bucket.”

“I can’t make it to the boathouse in an hour,” I told him, looking around for Weston’s Jeep keys. I’d seen him toss them on his desk that morning. “I’m too far away.”

“Yeah. I know exactly where you are,” Travis’s voice rumbled in my ear and I snatched up the keys. “That reminds me. Ditch the boyfriend. I got someone sitting outside watching. You don’t come alone, anyone follows you, Dale’s dead. I’m not fucking around.”

I could hear my dad screaming in the background and what I heard sent chills down my spine. My dad was crying out in pain.

My eyes screwed tight and tears started to form. All I could see was my dad’s face—not bloody and beaten but with anguish as I yelled at him.

Dale Coyle thinks of no one but himself and the next great thrill. I’m done, Dad.

I’d said that, to my own dad. The man who’d raised me. Loved me the best he knew how.

Oh, God.

“Don’t hurt him,” I begged.

“Then you better drive fast, Silver. Your time starts now.”

The line went dead and I stood rooted in place unsure what to do. Then I became unglued when the visions of my father being brutally assaulted invaded my mind.

He may’ve been a crap dad but he was my dad. I had to go—had to. There was no other option. As quietly as I could, I walked down the hall, passing McKenna’s office, down the back steps, and waited. Thankfully Jameson, Holden, Chasin, Nixon, and Weston had all gone to talk to Jonny Spenser, leaving Alec there to watch over us. The last I’d seen Alec he was going back to the conference room, which I’d have to pass in order to get out the door. I slowly made my way down the corridor, peeked into the conference room and it was empty.

Thank God.

I had no idea where Alec was and I wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. I made a mad dash to the front door, opened it barely enough for me to slip out, shut it as quietly as I could, and took off down another set of stairs, then across the street to where Weston’s Jeep was parked. I did all of this without thinking. I was on autopilot. All I knew was I had to get to my dad before Travis killed him.

I started the Jeep, pulled away from the curb, and drove as fast as I could through town.

What was I doing?

Weston was going to be furious.

My phone rang and I pulled it out of my pocket, checked the caller ID, almost relieved it wasn’t Weston.

“Travis,” I answered.