Page 41 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

Logan

M y eyes flutter open, blurry and unfocused.

A hammer pounds inside my skull—thick, relentless, unbearable.

Something rough presses against my mouth, biting into my skin.

Gagged. My hands and feet are bound tight with zip ties, the cold plastic digging mercilessly into my wrists and ankles.

I’m sitting upright, cramped inside metal.

The curved shape beneath me—Braden’s Dodge Charger.

The air around me is thick, sharp with the acrid bite of gasoline. It stings my nose like a punch, mixed with something sweeter, almost chemical—poisonous. My stomach twists in protest.

The garage door creaks open. She appears—Lola. Her eyes wild, hair tangled and wild, reeking of fuel like she just rolled through a gas station. Gun in hand, she steps into the dim light.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” she says, voice sharp, manic.

For a moment, I’m sure I’m still dreaming—until she laughs. A high, brittle sound that echoes coldly off the walls.

“I didn’t think you were going to wake up,” she grins, like she’s already won.

She paces, gun swinging loosely in one hand. “I’ve doused the whole house. You almost missed the show.”

My chest tightens. Panic claws at my throat, but I force myself to breathe. I try to think, to find any weakness in her madness.

She kneels beside the car, fingers tracing the cold metal like she owns it. “This is just the beginning, Logan. Soon, the whole world will burn.”

She yanks the gag from my mouth, ripping it free like tearing off skin. Air rushes in, burning my throat.

“You all just left like I was fucking nothing!” she screams, eyes wild and furious, spit flying. “You don’t get a happy fucking ending, Logan!”

Her voice cracks, raw and desperate. Then, suddenly, she’s different—calm, almost giggling. Like the madness inside her just flipped a switch.

“Did you know Braden didn’t love me?” she whispers, eyes glittering with something dark and twisted. “I bet you did, didn’t you? He told you everything.”

Her smile curls bitter and broken. “No matter how hard I tried, I was never enough for him.”

She leans in, voice dropping low and deadly. “Then you killed him.”

My heart stops.

“You let him take your car that afternoon. Why did you do that?”

Her gaze drills into mine, hungry for the answer she already knows.

“Did you know I tampered with the brakes? Did you know I was going to kill you?”

Her breath hitches, manic, mad.

“You did, didn’t you? Admit it!”

Her eyes blaze like fire, wild and unhinged.

I want to say something—anything—but my voice is gone. Trapped in the storm of her rage and madness.

“I didn’t know,” I choke out, voice ragged, barely more than a whisper. “I’d never hurt Braden. Never.”

Her eyes flash—hurt, fury, disbelief—all crashing into one manic wave.

“Lies!” she spits, stepping closer, gun still trembling in her hand. “You don’t get to say that. Not after what you did.”

My chest tightens, breath shallow. “Please… I loved him. He was my brother.”

She laughs—hysterical, bitter, like she’s battling a storm inside her own head.

“Love?” she sneers, her face twisted in a grotesque mockery of affection.

“You don’t know the word. You’re just a slut.

A fucking disgusting filthy whore. Love—” She spits the word like poison.

“—You only know lust. You whispered to him, didn’t you?

Told him I wasn’t enough. That I couldn’t be.

But I am. We are perfect for each other, Logan. You poisonous fucking cunt!”

The air shifts.

A thin curl of smoke snakes its way into the car—sharp and acrid. It sears my throat, burns my eyes. I cough hard, gagging, nearly choking. My wrists strain against the ties, as I twist, panic roaring through me.

Then it hits—the shrill piercing wail of the fire alarm. A scream of steel and fury that ricochets through the garage, tearing through the thickening air.

Lola doesn’t flinch. She just grins. Deranged. Gleeful.

“All this screaming and it’s not even yours yet,” She coos, tilting her head as if admiring her masterpiece.

“Can’t wait for the embers to catch you, drag you down to Hell, Logan Dale.

I can’t wait to hear your high note.” She giggles.

“Aww, maybe I’ll record it. Send it to Mackayla.

Her brother, gone… and now his murderer , burning up in flames, singing all the way.

” Her laughter is pure madness, twisted and hollow as the smoke detectors blare louder and louder.

