The Unlikeable Demon Hunter_Sting

by Deborah Wilde

  Samson pulled me onto his lap. “She’s signing with me. We’re working on cleaning up her backstory.”

  “Really.” Rohan’s eyes hadn’t left my face, but the shutters had dropped, leaving me helpless against the onslaught of a gaze that was too gold. Too blazing.

  I slid my arms around Samson’s neck, refusing to duck away from his stare. “Really.”

  Drio returned with more cigars. “Sorry ’bout that, man.” He held them out to Rohan, but Snowflake didn’t take them.

  Drio jerked his thumb subtly at Samson, his eyes flicking to the bar.

  I ran my finger around the rim of Samson’s now-empty drink, then licked it off. “Get me another one?” I said, picking up on Drio’s silent direction. “Whatever you’re drinking.”

  Samson squeezed my side before standing up. “Definitely. After all, this is a celebration.”

  “Best day I’ve had in a long time,” I purred.

  Grinning, hands in pockets, Samson strode away.

  “I’d say so,” Poppy gushed at me. “All that time you’ll get to spend with Samson.” Her implied “and not Rohan” wasn’t even subtle. I hoped she was a demon, too.

  “I’ll be sure not to forget my old friends,” I said.

  Rohan watched Samson go, his expression still annoyingly inscrutable.

  “Ro? Cigar?” Drio asked.

  Rohan took it, then launched into some anecdote about a tour mishap, using expressive gestures to punctuate the story. Everyone was so busy lapping up his every word that no one noticed Drio slip the stub of Samson’s cigar into his pocket.

  Drio winked at me.

  All that business about Evelyn had all been a calculated performance, then? But why not tell me? I turned away and headed into the bathroom. As an armchair celebrity enthusiast, I knew that those in closest orbit to a star tended to indulge any and all bad behavior. What amazed me now, witnessing Rohan’s little performance back there was that everyone had taken him seriously. They expected this ridiculous assholery from someone like him and found it acceptable. No wonder Rohan hated who he’d become back in the day.

  I couldn’t reconcile this version of him with the man I’d gotten to know. Though I couldn’t reconcile anything I’d seen of him today with that man either, so what did I know?

  A couple of women entered the bathroom, chatting in rapid Czech and snapping me out of my reverie. I reapplied my lipstick and got out of there.

  Rohan was coming out of the men’s room. The sight of him rocked a fresh wave of anger through me. I planted myself in front of him. “Congratulations, Snowflake. Really became the finest version of yourself back there.”

  “I can’t take all the credit, sweetheart. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.” His glittering eyes were at odds with his smirk.

  I frowned. That jab was deliberately fired. “Right. Because rock stars are exempt from any personal responsibility.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Were your feelings hurt?” He ran his finger along my bare skin between my bandeau and the pencil skirt. This close in, I could smell the alcohol on him. Warm whiskey spice.

  “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “You chose your role. Play it.”

  I lifted his hand off me. “I have no problem playing it. But you seem to be forgetting where the act stops and respecting your team member begins.”

  He looked vaguely uneasy at that. “What about you respecting my personal history, lightning girl?”

  Now it was my turn to squirm. “I did what I had to for the mission.”

  “Is that all it was?”

  “Can’t imagine anything else it would be about.”

  The Latin jazz that had been playing smoothed out into a bump and grind bassline under a woman’s voice singing about retribution in six-eight time. My kind of lady. I stepped past Rohan but he blocked my hip with his.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Back to Samson.” To have Brickie take me back to my hotel.

  “He’s a demon, sorry, alleged demon, who doesn’t give a shit about you.”

  I white-knuckled my clutch. “Like you do?”

  “As a rock star? I’m not supposed to. As Rasha?” He turned away, jaw tight, as if annoyed I even had to ask.

  What about as a person? “Then show it and don’t play games with your team members.”

  He braced a hand on the wall by my head. “I’m not the one playing games.”

  “You’ve been playing games since day one. I’m the one constantly trying to keep things clear between us.” I smacked him once in the chest with my clutch.

  “This from the girl who has no idea what she wants.”

  I blinked at that comment.

  “No. Idea.”

