Page 38 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Her fingers hook the collar of my coat, tugging me closer until there’s no space left between us. Her lips hover near mine, her breath warm, her voice a soft, sinful whisper.

“Kiss me.”

It’s not a question.

It’s a command.

And God help me, I obey.

I crash my mouth onto hers with everything I’ve been holding back. It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s heat and hunger that explodes the second our lips meet. She opens to me instantly, hands sliding into my hair, clutching tight like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.

I back her against the vanity, hands roaming the curves I love, the press of her body igniting every nerve I have. She moans into my mouth, hips rolling against mine, and fuck—if we weren’t dressed for a party, I’d already have her bent over this damn table.

She tilts her head, deepening the kiss, and I lose myself completely in the taste of her, the feel of her, the desperate sounds she makes that light me up from the inside out.

And just when I’m about to lift her onto the counter and make Wonderland my goddamn playground—

The door flies open.

“—Well, shit,” Trey groans from the doorway. “Now I got a semi looking at my sister.”

I freeze, forehead pressed to Mac’s, eyes screwed shut as she lets out a shocked laugh. My jaw clenches.

“If you guys bang later,” Trey adds casually, “can I watch? I’ve always wanted to see the Mad Hatter dive down Alice’s rabbit hole.”

“You’re disgusting,” Mac says through her laughter, pushing lightly at my chest, cheeks flushed for all the right reasons.

I’m not laughing.

Not even a little bit.

If it wasn’t for that beautiful laugh of hers, the one that tells me she’s not mortified—just amused—I’d throttle the little bastard right here in this room.

Instead, I glare at him, voice low and threatening. “Trey…”

Trey just smirks, tugging at the oversized parrot strapped to his shoulder.

“What? Oh. Check this out.” He waves a hand awkwardly in front of the thing, and a soft whir of tiny motors kicks in. The parrot jerks to life, followed by a voice—clearly Trey, doing his best parrot impersonation.

“Raawk! Polly want some good dicking!” It squarks.

He winces. “Wait, shit—It was supposed to say something else. Ah, whatever… It works.”

Muttering something about rum, online purchases, and bad decisions, he strolls off like a man entirely too proud of his talking bird sex toy.

I turn back to Mac, who’s biting her lip, still breathless, still glowing.

“You okay?” I murmur.

She nods, grinning as she slips her arms around my neck. “I’m very okay.”

“Later,” I promise her, voice gravel and heat. “When it’s just us. You and me, baby….”

She leans in, lips brushing mine, soft and full of trouble. “Down the rabbit hole?”

“I might tease my way in.” I murmur, mouth grazing hers, “But yeah…headfirst.”

And this time, when she laughs, it’s everything.

The night explodes with color and sounds the moment we step through the gates.

Reverb in the Pines looks like something out of a twisted fairytale tonight—blacklight tents strung up between the trees, jack-o’-lanterns glowing in neon greens and purples, fog machines hissing smoke along the ground.

There’s a DJ up on a makeshift platform, blending pulsing club tracks between live sets while lasers cut through the night sky.

Festival chaos meets Halloween hedonism, and God, it’s perfect.

The boys are already hyped.

Trey’s parrot squawks from his shoulder as he spins in his pirate boots, sloshing his drink. “Raawk! Who’s a good girl then?” He cackles.

Chace is flipping a coin like he’s straight out of Goodfellas, hair slicked back and looking way too pleased with himself.

Sam—Vin Diesel in the flesh—grins wide as he shoulders through the crowd, soaking up every second of attention like he’d been born for it.

If only he’d been the one rolling around in Braden’s car instead of me.

But it’s Mac I can’t take my eyes off.

She’s all legs and attitude in that short, frilly blue dress—her wild blonde hair tumbling down her back in loose waves, white stockings hugging her legs. Alice in Wonderland never looked so hot.

I slip my arm around her waist, pulling her close as we head toward our roped-off VIP section lit by strings of warm bulbs and tucked between two firepits.

Security nods us through while cameras flash and phones lift all around.

People are shouting our names, but for once, it doesn’t feel like pressure.

It feels like pride.

“I’m not cold,” Mac says before I even ask, smirking up at me like she’s read my damn mind.

“Didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

I laugh, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “You just like ruining all my good intentions.”

“I prefer perfecting them.”

God, this girl.

We don’t even make it to the VIP booth before the beat drops and Mac grabs my hand.

“Dance with me,” she says.

Not a question.

I let her pull me in.

The crowd parts around us—barely—but we don’t notice anyone else.

The bass throbs through the ground as her body molds against mine, soft curves pressing into every hard inch of me, and suddenly I don’t care that we’re surrounded.

Her arms wrap around my neck, her hips finding a rhythm that shoots straight through me.

