Flash Marriage: In His Eyes-Chapter 268: Drunk in Vegas

–Logan–

I was cursing at Livana while stacking dead bodies like oversized, very uncooperative furniture. The air reeked of gunpowder, iron, and burnt carpet. My boots squelched faintly with every step.

I exhaled, frustrated—not because of the mess, but because my perfectly timed plan to propose to Jane and finally marry her had once again been hijacked by a stupid mission.

I never complained about whatever they threw at me. I mean, I’m Sparrow. Livana’s henchman. Professional killer. Walking disaster.

But this time?

It really annoyed me.

I paused and stared at the pile of corpses I’d just slaughtered. They deserved it anyway. Tried to kill our agents. Stupid people of the world.

Sure, we’re in the underworld. Dirty business. Bloody business.

But a lot of people benefit from us.

"I swear, I’ll resign," I muttered.

Livana laughed in my earpiece.

"Hey, you can’t resign. It’s in your contract, dumbass," she said. "Don’t worry. I’ll pay for your wedding."

I wanted to roll my eyes so hard they’d fall out.

I knew Jane didn’t miss me.

But I fucking missed her.

Damn it.

I had never had someone living in my head like this. Every breath, every pause—Jane. Her voice. Her glare. The way she shoved me when she was annoyed.

What did that woman feed me to make me this insane?

She’s not a witch, right?

"Tell me," I muttered, dragging another body into place, "how did I fall in love with her?"

"Are you sure that’s love?" Livana asked, blunt as always. "Or do you just want to marry her because you like the sex?"

"I don’t know," I admitted. "I don’t even know what love is. But I already imagine us growing old together. She’ll still hate me most of the time, and we’ll still end up having great sex."

I scanned the room, checking for anything I missed. Blood smeared across cracked tiles. A bullet hole hummed faintly with cooling metal.

Livana hummed on the other end.

"But does she even know she loves you?" she asked. "Did you ever tell her that you love her?"

"Fuck, no. She pushed away every proposal, thinking it was a joke."

I knelt beside my last kill and wiped my blade on his cotton shirt, slow and methodical.

"Can I go home now?"

"Sure," she said. "Make a detour."

"Got it."

I ended the call, double-checked the room, then uncapped the gasoline. The sharp chemical scent burned my nose as I poured it over the bodies and across the floor.

I stepped back, struck a match.

The flame bloomed.

I tossed it onto the pile.

Fire roared to life, devouring flesh and fabric in seconds, heat licking my skin.

I walked out of the building without looking back.

All I could think about was Jane.

And how this assassin just wanted to go home and get married.

—

Once I arrived at the underground facility, reeking of sweat, smoke, and dried blood, Commander White—who was currently here on "vacation" with his daughter, soon to be married—approached me with a bottle of water.

I thanked him and lifted it to my lips, draining half in one go.

"So, any injuries?" Doctor White asked, eyes scanning me as I shook my head. "Are you sure?"

"I’ll call back. I need a bath," I waved him off and headed for the room assigned to me, one with an actual bathtub. Luxury.

I scrubbed every inch of my body.

Killing is normal for me. Routine. I’m not a psychopath—well, not officially proven. It’s just a job. Those men were worse than me anyway. Hired hitmen with more than five crimes under their belts. Theft. Rape. Murder. Slaughter.

What I don’t understand is why they’d send amateurs after me or our agents.

Once the grime and iron smell were gone, I slipped into my usual clothes and headed south with one of the disposable cars. I switched vehicles twice, grabbed food along the way, Jane occupying every inch of my thoughts.

I slowed when I noticed a car tailing me.

Already?

"Annoying," I muttered around a bite of my burger.

I shifted gears and took a sharp left onto an empty desert highway.

The car followed.

"Haysst," I cursed, swerving again and slamming the accelerator.

Still there.

I grabbed a spike belt, cracked the door open, and tossed it onto the asphalt.

The sound of exploding tires behind me was music.

I laughed as their car fishtailed out of control.

I stopped at the next town, ditched the disposable, and swapped to a sports car. Clean. Fast. Sexy.

Hours later, I reached the airport. Boarding under a fake ID, a fake passport, and a borrowed face, I slipped through like smoke.

California greeted me soon after.

It was ridiculous—my heart was pounding.

I used to feel lifeless. Neutral. Steady pulse, empty rhythm.

But now?

Just thinking of Jane—her glare, her voice, the indecent scenarios we’d lived through—

God.

I felt like I was floating.

Like I was over the moon.

All this for one woman.

Terrifying.

And absolutely worth it.

*****

I burst into the villa, practically vibrating with excitement. The first thing that hit me was the smell—warm, savory, mouthwatering. I followed it straight to the kitchen and found Deanne laughing while enjoying the takoyaki Jane had made from scratch.

I dropped my duffel bag. It hit the marble floor with a loud thud.