  The groupie/rock star dynamic was abhorrent enough, yet I dealt with the public humiliation because of the mission. But this? This had gotten personal and I refused to become Rohan’s personal build-up/tear-down culture.

  I tapped his heart tattoo. “Should have made it larger. A big blazing emblem of what you so capably embody.”

  “Ro-oo.” I grit my teeth as Poppy sidled in under his arm. “Everyone was wondering where you got to.” She didn’t dignify my presence.

  I made a show of straightening my skirt and fixing my hair. “Be gentle with him, sugar,” I said. “Poor boy is spent.” Yeah, now she noticed me, eyes darting between Rohan and myself. I leaned into him as if I was going to kiss him. His eyes widened slightly. Right before my lips brushed his, I turned my cheek, pushing past him with a, “Thanks for the ride, baby.”

  I swaggered off.

  I really thought I’d picked an easy lay. Hot boy. Good sex. Players have fun playing. Instead he’d shot my finely honed plans to hell with prophetic-sounding song lyrics, a connection that gave the finger to our casual hook-up, and game playing at the championship level that had morphed into mutual anger and hurt. To make matters worse, our personal mess was leaching into our professional lives.

  I took a moment to compose myself before approaching Samson. Deep in conversation with some couple, he wasn’t ready to leave but didn’t seem to care much one way or the other what I did. Guess I’d served my payback purpose.

  Drio offered to cab back to the hotel with me, claiming that five more minutes and he’d unleash his inner psychopath. A level of self-awareness I had no idea he possessed.

  I asked the driver to turn up the music, pretending to love the rock ballad playing. Then I lay my head on Drio’s shoulder so I could speak quietly to him. “What was with the cigar?”

  “Once we get King’s true name, there’s a ritual we can do to force his demon form. We needed his DNA in prep and tonight seemed like the perfect opportunity to get it.”

  “How does the ritual work? Do you take him out right then and there? If we’re right about him?”

  “Sì. Once we force his demon form, we use the ritual blade to kill him.”

  “What about the production? Won’t they wonder why their lead has gone missing?”

  The driver eyed us in the rearview mirror. Drio slung his arm around my shoulder, like a conscientious boyfriend. “Those party photos may prove useful,” Drio said. “We could stage an OD.”

  “Without a body?” There’d be nothing left of Samson once we killed him.

  “Morrison’s body was never seen,” Drio said. “Not that he was a demon,” he added at my wide-eyed stare. “Just that there’s precedence. Besides, Samson’s death will probably boost the box office when Hard Knock Strife gets released. It’s a shitty film.”

  Drio pressed the button to roll down his window, sending a hint of cool air into the stuffy backseat. Passing streetlights sent slivers of light over us.

  “Wrap is Tuesday,” he said. “We could wait the three days. Less of a freak out from production than if they still have to shoot. One less item to manage.”

  “I can make sure Samson gets trashed at the cast party,” I said. “That could help keep him off guard when we lure him to his doom.�
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  “You can’t be anywhere near his death.” Drio was dead serious. “Not even a hint of it. The media will be asking enough questions about the mystery women in those photos and we don’t want you caught up in the scandal.”

  I opened my mouth to protest but Drio stopped me. “Don’t give Mandelbaum more ammunition.”

  Him having my back like this was a huge step forward between us.

  The cab pulled up to the hotel. I pulled out my wallet to pay but Drio waved me off, so I got out. “Thank you. For everything.” I shut the door.

  Drio immediately rolled down the window. “Rohan had to get drunk tonight. He knew Samson would show up.”

  “Part of his performance. Big deal.”

  Drio shook his head. “The only way he’d be able to behave like his old self again.”

  “Really? Seemed like he fell right into it.” I dropped my eyes under the chastising look Drio shot me.

  He was quieter when he spoke this time. Musing. “I think it was also the only way he could pretend he wasn’t attached.”

  When I looked up with a harsh laugh, Drio was watching me, his steady green-eyed gaze unnerving. “It’s not attachment.” I fiddled with my clutch. “It’s chemistry and fucked-up power games.”

  “He has your back.”

  “I know, but that’s not the same.” Not like he meant.