A sudden whoosh. A smash. Glass, maybe? Something heavy hits the floor—debris? It knocks her sideways just enough that I feel one of the ties give slightly under the strain. If she takes a step back—just one step…

She steadies herself, pistol tapping against her temple. “Well, sugar, I’d love to stay and watch you go up close and personal, but I don’t feel like getting caught in the flames, y’know? I’m not stupid.” Her voice drips with venom and sugar-coated cruelty. “That’s my cue to leave.”

She raises the gun.

My blood freezes.

She’s not walking away—she’s going to shoot me.

Fuck.

I thrash harder, the car rattles. One cable tie snaps. Then another. Smoke and gas wrap around me like a noose, choking, blinding.

“Ohhh, but you’re a wriggler aren’t you?” she croons.

“ Raawk, Polly want some good dicking .” a voice snaps from behind her, and then—CRACK.

Trey’s parrot, out of fucking nowhere, slams into Lola’s temple like a meteor. She drops like a puppet whose strings have been cut, crumpling out of view.

I stare, breathless. Shock and relief crash into me in equal measure.

Trey is suddenly at my side, hands already on the zip ties, blade flicking fast and clean.

“Fucking hell, Logan. Mac’s house...” His voice is tight, panicked.

The last binding falls. I rub my wrists, then my ankles—numb, shaking, but grateful. Trey hauls me out of the cramped boot of the car into the suffocating heat of the garage.

Smoke blankets everything now—black and alive. We rush toward the door, but the handles glowing red hot.

“How’d you get in?” I rasp.

“Kitchen side door.” Trey says, grimacing. “It’s—shit. Really bad. Flames everywhere. I don’t know if we can get out that way.”

The smoke claws down my throat. I drop low, trying to stay below the worst of it, but every breath feels like swallowing fire.

Trey grips my arm like a lifeline, steadying me as I stagger down the hallway. The heat presses against my skin like a living thing, relentless and unforgiving.

A lung full of something noxious winds me, burning my throat, I try to edge lower beneath the billowing black blanket, the acrid smoke burning through me.

“Come on, Logan,” Trey urges, pushing me forward.

We stumble down the hallway, my legs barely cooperating, every step heavier than the last. Through the smoke flashing lights flicker—sirens wail outside, shouts of orders, the hiss of water. Chaos.

Trey drags me toward the light.

Then—fresh air.

Cool, sharp, real air crashes into my lungs and I nearly collapse as we stumble out into the open night.

“Logan!?” a voice screams.

I turn—too slow.

Lola.

Her face—her fucking face is smoldering. One side is red, raw and blistered. She raises her gun with a shaky, blistered hand.

It’s aimed right at us.

Trey’s closer.

Without thinking, I grab him and spin, my back to her just as she pulls the trigger.

BANG.

BANG.

The gun clatters from her fingers. A firefighter crashed into her from the side, taking her down, hard.

The shots echo.

I can’t breathe.

Trey looks at me wide eyed, stunned. “You saved me, bro…”

I manage a weak breath. “Makes us… even…” I croak.

And then I collapse.

His face twists in shock—then something breaks.

The world tilts sideways.

Darkness edges in at the corners of my vision. I try to focus on Trey, but his face blurs—panic and pain flashing in his eyes.

“Logan!” he shouts, grabbing me, voice shaking.

My body feels heavy, numb—like I’m sinking into a void I can’t fight.

The last thing I hear is Trey’s desperate curse, fading into the roar of sirens and shouting.

My body is gone. I’m a ghost sinking into the black, but my mind won’t shut up. It’s her. Mac.

I see her—alone. Broken. Tears streaming down her face, hands clawing at the silence like she’s trying to pull me back.

Her voice, cracked and raw, begging me not to leave. But I’m already falling. Already fading.

I’m supposed to keep her safe. Keep her alive. But I’m not there. I’m not fucking there.

And she’s out there—probably scared, probably shattered, and I can’t do a goddamn thing to stop it.

I’m drowning in the images—her face, streaked with tears, beautiful even in her breaking.

Those haunted eyes that have seen too much, held too much, and still found a way to look at me like I was worth saving.

The way she fights—God, the way she fights—even when the world is burning down around her.

And now I’m the one slipping. Fading. But she’s still there—in my mind, in my blood, in every breath I can barely take.