The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(26)
“Now you’ve got me curious. What’s up?”
Rohan hesitated.
I raised my hands. “If I haven’t earned need-to-know clearance yet, I get it.”
“It’s not that. You’ll freak out.”
I picked up a pen left on top of the book pile and chucked it at him.
He caught it one-handed, studying me a moment, tapping the pen against his thigh.
I tried not to stare, my fingers twitching at the memory of his steely hard muscles. Or replace the pen with my tongue.
“First off, you understand now that you’re bound by all Rasha oaths of secrecy not to discuss what you’ve heard.” He shot me a wry look. “That includes not telling your brother.”
I totally met his eyes when I agreed but he stared me down until I squirmed. “All right, already,” I groused. “I won’t dish.”
“We suspect Samson King is a demon.”
Rohan winced as I smacked his arm.
“No way! He’s a celeb A-lister. I mean, yeah, he’s got that smug rich kid vibe, even though he’s got to be pushing thirty, but I figured someone that famous was just another overcompensating,” I wagged my pinky meaningfully, “asshole celeb.”
Rohan leaned in, his elbows braced on his knees, and a serious expression on his face. “I’m concerned about your fetish for the peen, Lolita. Do we need to have a talk?”
“Curiosity about celebrity genitalia is hardly fetish. It’s practically hardwired into Western society’s DNA.”
“Hence, the race to the bottom,” he muttered.
“Besides, I bet you fifty bucks there’s more than a few sites devoted to your particular width and girth, Mr. Mitra.”
“All of which would be staggeringly wrong.”
The twin desires to both smack the smug off his face and rip off his pants to see for myself should have negated each other and yet, there they were. “Seriously, his stupid reality show Live like a King hits douchebag territory, but a demon?”
Rohan spread his fingers three inches apart. “Our dossier on him is already that thick.” His hand clenched into a fist. “Trouble is, everything is circumstantial. Rumors and speculation. We don’t have the hard proof such as his name or true form that would allow me to sanction the kill.”
“Yet.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yet. The seven deadly sins are mother’s milk to demons and that show? It’s the ultimate in envy with those humiliating challenges contestants do to be part of King’s entourage.”
“It’s almost worse that he’s not around to witness most of it,” I said. “He just drops in with the occasional visit, a cocky smile, and a joke, and contestants redouble their efforts take each other out and get near him.”
“He incites jealousy, even though on the surface it seems like he’s inviting people along for the ride. In fact, if you deconstruct it, most of his brand is devoted to making people feel bad about themselves.”
“By reminding them they’re not him.” I nodded. “He has that other reality show too, all about his limitless wealth and partying and he’s always living large in his movies. The ultimate good-time dude and people love it. Love him.”
“That’s the problem.” Rohan braced one foot on the coffee table. “His public persona is funny and charming. He’s smart. Comes off as the guy most likely to buy a round, fly everyone to Vegas for a night out. No scandals, no rumors of deviant behavior. He’s a huge star with a huge social media presence–a huge reach–and that makes him very dangerous.” He stretched an arm out along the top of the sofa. “His brand has an adverse affect on people that’s way out of line with other celebs. More than people jealous or bummed out that they don’t get to live his lifestyle.”
“Like what? People quitting this cruel world because they don’t get to be him?” Had I known being Rasha meant getting all up in stars’ dirty business, I’d have signed up years ago.
“Yeah. After Live like a King aired, Drio and I started tracking down everyone affiliated with the show. A lot of contestants and crew had died.” He danced the pen over his knuckles as he spoke. “They all seemed like accidents: motorcycle crash, OD, that kind of thing, but given the mental state of the people, we believe they were suicides.” He white-knuckled the pen. “Then there was the disaster at Kingdom Come.”
Talk about a nightmare. Samson had invited a bunch of his rock star and hip hop friends to a concert in the desert. A couple hundred thousand people packed in all day with insufficient water and for the grand finale, when King himself took the stage for his singing debut, some scaffolding collapsed. Between that carnage and sunstroked dehydration, hundreds were left dead and wounded. And still people fell all over themselves to defend him and his shitty concert.
“Was the collapse deliberate?” I tugged the pen out of his hand because he was about to pulverize the poor thing. Had Rohan known any of the performers that had died?
He looked down in surprise, as if he’d forgotten he’d had the writing utensil in the first place. “We have questions about the mindset of the rigger in charge. He’d been tight with Samson. If King is feeding off the pain and misery he causes, he’s gaining incredible power, but to what end?”