  “Okay.” He rolled up the window, capitulating so easily that I knew he was humoring me.

  17

  Lack of a full night’s sleep plus emotional fuckery led to me crashing the second my head hit the pillow.

  Waking up on Sunday morning having had more of an extended nap than a proper rest was all sorts of hideous. Groaning, I cracked an eye open, blinking through the glueyness. I stumbled into the bathroom, cranked the shower to frigid, and scrunching up my face, hopped in.

  I yelped at the tiny needles of ice pounding down my back but it did the trick. I was fully awake. Samson was out of town shooting for the next couple of days and time off from Lolita, if only in my wardrobe choices, was welcome. I slid into my modest A-line skirt, thick tights and a pretty pale pink cashmere sweater paired with black boots. At the sight of me as me and not her, my entire body relaxed.

  My phone rang as I was shrugging into my coat.

  “Those photos gave Mom and Dad a coronary,” Ari said, skipping hello.

  I laughed. “Document it.”

  “Way ahead of you. I have a pic of Mom gnashing her teeth that should sustain you for weeks.”

  “My hero. In case you think my life is all jet set and dazzle, I have a meeting tomorrow that I feel very hopeful about.” Checking to make sure I had my keycard, I slung my laptop bag across my chest, and left my room, jogging to catch the elevator that was, for a change, present and open on my floor. “How’s Kane?”

  “Haven’t seen him since the airport run,” Ari said.

  I crossed the lobby into the restaurant. The mouth-watering breakfast spread of fruit platters and baked goods would normally have tempted me but all my belly room was reserved for sampling every flavor of Trdelnik at the bakery down the road. “If you’re being coy, I approve. If you’re being stupid, stop right now.”

  The waiter at the espresso station gave me my to-go latte and I charged it to my hotel room.

  “I’m not the one groping famous celebs,” my brother said. “Mom and Dad are freaking out that someone is going to recognize their wayward daughter.”

  Just as I was about to step back into the lobby, I heard Rohan’s voice. I pressed back, peeking out at him standing less than ten feet away.

  Oh good, he looked like death warmed over: unshaven, red-eyed, kind of nauseous, with his hands bundled into his camel trench coat. A little balloon of joy danced its way through me seeing him in the seventh circle of hangover hell.

  Ari continued listing our parents’ litany of gripes with me. I only half-listened, busy spying.

  Lily walked toward Rohan from where she’d been seated at one of the lobby’s sofas, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand which she forced on him. Rohan groaned. She zipped up her coat. “You bitch now, but you’ll love me in about twenty minutes.”

  He opened the lid, sniffing at the brew. “I always love you.” He kissed the side of her head.

  I gripped my own cup so hard the lid popped off.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Lily teased. “Me and every other breathing female you want to charm.”

  “You still there?” my brother asked.

  “Sorry, yes.” I pulled a tissue out of my pocket to wipe coffee off of my fingers.

  “How’s it going otherwise?” Ari asked.

  “Oh you know. Living the dream.” Escaping unnoticed was not an option. Even if it had been, I couldn’t stop watching them. Couldn’t stop wondering where I fit in the spectrum between “always love you” and “every other breathing female.”

  Rohan pushed Lily’s glasses back up her nose. “That’s it. We’re getting these tightened so you don’t embarrass yourself yet again when a pair slips off your face and breaks.”

  She nudged him with her shoulder. “One time, buddy. You have the memory of an elephant.”

  “Only when it comes to your most embarrassing moments.”

  She laughed. “Those would be the Rohan years.”

  He pressed his hand to his heart with a gasp.

  I needed all my awareness to keep stalking so I cut my brother off mid-sentence. “Ace, I gotta run. Love you.”

  “Love you, too. Later.”

  I pressed farther behind the leaves of the plant at the restaurant’s entrance, peering out to watch Rohan drink, tracking the line of his neck with every swallow.

  “Happy?” he asked Lily.

  “Ecstatic,” she replied dryly. “Now how about some toast?”

  Rohan shuddered. “No food.” He shifted from foot-to-foot. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Without eating first?” She sighed, stroking his back. “Calm down, Ro.”

