Page 51 of Noel Secrets

Jayda’s pulse pounded like a war drum in her ears. She was pressed against the leather seat, her hands clenched into fists as though they alone might keep her alive. Her voice cracked as she screamed, “You promised to let him go!”

The man beside her didn’t even glance at her, too focused on reloading, too smug in the way he tugged back the slide. His partner cackled as he leaned out of the opposite window, bullets spitting fire into the dark. The only good thing was Ginny and Ed had Michael.

Jayda swallowed hard, forcing the rising sob back down. Michael was alive. They had him.

It was the least she could give them, wasn’t it? After everything. After years of being taken into their home, only to retreat again and again. She told herself she didn’t belong, told herself it was safer to stay away. That Blair house was theirs, never hers. But Ginny never stopped calling. Every Christmas, every summer, Jayda’s phone lit up with the same hopeful voice, offering her a place at their table. Offering her family.

And every time, Jayda told them no. She built walls high and thick, pretending she was protecting herself from the moment they discovered she wasn’t worth their kindness. But tonight—tonight, on a mountain road lighted with muzzle flashes, she finally saw it clearly. They’d known who she was all along. They knew the runaway, the foster kid who kept one foot out the door, the girl who’d slept on cold concrete floors with gangs who treated her like currency. They knew the worst of her. And they still came for her.

Even now, even when bullets ripped through the night, Ginny and Ed and Michael refused to stop chasing her down.

Jayda’s throat tightened. They loved her. No matter how far she ran, no matter how cruelly she’d rejected them, they never stopped waiting. Never stopped fighting.

They were her family.

And suddenly—savagely—Jayda wanted to tell them. To scream it through the snow and the bullets and the roar of the engine:I love you too. I’ve been blind. I’ve been ungrateful. You were right, Michael. You were always right.

The words stayed trapped inside her chest, burning her from the inside.

The mobster beside her swung his gun around, leveling it at her head. His lips twisted into a sneer. “Don’t even think about playing the hero, sweetheart.”

Something inside Jayda snapped. Her body remembered what her mind tried to forget—the lessons of survival carved intoher bones from years on the street. She moved before fear could lock her down. Her heel shot out in a vicious arc, catching his wrist. The gun went wide as his body jerked to the right, his shout tearing through the air.

Jayda grabbed for the opposite door where the other man was still leaning halfway out, firing into the storm. She shoved it hard, the door swinging open. Snow and wind tore into the cabin, and with a grunt she kicked out, her boot slamming into his back. He toppled, his gun flying into the air as his body tumbled out into the night, disappearing beneath the churn of headlights and ice.

Jayda turned—and froze.

Veronica’s brother’s mouth curled into a cruel smile as he lunged, rage in every taut line of his face.

“It’s just you and me now,” he said in a lethal voice, the words like poison.

The driver’s silhouette shifted behind the partition, the car jerking as the limo swerved dangerously close to the cliff’s edge and back on the road.

The quick momentum caused the man to drop the gun, which clattered to the floor. Both of them dove for it at the same time. Jayda’s hand closed over his wrist, his fingers clawing for a grip. She sank her teeth into his knuckles, biting down until the taste of iron filled her mouth. He roared, trying to shake her off, but she held on, fighting with the desperation of a woman who knew there was no second chance.

If he killed her, Veronica was next. He would never stop.

Throughout her whole life, Jayda thought justice lived in courtrooms, in clean suits and closing arguments. She wanted to be that lawyer—the one who fought for women like Veronica, women like her mother. But here, in this moment, she understood: sometimes justice wasn’t words. Sometimes it wassurvival. Sometimes it was a fight to the death in the back of a limo speeding toward a cliff.

The car jolted again. But this time, metal screamed as another vehicle slammed into their bumper. The impact hurled Jayda forward, slamming her shoulder into the partition. The mobster’s fist cracked against her jaw as they both reached again for the gun.

The weapon went off with a thunderous bang. The bullet punched through the glass divider, shattering it into a spiderweb of shards. The driver screamed.

Through the fractured glass, Jayda saw his door burst open. He hurled himself into the snow, rolling out of sight.

The wheel jerked. The limo careened wildly, the headlights casting dizzy arcs across the cliffside.

The mobster’s eyes glowed with manic triumph as his hand finally closed around the grip of the gun. He twisted it up, pressing the barrel to her chest.

Jayda didn’t think—she reached for the door handle, shoving the door open against the force of the wind.

The car tilted, nose sliding toward the abyss.

The man laughed, the sound raw and jagged. “End of the road.”

The gunshot cracked like lightning as the limo pitched forward.

Jayda hurled herself out, the icy wind ripping the breath from her lungs as the bullet ripped through her side. Snow exploded around her as she hit the ground, tumbling to the edge of the cliff. Her body screamed in pain, her vision tunneled to black at the edges.