Page 39 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Kayla

L aughter rolls around me, warm and full and just the right side of reckless—but it doesn’t quite reach the part of me that’s scanning the crowd.

Trey’s swaying like a drunk pirate—which, to be fair, he is—his ridiculous parrot tilting dangerously on his shoulder as he jabs a finger between Sam and Chace like he’s about to deliver the speech of a lifetime.

“I’m telling you,” Trey slurs, squinting one eye at Sam, “this feathered freak is plotting my murder.”

“You’re the one who strapped it to yourself,” Sam says flatly, sipping his drink with that familiar look of exhausted amusement he reserves for Trey’s worst ideas.

Trey scowls. “Commitment. You should try it, Diesel.” he mutters, patting the parrot’s head. It immediately springs to life. “

“Raawk, Polly wants to touch it.”

“Vin Diesel, you douche nozzle,” Sam corrects smoothly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Get it right if you’re gonna insult me. Also, how many weird sayings did you program into that thing?”

“That…” Trey groans, swaying again. “I have no idea.”

Chace lifts his whiskey, like he’s about to toast, his voice dropping into a gravelly impersonation that’s eerily close to Vin Diesel’s. “To family… and late-night shopping.”

We all lose it.

I sip my cola, sweet and sharp on my tongue, and lean into the velvet curve of our VIP booth, trying to lose myself in the rhythm of the moment.

Fairy lights flicker between the pines, and the bass from the stage pulses through the forest like a second heartbeat.

There’s smoke in the air—bonfires, cigarettes, something else that smells illegal—and people everywhere.

Witches and angels. Vampires and devils.

A dancing mass of glitter and costume and October heat.

But my eyes keep drifting to the crowd.

I’m still looking for him.

Logan.

He said he’d be right back. He kissed me like it was nothing and everything all at once, then disappeared into the crowd with a promise on his lips. That was… fifteen minutes ago? Twenty?

I don’t want to be dramatic. I don’t want to overthink. But the longer he’s gone, the more my thoughts start to spiral. My fingers curl tighter around my glass. The lights feel a little too bright. The music a little too loud. Something inside me ticks faster with every second.

“Hey.” Chace leans in, voice softer now. “You alright?”

I force a nod and a smile. “Yeah. Just waiting on Logan.”

Trey slings an arm over my shoulders, the scent of rum and smoke clinging to him. “Relax, baby girl,” he says, voice softer than I expect. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll shoot a text to the security team—ask if anyone’s seen our Mad Hatter wandering off. Yeah?”

I glance at him, my heart squeezing. His concern undoes me a little.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

He gives me a quick squeeze. “I’m sure he’s fine. Probably signing boobs or taking selfies with pumpkin sluts. Rockstar life, right?”

I laugh, because I have to. Because if I don’t, I’ll break.

But the truth is… the party feels different without him. The night doesn’t glow the same when he’s not beside me. And no matter how hard I try to smile and sip my drink, all I can think is—

Where the hell are you, Logan?

Trey’s phone buzzes. He pulls it from his pocket, eyes darting across the screen. The lightness in his expression drops away so fast it makes my heart lurch.

“What is it?” I ask, sitting up straighter, pulse ticking faster.

He hesitates just a second too long. “They haven’t seen him.”

I freeze. “What do you mean they haven’t seen him?”

“I checked in with the security team,” he says, standing now, attention swinging to the others. “Guys—I don’t wanna freak anyone out, but… Logan’s MIA. No one's seen him in a while. Securities on it now. They're searching.”

A hush falls over our section. The boys look between each other, expressions shifting from confusion to concern.

My stomach knots. “Missing?” I whisper, barely able to get the word out. “How long’s it been?”

“I’m not sure,” Trey says gently, crouching down beside me. “Could be nothing. Maybe he just needed some air. Or he went back to the villa for something and didn’t want to drag security with him.”

“But why wouldn’t he say anything?” My voice cracks.

Trey reaches for my hand, gives it a light squeeze. “I know. I know it’s not like him. But let’s not panic yet, alright? You know Logan—sometimes he gets in his own head. Maybe he just needed five minutes.”

My thoughts are spinning. He wouldn’t leave me without a word. Not now. Not tonight.

“I’ve got people looking,” Trey says, holding my gaze. “We’ll find him.”

I nod, but my gut twists tighter with every second that ticks by.

The music pounds in the distance, but it’s all static to me now—just background noise behind the thunder in my chest. The longer Logan’s gone, the tighter the panic coils in my stomach.