  “Then come with me and calm me down. You’re best at that anyway.” He turned puppy dog eyes on her and I almost stepped forward offering to help with a frying pan to the head.

  “Gawd, you’re in giant baby mode,” Lily said.

  Okay, I wasn’t as nice as Lily. That much was clear from the quiet care she took of him: from the extra sugar packets she’d known to hand over without him asking to the resettling of his scarf now as it slipped from his neck.

  Poppy would never have engaged in those small considerate gestures, which didn’t make me her either, or a groupie. I was trying to prove myself as Rasha. I was my own category.

  I blinked at the button I’d worried loose on my coat and sighed.

  I gave them a moment once they’d left so that I wouldn’t run into them outside before going to have breakfast all by my lonesome. Which turned out to be awesome when the sexy baker spent the next half hour flirting and plying me with pastry. By the time Drio texted me to come meet him and Rohan, my mood had improved considerably.

  Rohan answered the door to his suite. His walk with Lily must have helped because he no longer looked like crap, the cuffs of his white shirt folded crisply back, with two undone buttons showing a V of dark skin. His worn jeans molded to the long lines of his legs. The sight of him in top form once more sent my blood frothing and churning, dark tentacles lashing hot inside me.

  Stripping off my coat, I pulled a sketch of Louis XIV’s sunburst that I’d printed out in the tiny hotel business center from a folder in my laptop bag. “If you recall,” I said, handing it to Drio, “this was our first break. Samson King. Sun King. Just like Louis XIV. A possible connection.”

  “The snitch,” Rohan said, not outing Leo as my source. “He’d heard a rumor that Samson had spent time in France. It was a potential link.”

  “Yes. Since some demons have long lifespans.” Rohan was being civil, I could, too. “I wondered if maybe Samson had hung out with Louis. Picked up some tips. But I got it all wrong.” I picked up t
he next printout. This one of the black sun. “As you can see–”

  Rohan snatched the paper out of my fingers.

  “Gee, Mr. Mitra, I was doing my best clipboard impression and everything. Should I be more actual furniture, less office supply?” Nope. Apparently no civility on the menu today.

  “Black sun. Occult symbol.” He exhaled, a slow controlled breath. “I’m sorry for the furniture crack.”

  I waited but he didn’t add any other items to that apology. I sat on the couch with an unhappy thump. “I don’t buy your sincerity. Apology not accepted.”

  “What’s it gonna take?”

  I tapped my finger against my lip, thinking. “Get on your knees and grovel.”

  Drio smothered a laugh.

  Rohan narrowed his eyes. “Never gonna happen.”

  “Fine. Forget it. Drio, tell Mr. Mitra that the black sun–”

  “Nazi’s co-opted it.” Ignoring us both, Drio grabbed my laptop and started typing. “It was on that castle floor in,” he peered at the screen, “Wewelsburg.”

  “Samson recently got that sun inked as a tattoo. He showed it to me the other night in response to seeing my sunburst. I said it looked like a swastika with too many arms. He didn’t seem to care much for Nazis.” I gnawed on my fingernail. “Something about his response bothered me. It wasn’t a general dislike with their ideology. More deep-seated, intimate hate.”

  “Like they’d pissed him off. Personally,” Rohan said.

  I didn’t want to acknowledge him but Drio looked like he’d brain me with the laptop if I kept this Kindergarten shit up. “Yeah.”

  “If Samson does have ties to both Versailles and the Nazis, it could be as more than a spectator,” Drio said.

  Rohan pointed at him. “Hitler and King Louis. Both with delusions of grandeur and plans of world domination.” He went over to the mini bar and pulled three bottles of water out of the fridge, handing one to each of us.

  I riffled through my notes. “Did you know that at the Palace of Versailles, aristocrats were expected to compete for the privilege of watching the king wake up, eat meals, and prepare for bed? Sound familiar?”

  This was the type of envy-inducing humiliation King foisted on contestants on his reality show Live Like A King. All for the dubious honor of winning a position in his entourage. Bad enough contestants so willingly debased themselves, Rohan and Drio had tracked players and crew and found that they were exceedingly accident-prone. Fatally so.