Page 81 of Princess of Thieves

I know there’s more he’s not telling me, but I let it slide, too worn out to pursue it further. Instead, I take take another sip from my mug, the warmth no longer quite as comforting as before.

I SIT AT TUCK’S COMPUTERin the study, fingers hovering over the keyboard. The screen in front of me shows the blinking cursor of my secure email account. I’m setting up my onlinebank account, something I’ve put off for far too long. And now, there it is, all the money at my fingertips.

It’s surreal, staring at the numbers, knowing how much is suddenly mine. But the weight of it feels heavier than I expected.

Two million dollars. It’s hard to even think the phrase without some interjection of disbelief: two millionfuckingdollars.

And to be honest, I thought I’d feel...different. More in control. Or like I’d know what to do about it, like having the account in place would answer all the lingering, half-formed questions in my mind instead of creating more. The reality is, I just feel unsettled, like I’m holding something delicate that’s threatening to slip from my fingers if I make a wrong move.

I take a deep breath, clicking through the last few screens, when a beeping sound from outside snaps me out of my thoughts. There’s commotion in the driveway—voices, something crunching on the asphalt.

My first instinct is panic. They’ve found us—whotheyare, I don’t even know—and I push back from the desk. Adrenaline buzzing, I race out of the study, down the hall, through the front door, bolt outside and—

My heart stutters.

There, rolling up the driveway, is my car. My Mustang. That beautiful pile of pistons and steel and elbow grease, roaring like a tiger. The same one I thought I’d never see again.

And behind the wheel, grinning like the Cheshire cat, is Zayn.

I don’t even think—I just run. I sprint toward him, legs moving faster than they probably should, and before I know it, I’m right there, skidding to a halt in front of the car. Zayn’s already stepping out, and I’m staring, wide-eyed and breathless.

“How?” I manage to gasp, trying to make sense of this. “How did you...?”

Zayn smirks, tossing me the keys like it’s nothing. “Let’s just say I have my ways.”

The keys land in my hands, solid and real, and something in me just snaps. I throw my arms around his neck in a massive, grateful hug, squeezing him tight.

“Thank you,” I breathe, practically trembling with joy. “Thank you, thank you.”

I let him go, but when I do, his expression has changed.

“Unfortunately, I’m not just here to bring you a present,” he says. “They should be waiting for me.”

The elation in my chest plummets right back into panic. I clutch the keys, digging them into my palm. “Okay. Let’s...” I glance back at the porch.

Zayn follows me into the house, and as soon as I see the others—Rob pacing, LJ and Will leaning against the wall, and Tuck sitting at the kitchen table—I know something’s up.

Zayn gets right to the point. “Shit’s worse than I thought.”

Rob’s brow furrows, arms crossed, but he keeps pacing. “Worse how?”

“Gisbourne has his claws in deep,” Zayn explains, voice grim. “He’s watching everything. Every transaction, every account. Subpoenas out the ass. You can’t even buy a cup of coffee for a homeless guy without him knowing.”

Rob curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly agitated. “This is ruining everything,” he mutters.

Will leans forward, his eyes narrowing. “What do we do?”

“Hold up, hold up.” Zayn pulls a thick sheaf of papers from his jacket. “That’s not even everything. I wish that was the worst of it, but...”

The guys exchange glances, and Zayn proffers the papers to whoever will take them—LJ, who’s closest, grabs one from the top, and his face tightens as he scans the page.

“It’s an eviction notice.”

Zayn nods. “They all are.”

Tuck, ever the meticulous one, jumps to LJ’s side and flicks through the stack of papers quickly. “There’s got to be fifty of these.”

“Fifty-three,” Zayn corrects him, flat and joyless.

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