Page 40 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Logan’s hands are raised. His mouth moves, but there’s no sound in the clip. He’s trying to reason with her. To talk her down. But she doesn’t budge. She waves the gun, then jabs it toward the car behind her—forcing him toward it.

The clip ends as he slides inside, Lola behind the wheel.

I can’t breathe.

“Oh, my fucking god,” Trey mutters, stepping back like the floor’s been ripped out from under him. “What the Hell.”

“She’s got him?” I whisper, voice cracking. “She’s got Logan—with a gun—she—”

Sam catches me as my knees threaten to give out.

“She’s armed and extremely volatile,” the officer says grimly. “And now it’s a police matter.”

But all I can see is Logan’s face in that frame—fear in his eyes, but calm, composed... brave. Like he’s protecting me even then.

“I need to find him,” I whisper, throat burning.

Trey turns on the guards. “What are you doing standing here then? You said it’s a police matter—so call the fucking police!”

“We already have.”

The room explodes into motion—phones ringing, voices rising, strategy forming—but I stand in the center of it all, frozen, the image of Logan disappearing into the night burned into my bones.

The villa is buzzing like a kicked beehive.

Security barking orders into radios. Trey pacing like a caged animal. Chace’s jaw locked so tight it looks like it might crack. Sam hasn’t stopped checking his phone, Logan’s tracker still pulled up, that little blinking dot too far away for comfort.

But I can’t move. I’m stuck in the middle of the chaos, the walls spinning too fast around me to latch onto anything solid.

Then Trey grabs Sam and Chace and inches them toward the kitchen, tossing a quick glance back at the guards before leaning in low.

“Listen to me,” he hisses. “One of us has to get the fuck outta here before we’re locked down so tight we can't even take a piss without permission.”

Chace blinks. “What are you—”

“I’m not losing another fucking brother,” Trey bites out, eyes flashing. “I’m not. I won’t.”

The silence between them crackles.

Then Sam nods. Just once. Sharp and certain. “I’ll say I’m going to change. I’ll track him now. I’ll leave now.” He turns, locking eyes with me, voice lower, gentler. “I won’t let anything happen to him, Mac. I swear.”

My chest splinters.

Then he’s already moving, climbing the stairs two at a time. “I’m taking this shit off. Give me two minutes.”

Trey’s gone a beat later, slipping out through the side door without another word, his pirate hat abandoned on the floor where he dropped it. Just his absence in the air like gun smoke and unfinished words.

And I’m stuck—lost in thought.

Wondering if this is real. If this is happening.

Why would Lola…?

A hand lands gently on my shoulder, pulling me back to the present. It’s Sam. He doesn’t say anything, just nods—Grounding me with that quiet, steady presence he always carries.

Across the room Chace, has his phone pressed to his ear, pacing in tight lines.

His voice rises in what sounds like a heated conversation, though the language blurs into the background noise.

I catch one word—uncle—before he meets my eyes, and gives me a small, reassuring smile.

Then his brows draw together in a frown.

He says something else I don’t catch, then ends the call and tucks his phone into his pocket.

Behind me, security talks into radios, voices sharp and clipped, code words and confusion bouncing off the stone walls. Someone’s pouring coffee. A kettle screeches. Phones ring and get silenced too fast. The world moves, loud and overwhelming, while mine narrows to that one still frame in my mind—

Logan, hands raised, walking toward that car.

Walking away from me.

A choked sound slips out of my throat. I can’t hold it back.

“Hey,” Chace says softly, his voice like wind in a storm. “We’re not giving up. We’ve got this, Mac. Okay?”

Sam squeezes my hand. “He’s tough. And smart. He’s Logan. He’s yours. That means something.”

But all I can do is nod, because if I open my mouth, I’ll scream.

Or beg.

Or break.

And I don’t know which one would be worse.

The knock on the villa door isn’t loud. Just two short raps. Calm. Controlled.

But it slices straight through the thick fog in my head like a razor.

Security moves fast, opening it without hesitation. And just like that—police flood in.

It’s been hours since Lola took Logan. Over an hour since Trey vanished into the night. And now—finally—they arrive.

Uniforms. Badges. Radios crackling softly at their shoulders.

Their presence doesn't bring comfort. It changes the room, draining the chaos into something quieter. Colder. More final. One of them—a woman, maybe mid-forties with short blonde hair and kind eyes that make it worse—gives a small nod to our head of security before stepping toward us.

“We need you all to sit,” she says, soft but firm. “Please.”

Chace looks like he’s about to argue, but Sam gently tugs him down onto the couch beside me. I barely feel my body anymore, just the space where Logan should be—where Trey should be.

The officer kneels in front of us. Her smile is gentle, but her eyes are glass-hard.

“I’m Detective Ramsey. I need you to stay calm and listen carefully.”

Sam’s hand tightens around mine.

“There’s something you need to know about the woman involved in Logan’s disappearance. Lola Vincent.”

The name drips like acid through the air. Chace flinches. I freeze.

“She’s extremely dangerous. Our team has just come from her residence.

We were acting on a welfare check—based on past complaints and inconsistencies in her ID records.