The music pulses, lights strobing, smoke curling around our feet, and all I can see—all I want to see—is her.

Her smile when I spin her.

The way her head tips back when she laughs.

The way she bites her lip as she drags her hands down my chest, fingers grazing the edge of that tattoo like it’s hers now.

I grip her hips, guiding her harder against me, and her breath catches as I drop my mouth to her ear.

“You’re killing me, baby.”

“Good,” she whispers back, wicked grin in her voice.

Flashes go off around us again. I don’t care.

Let them take their pictures. Let the world watch.

This is ours.

Mac's sober—doctor’s orders with her meds—but she doesn’t need alcohol to be high tonight. She’s radiant, electric, alive. And I’m right there with her, one hand still on her hip, the other sliding up her spine to anchor her to me.

The song shifts. Slower. Deeper. Sexier.

She moves with it like the music lives in her bones.

And I lose myself.

Right here.

On this dance floor in the woods, under lights and smoke and stars, with Alice in my arms and her heart beating wild against mine.

She turns in my arms, wraps hers around my neck, and pulls me in like she’s about to tell me a secret.

But she doesn’t speak.

She kisses me.

Hard.

Right here, in the middle of the crowd, in the pulsing haze of lights and music and heat.

Her lips crash against mine with everything she is—fierce and free and entirely mine.

I don’t even try to hold back the groan that rips from my chest as I grip her tighter, losing myself in the taste of her, the feel of her body pressed full-length against mine.

Her breath shudders out when we break for air, lips still brushing, and then she whispers it—soft, sure, and straight into my soul.

“I love you.”

Three words.

And I swear they undo every wound I ever carried.

My heart stumbles in my chest as I rest my forehead to hers, eyes closed, breathing her in like she’s oxygen.

I slide my hand into hers—lacing our fingers tight—and say nothing. I don’t need to. Not right now. Instead, I tug her gently through the crowd, our steps slow and tangled and full of heat, until we make it back to the booth set up just for us.

The boys are already there—half-sunk into couches, drinks in hand, laughter spilling out over the music.

Chace raises a brow behind his mobster shades. “Well look who finally stopped dry humping on the dance floor.”

Trey lifts his fake parrot like a glass. “About time. My poor bird was getting secondhand arousal.”

Sam just grins like the devil, holding up a beer in greeting. “Y’all good now?”

I slide in beside Mac, keeping her close, our hands still tangled tight.

Yeah. We’re good.

Better than good.

We’re real.

The booth hums with laughter, music, and the sharp scent of whiskey and cold night air. Lights from the stage flicker across our table like a strobe heartbeat, casting everyone in flashes of color and shadow. It’s time to let loose. Reverb in the Pines: Halloween Night.

Chace is mid-story, waving his hands like a madman. “I swear to God—she showed the bouncer a laminated wedding certificate. Said she was my wife. It was in Comic Sans!”

Mac nearly spits out her cola, laughing so hard she slaps my arm. “Comic Sans? Oh, come on! That’s the real crime here!”

“It said Mrs. Chace Lovemuffin,” Chace deadpans.

The entire booth explodes.

Sam claps a hand on Chace’s shoulder, voice low and mock serious. “It’s legally pending.”

Trey raises his beer, the heavy-ass parrot puppet still stuck to his shoulder like it’s latched on for life. “To Mrs. Lovemuffin! May she be blessed and bound by Comic Sans forever.”

Mac leans into me, eyes bright as she adds, “Long may she reign.”

I can’t stop the grin stretching across my face. It’s loud and chaotic and messy—but it’s ours. Mac’s beside me, safe and glowing, and for once the night feels weightless.

Until I see her.

Stillness in a storm of movement.

Just beyond the fire pits and stage lights, where the dark curls inward, a woman stands—motionless. A masquerade mask dangles from her fingers. Black hair falls like ink over her shoulders. Pale skin. Red lips. a cold vacant gaze.

Lola.

Her gaze pierces straight through me, as though she’s not looking at me—but through me. Through time. Through memory.

She smirks.

It’s not amused. It’s not kind. It’s not anything—just empty.

Then she turns her back and disappears into the crowd like smoke into the wind.

My pulse kicks.

“Babe,” I say softly, leaning in and brushing my lips against Mac’s, “I’ll be right back.”

She blinks, smile faltering. “Logan?”

But I don’t stop. I can’t. I don’t have time to explain what I haven’t even figured out yet.

Behind me, Trey hollers, lifting his beer. “I’ll have another Silver Bullet!”

I toss a lazy middle finger over my shoulder, smirking for show.

But inside, my gut tightens.

Because if she’s here—if Lola’s back—I have to find her.

And I have to know why.