Chapter 233: Smoke Between Two Flames
The streets were alive with late-afternoon noise—horns blaring, chatter spilling from storefronts, the smell of hot pretzels mixing with car exhaust. Logan walked through it all like a man on his own private battlefield. His boots hit the pavement heavy, his brow low, smoke curling from the stub of a cigar clenched in his teeth.
Maddie leaves tomorrow. Just like that. Plane wheels up, outta my world, back to wherever she came from. No, bub. Ain't lettin' it end like that. Not with that laugh stuck in my ears, not with her scent clawin' at me like barbed wire.
He flicked the cigar to the gutter, ground it out with his heel, and after another hour of brooding, his feet brought him to her hotel.
He stood outside her door, hesitated just long enough to hate himself for it, then knocked.
Inside, footsteps padded, light and uncertain. Then her voice, sharp through the wood: "Who is it?"
"Logan."
A beat of silence. Then: "Sorry. There's no one inside."
Logan snorted. "Really?"
"Yeah," she shot back, too quick.
Logan extended one claw—snikt!—and slid it through the lock. The tumblers gave with a soft click. He pushed the door open, leaned against the frame. "Then I'm a thief."
Her eyes went wide. She backed up, pressing herself against the far wall. "What are you doing? Leave before I scream."
Logan stepped in, shut the door behind him with a booted heel. "Scream all you want. My rep's already dirtier than a back-alley floor. Don't matter how many new stains I pick up."
"I said leave me. I hate you."
Logan shook his head slowly, moving closer, voice low. "If you hated me, I wouldn't have smelled warmth under your skin. I wouldn't be here."
Her back hit the wall. Logan's arms went up, boxing her in without touching. The room was thick with her scent—same as Jean, but off, unique. He couldn't tear free from it. His voice cracked when he spoke again. "I can't think of not seein' you again."
His chest met hers, and before she could stop herself, she folded into his arms. They held each other tight, and when the sob finally came, it tore from her like a dam breaking.
Five minutes passed like that—her crying, him holding. His shirt damp, his heart heavier than ever.
Finally she hiccupped, voice raw. "I want to meet her."
Logan froze. "Meet who?"
"Your lover."
Logan pulled back, eyes wide. "You—you want to meet Mariko? What for? You plannin' a duel? 'Cause I'll tell ya right now, darlin', she's hell with a katana. You'll lose."
Maddie blinked, then let out a surprised laugh through the last of her tears. "What are you even thinking? I don't want to fight her. I just… want to see her. Alone. Without you."
Logan's gut dropped like a stone. He scratched his jaw, suddenly sheepish. "Without me? That's scarier than facin' Juggernaut with a toothpick."
The skyscraper cut into the night sky, gleaming with neon. The White Wolf Restaurant, Mariko's pride. Logan stood outside, scowling at the two uniformed guards who barred his way.
"Sorry, sir," one said, stiff as a fencepost. "Ms. Yashida has ordered you not be allowed entry."
Logan grunted. "She in there?"
"Yes."
He cupped his hands around his mouth, looked straight up at the building. "HEY, MARIKO! I AIN'T LEAVIN' UNTIL I SEE YOU!"
Heads turned on the sidewalk. People whispered. The guards winced. Logan didn't care. He sat down on the cold concrete right there at the entrance, lit a cigar, and leaned back against the wall. Smoke curled, hours crawled.
Three hours later, the restaurant's private monitoring room was tense. Mariko sat composed, but her assistant shifted nervously at her side.
"Ma'am, he's scaring the customers. What should we do?"
Mariko's eyes narrowed at the screen showing Logan sprawled outside, smoking like he owned the street. "Call the police."
The assistant nodded, started for the phone.
"Stop."
She turned back, startled.
Mariko's lips pressed thin. "Give him food. He hasn't eaten lunch."
The assistant blinked. "Yes, ma'am." She turned again.
"Wait."
The woman sighed, turning back again. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Bring a blanket."
The assistant didn't move. She just folded her arms, eyebrow raised.
Mariko frowned. "Why aren't you going?"
"I'm waiting to see if you'll add another order, ma'am."
For the first time that night, Mariko's stern mask cracked. She exhaled slowly, hesitation softening her shoulders. "…I'll go with you."
Outside, Logan tipped his head back, smoke haloing his hair. His stomach growled, but he ignored it. His eyes half-closed, but his ears twitched when the glass doors hissed open.
She stepped out.
Mariko, perfect in her poise, her eyes like steel drawn thin. Even the city lights bent around her presence. Logan stood, brushing ash from his shirt.
"Leave," she said, voice cold but trembling at the edges. "You're scaring my customers."
"I won't."
Her jaw tightened. "What are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see you."
"I don't want to see you."
Logan reached out, wrapped his hand around hers. She flinched, but he didn't let go. His voice came low, rough, stripped of all his armor. "Really?"
She didn't answer. Just a hum, small and conflicted, trembling between rejection and longing.
The night hung between them, smoke curling, neon humming, her hand trembling in his.
And the world, for that fragile heartbeat, held still.