Page 347 of Poor Little Rich Girl

Minus the two cylinders I sent with Livvie for partial payment to make our trap appear real, the documents are still locked in the panic room. My heart aches. Before I know what I’m doing, my fingers reach out for it, grasping thin air.

“It stays here,” Eli says firmly, hurt flashing in his eyes. “We came back for you, Claws. You’re our treasure.”

In that flash of a moment, I see my father. He would have wept to see this treasure go to Howard Malloy, who cared not one bit for its true value, who saw only dollar signs when he should have seen knowledge. Eli saw what my father saw, which is why he wanted to give the treasure to a museum. And now, Mackenzie will take the house and find it in the panic room and it’ll go back on the black market and the world will never get to learn what those scrolls contain.

Answers. Questions.

The ancient wisdom my father loved.

His legacy.

Gone.

Even as I think the word, I feel lighter, like I’m floating away. Gone.

I let go of the hold the treasure has on my heart. Gone.

I already had the greatest treasure of all. I had three broken princes.

I have love.

I drop my hand and we pass by the office, creeping toward the ballroom. “The cats,” Eli whispers. Noah’s face hardens. We don’t have time to mess around, but he doesn’t stop my Golden Boy as he slips into the ballroom. There’s a howl, and a few moments later Eli emerges again holding Casper by the scruff of his neck, and Queen Boudica curled around his shoulders, her claws digging into his skin.

“Hurry.” He holds the door open with his foot as Queen Boudica takes a swipe at his face. “They’re moving around the side of the house, but this way looks clear.”

The boys crouch low and crawl across the ballroom floor so we can’t be seen through the French doors. I lay over Gabriel’s shoulders as he wriggles forward on his elbows like a WWI soldier. “The things I do for you, gorgeous,” he grunts as he scrapes his skin raw on the hard marble. “You should shoot a video of me looking like a plonker. You could sell it to The Sun and make a fortune.”

Eli reaches the other side first and lifts the latch, pushing the door open as silently as he can. Noah crawls outside and ducks behind a concrete planter box, his weapon resting over the top. “Go,” he hisses. “I’ll cover you.”

I groan. I can’t even support my own body weight. I’m never going to be able to hoist myself up that wall. I’m no Mackenzie – I was a terrible cheerleader for that brief time, and now I’m a half-dead sack of potatoes.

Gabriel hoists me higher up his shoulders, dropping my arms down his front and wrapping his arms around my legs. “I know you can’t hold on, but hold on.”

We fly out the patio door, Gabriel cursing as he staggers under my weight. Eli jogs ahead of us, his runner’s body perfectly at ease as he ducks and dives around the patio furniture. He weaves around the pool, heading for the spot in the wall where the barbed wire is torn away. The same spot he used to sit and watch the house. That’s Eli, always watching out for me.

Eli shoves a lawn chair against the wall and staggers backward to take a run-up. He surges forward, arms pumping, golden hair gleaming in the brilliant sunshine—

“I wouldn’t move another step if I were you.”

Gabriel whips around. My head falls against his shoulder, my view blocked by a curtain of his dark hair. But I don’t need to see to know who’s stepped off the path that leads around the side of the house and now stands defiantly on my patio.

Nero Lucian.

“Hello, Claudia, Eli.” There’s a smile in his voice, and I can tell from the way Gabriel stiffens that he has a weapon trained on us. “I heard there was some trouble at the house, so I thought I’d pop over to see how you were faring. Now, step away from the wall and put your weapons down before I’m forced to put a hole in your friend’s skull.”

Claudia

Gabriel’s breath comes out in ragged gasps. I assume Nero’s talking about shooting him, but then he whispers, “Claws, he’s got George.”

Eli freezes mid-stride. He lowers his gun, pointing it at the ground, but he doesn’t let go of it. Gabriel turns, holding me tight even as he waves his hands to show he’s unarmed.

I finally see Nero. He stands near the lounger where we played our spin-the-bottle game, holding a struggling George with a beefy arm around her neck. He holds his Glock to her temple.

“I had a very interesting phone call today, inviting me down to the docks to see what my daughter was doing with two Imperators and Howard Malloy’s famous treasure,” Nero says pleasantly, like we’re discussing the weather. “I know we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye, Claudia August, but I think our differences can be solved very amicably, as long as you do exactly as I say. First, drop your weapons. Both of you.”

“Don’t listen to him,” George cries. “He’s got mmph mmmpha.”

Nero covers her face with his hand.

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