I walked up behind Jane, wrapped my arms around her waist, and buried my face in her neck.

"Oh, that’s so sweet," Deanne teased.

"Hi, Logan," Jane muttered, nudging me. "Stop that," she hissed.

"Don’t you miss me?"

I glanced at Deanne. She gave me that look—the one that said she’d already arranged everything.

"Let’s party tonight," I announced.

Deanne clapped. "Yes!"

"Let’s go to Las Vegas." I clapped proudly.

Jane plated the freshly cooked takoyaki, drizzling sauce and toppings. "Don’t you need sleep?"

"I need rest," I said, still loosely holding her hips. "But I need you more." I grinned.

"Alright, lovebirds," Deanne laughed. "I’ll get ready and make sure I look gorgeous at that party." Then she left.

"I miss you," I whispered.

She didn’t answer.

"How about your rib?"

"It’s healed now. I can move freely."

"That’s good." I nodded.

I grabbed a pick, split open a takoyaki ball oozing with cheese, blew on it, and popped it into my mouth. Warm, creamy, salty-sweet perfection.

"Hmm." After swallowing, I reached for the hand holding her chopsticks. "Marry me."

Here we go again.

"Whatever, Zachary."

I grinned wider.

"After this, let’s go to our room so we can make love."

She rolled her eyes and nudged me. "Whatever. Just eat and take a bath. We’ll talk about that later."

"Yes!" I hopped onto a barstool, hands on the counter, waiting eagerly for the next batch.

Then that little bastard appeared—on the phone—and casually stole my plate.

"Caine!" I hissed.

He walked away like I didn’t even exist.

–Jane–

Logan just arrived, so I took care of him—fed him, unpacked everything from his duffel bag, cleaned it, and put it all back in order. When he came out, he pulled me onto the bed. I knew what he wanted, and we gave in to it.

I missed the way he unraveled me, the way he always knew how to take me apart and put me back together. An hour was enough to leave me satisfied and weak beneath him.

He fell asleep quickly beside me, his arms wrapped around me like he was afraid I might vanish. I never expected this man to be so clingy. Still, I felt safe there—protected. I had never been a sleepwalker, yet now drowsiness claimed me completely.

"Jane," Logan mumbled.

I opened my heavy eyelids, wanting nothing more than to sink back into sleep, but he brushed his fingers over my skin in a way that made me shiver.

"Remember our party tonight? Las Vegas. The chopper’s on standby."

"Oh, fuck." I pushed his hand away as I sat up.

"Bags are already packed. No need to worry." He kissed my lips. I cupped his face and kissed him back.

We didn’t continue after that. Instead, we got ready and headed for the helipad. The chopper was waiting. By the time we landed in Las Vegas, we were escorted straight into our hotel—an extravagant presidential suite with two rooms.

Deanne and I had to wear something dazzling. She looked beautifully curvy in her dress, her small bump accentuated without being restricted. Caine only admired her, never once telling her what she could or couldn’t wear.

As for me?

I had to wear whatever Deanne bought.

It was revealing—but I had the skin for it.

And something worth showing off.

*****

We went to some exclusive club nearby. Neon lights. Bass so loud it thumped straight into my bones. We partied like reckless teenagers and drank things that burned all the way down.

Deanne stuck to juice, glued to her husband, kissing him between laughs. Sweet. Domestic. Disgusting in a cute way.

Me and Logan?

We were chaos.

I don’t remember everything. Just flashes. Spinning lights. His laugh in my ear. My head floating like it wasn’t attached anymore. I kept asking for more drinks because I needed to feel this—needed to forget that in a week or two I’d be back in the field. Back to blood, codes, lairs, and Livana’s chessboard. Everything was already mapped out. The lair was being monitored. There were loose ends only I could fix.

And right now?

We were probably being monitored too.

"More drinks?" Logan asked, pulling me gently back into the seat before I toppled.

"Yup!" I chirped, realizing too late that my words were melting. "More~~"

He laughed softly. Slid something onto my finger. Kissed my hand like I was royalty. Then he pressed a glass of water into my palm.

"It’s heavy," I mumbled, squinting at my hand. "What’~~sss... thissss?"

"I’ll marry you."

"Ha?" I blinked. The music was chewing his words apart. "Or I heard it wrong because the music is so loud."

"Let’s get~~ ma~~" The rest vanished into bass and smoke.

"Margarita?" I asked instead. "Yeah, let’s do that."

Everything blurred after that.

Pins and needles hammered inside my skull when I woke.

Warm. Soft. Naked. Wrapped in satin and tangled with a living furnace of a body. I opened my eyes slowly, afraid the world might split in half.

Something heavy weighed on my left hand.

I lifted it.

A familiar hazel diamond stared back at me. And beside it—a platinum band.

My breath stalled.

I turned my head.

Logan’s hand rested near mine.

Same platinum ring.

What the hell?