Samson clinked his glass to mine. "Got it."
Bolstered by that small success, I continued. "My job is to show them that I'm the one they want in charge of their tastes and culture." I shrugged. "I just need a larger platform."
A boisterous shout of laughter came from across the bar, interrupting us. Rohan captivated a group with some story while Poppy stood as close to him as she could without Crazy Glue to keep her attached.
"Looks like my co-star is interested in following your lead," King said, jerking his chin at Poppy. Co-star? Fuck me. "Unless of course, she's there by private invitation."
I gave a dismissive flap of my hand, refraining from pointing out that he was the one who'd pushed her into Rohan's path to begin with. "Boys will be boys, and rock stars are definitely boys." I felt like a traitor to my gender even uttering such inane bullshit.
Rohan caught my eye at that moment. I winked at him and he grinned back. Poppy went pinchy-faced.
"Like I said," I told Samson with a smirk, "show them I'm the one they want in charge of their tastes."
"Why Lolita," Samson gasped, "and here I thought you were such a good girl."
"Oh baby, I'm very good. You just don't know me." I put my back to him and knocked back my shot.
Samson pressed up behind me, speaking into my ear. "I stand corrected."
I suppressed my shudder at the feel of his hard-on against my spine. Turning to face him, I pushed him back a few steps, tsking him.
"Maybe Rohan's not the guy for you," he said.
I arched an eyebrow.
"He turned his back on stardom. I find that kind of extreme behavior boring. So black and white when shades of gray make a much more interesting playground."
I willed my racing pulse to slow. Did Samson suspect? Was this a veiled threat against all Rasha or a blatant erotica reference? I got nothing from his expression. Making sure not to let my apprehension show, I shrugged. "I'm not with him for his worldview."
"What's he been up to anyway?" He sipped his scotch, his casual expression at odds with his unwavering gaze. If Rohan hadn't told me that he figured he was being set up, I'd have been insulted by Samson's continued interest in Snowflake instead of me. "I know he said he took a break, did some traveling, but he was on top. You don't walk away from that without a good reason or a scandal." Samson leaned in conspiratorially. "I'll take either."
His reason had been becoming Rasha. Although, I agreed that Rohan shouldn't have walked away from making music. I was so glad that even under duress and the fact this was a mission that he was connecting with his creative side again.
I could have tossed out that Rohan and I didn't do a lot of talking and I didn't know his reasons, but there was a weight behind the way Samson waited for my answer. "Fame fucked him up." If he thought any less of Rohan for it, so be it. Snowflake had nothing to prove.
All the vodka after the wine with dinner was starting to make me wonky, and this verbal sparring without any solid lead was giving me a headache.
He tapped his finger twice on the bar. "Well, I only came over to tell you how much I liked your sun."
"Thanks." Pouring myself a glass of water from a carafe, I winked at him. "Shows you have good taste."
He ran a hand over himself like a show model. "Obviously. But I also appreciate a good ball of flame." He unbuttoned his cuff, rolling up his sleeve to reveal the tattoo on the inside of his elbow.
I gripped my water glass, excitement coursing through me. I'd seen Samson's tattoos. Drio and Rohan had photos of them. They'd studied them trying to connect the designs with any known mythology, demon or otherwise. The designs they'd shown me were pretty generic. But what I was looking at now? A solid black circle sat in the middle of two concentric black rings. The outer ring acted as a frame for the twelve jagged spokes emanating from the center.
"That's a sun? It looks like a swastika with too many arms," I said, because that was true, too. It convinced me further this was a clue. Hitler had been fascinated with the occult and this stylized black sun fit the bill.
Samson stroked it. "I have no time for Nazis." He sounded genuinely disgusted, but his phrasing was odd. As if they'd personally done something to offend him. Was Samson tied to both Louis XIV and Hitler? Too much guesswork, not enough hard proof. "Just got it done."
I was so focused on committing the design to memory so I could tell Drio and Rohan about it, that I missed what he said next. "Sorry?"