Until She Dies (Noelle Marshall #3)

1

Ten years ago

Crystal’s hands gripped the steering wheel as the taillights far ahead cut a slow, weaving path through the dark of the hot summer night. They were dim red glows like the eyes of something wicked.

Her husband’s truck.

And in it, her—that slut from the bar.

Crystal had stared as he and the woman stumbled across the gravel parking lot, the brunette leaning on his arm as if she’d known him for years, not twenty minutes. Laughing as if he’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

Crystal’s pulse had throbbed in her temples, hot and erratic, her vision tunneled, seeing nothing but the woman’s cropped denim shorts and her husband’s hand toying with the waistband, slipping his fingers inside the edge.

Crystal wasn’t thinking straight, but she’d been aware enough to kill her headlights as she’d pulled out after them.

The night swallowed her car whole, and the beams of his truck stayed steady, slicing through the rural darkness.

You piece of shit.

She shouldn’t be driving. She knew that. But the vodka haze burning through her blood didn’t care about consequences. It cared about betrayal. It cared about the smirk on Gage’s face as he’d whispered in that woman’s ear, the way his hand slid down the denim covering her ass.

The road narrowed into a ribbon of gravel flanked by tall pines. Her tires crunched softly as she eased along the winding curves, just far enough back to avoid being seen in his mirrors. No other cars. No lights but his.

They were nowhere. There were no homes, no ranches, no street signs. She’d lived in the area much of her life but had never been on this road.

Crystal’s thoughts spun with every turn.

Where’s he taking her?

She replayed the scene from the bar on a loop in her head, torturing herself. The sound of their laughter. The way Gage had strutted out the door with that woman like she was a damn prize.

“Married men don’t get to pretend,” she muttered, her voice slurring and full of fire. “Not when they’ve got a wife at home cooking their damn dinners.”

And when we have a daughter.

Up ahead, Gage’s taillights brightened.

She pressed the brake, heart jerking. He was turning. A sharp right onto an old logging road, one of those forest access roads with no name, just a number.

Crystal’s breath hitched.

She should turn around. Go home. Sleep it off.

But instead, she followed.

The forest closed around her like a trap. Pines loomed on either side, dense branches blocking the moonlight. The road narrowed further, barely wide enough for one car, and she had to lean forward to see.

His red lights flashed again.

He’d stopped.

She rolled her car forward until she could just see his bumper through the trees. His headlights were still on, but there was no movement. No doors opening. Just stillness.

A breath shuddered out of her lungs.

She wasn’t scared. She was furious.

Because whatever was happening out here in the woods tonight, she deserved to know.

She reached for her door handle with trembling fingers.

Let’s see what kind of secrets you keep in the dark.

Her stomach churned at the thought of catching the two of them in some sexual act.

Pine needles crunched under her feet, and she dropped into a crouch as both truck doors opened. She couldn’t make out the words, but she recognized Gage’s persuasive tone. The one he used when he wanted her to run to the store to buy more beer.

What’s he trying to convince her to do?

He took the woman’s hand and walked farther down the road.

Crystal silently jogged up to the passenger side of the truck and looked inside.

The woman’s purse was on the seat. Crystal reached through the open window and snatched the bag.

She pulled out the wallet and examined the driver’s license photo.

The woman was pretty in a trampy sort of way. And five years younger than Crystal.

Bastard.

Crystal pocketed the twenty-three dollars she’d found and then tossed the wallet and purse back in the truck. She continued to creep in the shadows after the couple.

What will I do when I find them?

Scream? Punch him? Punch her?

“It’s probably not her fault,” she mumbled.

Gage refused to wear a wedding ring. Said it was bothersome and in his way when he worked on vehicle engines. Deep down Crystal had always known that explanation was a load of crap.

She froze, one hand on the trunk of a tree.

Is that another truck up ahead?

The couple had stepped into an open area, and the moonlight exposed a vehicle’s front fender. A man stepped around the front of the truck to shake hands with Gage. Then he gave the woman a slap on the ass. The woman jumped, and Crystal heard her squeal and then giggle nervously.

Crystal frowned. And crept closer, stopping about twenty yards away.

She squinted at the other man, trying to place him. She knew a few of Gage’s friends, but he didn’t seem familiar. He was much taller than Gage, had wide shoulders, and wore the usual flat-brimmed cap every man in the area wore. Confidence oozed from him, and Gage seemed to shrink a bit.

Spineless.

Gage was a follower, never a leader. Had been that way since Crystal met him.

He only acted confident when he was yelling at Crystal.

A few slaps to the face and punches to the mouth happened sometimes, but she’d stayed anyway; in her head, the positives outweighed the negatives.

Barely. When she’d gotten pregnant, she knew Gage was the only way she’d have a roof over her head—and her baby’s.

Crystal took a few more steps, her gaze never leaving the trio. Words had gotten heated, voices louder, and the woman stepped back, but the tall man grabbed her arm.

Asshole.

Figures that Gage would hang out with the best people.

The man shook the woman and moved closer to use his height to intimidate her. Terror radiated from her posture, and she tried to shrink away. Crystal looked to Gage, hoping he would do something. Nope. He’d shoved his hands in his pockets and simply watched.

The woman cried out as the man jerked her arm, nearly making her collapse, and Crystal stepped out from the shadows, sympathy for the scared woman driving her feet.

She froze.

Oh my God.

The man had shoved a pistol under the woman’s chin, grinding it upward.

Gun.

He fired.

Crystal blinked as the woman seemed to melt toward the ground. Gage lurched away, covering his head with his hands, his shouts unintelligible. The tall man looked down at the body, motionless at his feet. Then he raised his head.

And stared directly at Crystal.

No, no, no! Run!

She stumbled backward, her feet numb as her brain short-circuited.

She finally spun around and ran as hard as she could.

She fell in the dark, scrambled to her feet, and sprinted again.

Footsteps pounded behind her. A tree root tripped her, and she went down again.

Her hands clawed at the ground, dirt packing under her nails as she thrust her body forward, trying to get her legs and feet coordinated to run some more.

Go, go, go!

He knows I saw him kill that woman.

Her brain screamed for her to run faster. Or she was next.

She crashed into a bush, its branches short but sharp, forcing a gasp out of her as she thrashed to change directions. A hand slammed down on her shoulder and the other grabbed her waist.

He’s so big.

She fell to the ground, twigs scratching her face, and he landed on top of her. He yanked her arms behind her back and drove her face into the dirt. She turned her head to breathe.

“Gage!” she screamed. “Gage!”

The man’s laugh was deep and long.

“Gage!”

“He can’t help you,” he told her.

I’m a dead woman.