I’m halfway through scanning the crowd again when a man in a black jacket and radio earpiece approaches our section. He looks calm, professional—but there’s a tightness to his mouth that makes my breath catch.

“Apologies for the interruption,” he says, glancing between us. “Does anyone have a tracker on Logan Dale’s phone?”

My head snaps toward him. “Why? Why would you need to track his phone?”

Sam stands, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “We’re all synced up. Added Mac’s too when she was in the hospital—extra security.”

The guard nods, expression unreadable, and Sam passes over his phone. The guard frowns as he studies the screen. “He’s offsite.”

“What?” I breathe. “What do you mean—offsite?”

The guard hands Sam his phone back. “He’s no longer within the event perimeter. That makes it outside our jurisdiction. If you’re concerned… I suggest contacting local authorities.”

He turns to walk off.

Trey shoots up from his seat, sharp and furious. “What the fuck? Isn’t this exactly what you’re paid for?”

The guard doesn’t even turn back.

I stare after him, heart hammering like it’s trying to break free from my chest. “He left?” I whisper. “Logan left?”

Chace has his phone out now, brows furrowed hard, fingers moving fast. “No. No fucking way. There’s no way he’d leave. Not without saying something.”

“Not without me,” I say, my voice cracking like glass.

Chace looks at me, his face pale under the golden porch lights. “Exactly. He’d never leave you here, Mac. Not like this. Something’s not right.”

A hollow ache opens wide in my chest. My mind starts spiraling—flashes of Logan’s face, the way he held me just hours ago, the way he promised me forever, tattooed my name right over his heart—and now this.

I press a trembling hand to my mouth, trying to breathe through the rising storm inside me.

No one speaks. Not right away.

The music still thumps through the grounds like a living heartbeat, but it feels a world away now—blurred behind the sharp, unnatural quiet that settles over our booth.

Trey’s pacing. Chace is staring at his phone like if he blinks hard enough, Logan’s location will blink back into place. Sam mutters something under his breath and downs the rest of his drink, his jaw tight.

I’m still frozen.

There’s a scream clawing at my throat, but it won’t come out. My body’s buzzing—too still, too loud, like I’m made of exposed wires and static. I glance out at the crowd again, scanning faces, shapes, shadows.

Nothing.

Logan is nowhere.

I grip the edge of the table with both hands, knuckles bleaching white. “Maybe he just... needed air,” I murmur, though the words taste like ash. “Maybe he forgot his phone.”

“He didn’t,” Chace says without looking up. “You know he didn’t.”

And I do. I do. Logan’s the guy who checks a door lock three times before going to bed, who sends a text every time he steps out just so I don’t worry. He’s the guy who fought through hell just to find me.

He wouldn’t disappear.

“Okay,” Trey says, pulling his phone out now. “We stay calm. I’ll shoot a text to the security teams at the main exits, just to be safe. Maybe he circled back around. Got sidetracked. You know how fans get.”

But even he doesn’t sound convinced.

The lights feel too bright now. The laughter from the surrounding booths too jarring. I dig my nails into my palms, trying to steady my breath, but the edges of everything feel wrong.

Bent.

Fractured.

Wrong.

I glance at Sam, voice barely a whisper. “What if something’s happened?”

He meets my eyes—softer now. And he does what Logan would do. He puts a hand over mine. “Then we’ll find him, Mac. No matter what. We’ll find him.”

But even as he says it, something deep in my chest twists.

The crowd keeps dancing.

The music keeps playing.

But the air shifts—thick and strange—as five uniformed security officers push their way through the crowd toward us.

“Trey Baker?” one of them asks, eyes sweeping the group.

Trey straightens, all humor gone. “Yeah.”

“I’m going to need you all to come with us. Now.”

“What’s going on?” Chace asks, already tense.

“Please,” the officer says, glancing around. “Calmly and quietly. We have reason to believe you could be in danger.”

The word danger slams into my chest like a fist. I grab Sam’s arm, my legs heavy as we’re guided from the booth. People glance our way—phones lifting, whispering starting—but the guards close in, forming a protective barrier around us as they lead us off the festival grounds.

We move fast, hearts racing, silence stretching tight between us. No one jokes now. No one says he’s probably fine anymore.

Back at the villa, the front doors are pulled open and we’re hurried inside. The moment the latch clicks behind us, one of the guards pulls a tablet from under his arm and turns the screen to face us.

“Do any of you recognize this woman?”

The image blinks to life.

Lola.

Black hair down, eyes wild, mask held at her side. She’s in the woods, barely lit by the car headlights behind her. And she’s got a gun pointed at Logan’s chest.

My heart stops. Literally stalls in my chest.