The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(54)

My face turned hot and tight. Poppy sure knew how to use that mouth of hers. "Not sure where you got your information, but Rohan and I are fine." Other than me wanting to smack him upside the head. "Also, you're wrong." Without even looking the waiter's way, I held up my champagne glass, expecting it to be refilled. "I'm not his groupie."

Samson leaned back, a look of pity on his face.

I took a ladylike sip, enjoying the sensation of cold fizzy liquid. "I'm lightning girl."

"I don't understand."

"‘Toccata and Fugue.'"

"Rohan's first hit," Samson said. I raised an eyebrow and waited for him to make the connection. "He wrote it about you?"

"Ask him."

"Oh, I will." There was something cruel in his smile.

Sweat broke out along the back of my neck.

There was no bill to settle up. Samson threw his napkin down and the meal was over. Still unnerved, I was about to make some excuse to end the evening when he said, "Wait," busy typing a text.

"We're meeting up with Rohan." He stood up.

Awesome. I shoved my chair back.

Brickie once again drove us to our destination. So far, I'd seen no sign of Samson's security detail. Maybe Brickie was deterrent enough since the restaurant had been empty save for the staff.

This time, there was no chit chat on the ride. Samson watched music videos and I stared out the window into the night, breathing my way through the remnants of feeling humiliated and trying not to dwell on Rohan's potential reaction when he heard what I'd said.

A sign on the cigar bar that we pulled up to announced the establishment closed due to a private party. I had no idea how Rohan had found this gathering but having seen Samson's choice of party last night, I prayed this was more sedate. If not, I'd stick with Drio and –Hell was officially freezing over if that was my upside.



       
         
       
        

Two hipsters at the front of the line were haggling with the bouncer. "This is shite," one pronounced in a thick Irish accent. "Poppy assured us we were on the guest list. Check again."

Poppy? This was her party? I didn't think my eyebrows could rise any higher.

"Mr. Mitra set the guest list," the bouncer told him.

Nope. My eyebrows climbed another inch. This was Rohan's party.

Hipster number two laughed. "Knowing Pops, she's calling the shots. Check again, man. My bollocks are freezing off."

I shoved past the pair, finding myself momentarily blocked by the muscle in Tom Ford. He could cross his arms all he wanted. No one was stopping me from getting inside. Pointedly I swung my head between him and Samson.

A beat, then recognition crossed over the bouncer's features and he scrambled to let us through.

I sailed in, head held high.

"That Poppy," Samson chuckled from behind me, loud enough to hear over the Latin jazz pumping out through the speakers.

As I glanced back at him, I'd swear his eyes twinkled. My fingers dug into my clutch.

From the mismatched leather vintage furniture to abstract silver flash art stenciled on the walls and the neon-illuminated cigar collection taking up one wall, it was a pretty cool space. The crowd was boisterous, bright eyed, and hammered. Lots of loud laughter, lots of touching.

I couldn't wait to find Poppy and Rohan and make my night complete. I tossed my coat on a chair as someone grabbed my elbow. I tensed thinking it was Rohan, but it was Drio, an uncharacteristic edginess in his stance.

"Oh good, it's you," I said, beyond caring that this was totally weird. He wasn't Samson and he wasn't Rohan and that was good enough for me.

"Whatever happens tonight," he said, "understand that –"

"My man." Samson joined us, fist bumping Drio.

My fellow Rasha snapped back into his laconic persona. "Dude, we can finally get the party started. Come on. Ro's back here." He barreled into the crowd, Samson and I right behind him.

The sight of Rohan, flushed and sitting on a high barstool under a funky glass lighting fixture holding a highball of whiskey, sent my pulse into overdrive.

The sight of Poppy's fingers messing his hair up made me see red. I could have accepted this from Lily. But her? If a blowjob came with personal property rights then I owned every acre of him by now, and there was no such thing as squatter's rights in this universe.

Rohan grinned at Samson's appearance. "All hail the esteemed Samson King." Rohan held up a glass in salutation. He shot the booze back, slamming the glass on the table where it joined a half dozen others, then swaggered off his chair, a flash of something I couldn't name in the brief glance he spared me.