What we found was…” She glances over her shoulder, as if making sure we’re ready for what’s coming.

“Two bodies. Elderly. Believed to be her adoptive parents.”

“Do you have any idea where she could have taken him?”

Sam scoffs, sharp and bitter.

“If we did, you think we’d be sitting here?”

“Miss Smith, anything can be important.”

I want to answer but I can’t. I feel a million miles away. Like I’m burning alive in slow motion, choking on a scream that’s been stuck in my throat for hours. My skin itches like it doesn’t belong to me. I want to claw it off. Dig my nails so deep into my palms they break.

My ears start to ring.

Ramsey’s voice becomes background noise, distant and muffled like she’s underwater.

The room tilts. My stomach lurches. I barely manage to turn before I’m vomiting, violently, the acid scorching up my throat and splattering across Detective Ramsey’s polished black boots.

She doesn’t even flinch.

She just gently rubs my back gently like I’m not heaving my soul out through my mouth.

Sam is at my side, murmuring something I can’t process.

Chace curses. “That’s not all of it, is it?”

My legs tremble. I feel like I’m unravelling.

Ramsey waits for me to catch a breath.

“I am unable to comment on that.”

“Fine, then allow me.” Chace lifts his phone. “Sorry, Mac. You might want to sit down.” His voice softens. Then sharper. “Can someone get some water and paper towels, she’s being sick for God’s sake!”

There’s movement. A glass of water and some paper towels are handed to me. I wipe my mouth, dazed, looking to Chace.

“They found a shrine in her residence. Dedicated to Braden.” My heart stutters.

“One of the bedroom walls was covered in sketches, plans, painted words… Confessions.”

“C-confessions?”

“That information is classified,” Ramsey cuts in, her tone clipped. “It’s part of an ongoing investigation.”

“Cool. Thanks for the input, Detective.” Chace says flatly. “Now spill the rest or get out.”

“I—”

“I’ll tell the media you let slip if it helps.”

“Threatening a Detective—"

“I wouldn’t be so stupid. Now cut the bluster.”

The world narrows. I brace myself.

“We also found another wall,” Ramsey says at last. “Covered in photos, newspaper clippings, hand-written notes…All about Logan Dale. His entire life. From what we can tell, she was obsessed. Fixated. And there’s more…”

No.

No more.

Please, no more.

“We believe the night Braden died… the car he was driving had been tampered with.”

My breath catches.

“It was never meant to be Braden,” she continues. “She was targeting Logan. It was his car.”

I gag again.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam whispers.

“Where is Mr. Baker?”

“He left before all this lockdown shit.” Sam mutters.

“He doesn’t realize the danger he’s in,” Ramsey says grimly.

“Lola isn’t just some jealous ex. She’s unstable.

Calculated. She’s already killed, and from what we know…

this has always been the plan. She blames Logan for what happened to Braden—even though she’s the reason he’s gone.

She’s spiraling. And we need to act fast.”

“Thank you for being candid, Detective,” Chace replies, his tone ice cold.

I can't hear anymore.

I fold in on myself, clutching my middle like I can hold myself together if I just press hard enough.

But inside, I’m breaking.

The female officer leans closer, her tone gentler now, but no less urgent.

“Think,” she says, looking between me, Sam, and Chace. “Is there anywhere she might take Logan? Somewhere that means something to her? A place that wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary—somewhere personal.”

My grip tightens around my phone, my knuckles aching. Her gaze settles on me like she knows I’m the one who might have the answer.

“Even the smallest detail,” she adds. “Anything you can give us.”

I rack my brain, heart pounding. Every memory of Lola crashes into me at once, but nothing sticks. Nothing makes sense.

I shake my head, the motion weak, useless. “I don’t know,” I whisper, the words like ash in my mouth. “I don’t know where she’d take him.”

But something claws at the back of my mind, and I latch onto it with shaking hands.

“She took my brother’s journal. A few days ago.

She came to my house—asked to use the toilet—and I let her.

I didn’t think twice. But when she left…

it was gone. One minute it was on his bed, the next—it just… vanished.”

I blink hard, but the tears slip free anyway.

“I don’t know what she wanted with it. I don’t know what it meant to her. I don’t know where she’s taken him.”

My voice cracks on every word, and when I look at the officer—at the steady, unreadable calm in her eyes—I just break.

“I don’t…” My breath hitches. “I… Please. Please, I’m begging you…”

I press a hand to my mouth, trying to hold back the sob that rips its way up my throat.

“Please don’t let her hurt him. He’s everything. He’s everything I have left.”

Silence stretches, thick and hollow.

Sam’s hand settles on my back, firm and grounding.

He doesn’t say a word, but the way his thumb moves in small, slow circles is enough to keep me from falling apart completely.

Chace stands on my other side, jaw tight, eyes glassy.

He scrubs a hand over his face, then fists it at his side like he wants to punch a wall—or someone.

The officer crouches a little, bringing herself level with me.

“We won’t stop until we find him,” she says quietly, but there’s steel in her voice. “And we’ll do everything we can to make sure he comes back to you safe.”

I nod, even though I don’t know how to believe it.

But right now, hope is all I have.