Chapter 173 172: Sacrifices and Revelry

Soren sighed, but the serious look on Patty's face left him little choice. He held out his right hand.

Patty gave a satisfied little hum, rested her fingers in his palm, and stepped out of the car with deliberate elegance.

She wore a cream off-shoulder lace mini dress that cinched at the waist and showed off the clean line of her collarbones. A thin silver necklace rested against pale skin. Her blonde hair was pinned up, a few loose strands framing her face. The asymmetric lace hem fell just far enough to cover the tops of her thighs.

"Well?" she asked, chin tilted, eyes bright. "Do I look good?"

The second her feet hit the ground she latched onto Soren's arm like she was planting a flag, then reached back with her free hand and took Carrie's without thinking.

A light, sweet strawberry scent drifted up with her.

"Not bad," Soren said. His gaze dropped to the little leather shoes on her feet—each one finished with a tiny pink bow.

The childish detail should have clashed with the mature lace, but somehow only Patty could make the combination work.

The campus had already turned into open season.

Strings of temporary lights swayed in the night breeze, flooding the main walk with color. Bass-heavy music rolled out of distant speakers hard enough to match a heartbeat. Colored tents crowded the lawns. Groups of students moved between them with plastic cups in hand, bodies already moving to the beat, burning through youth and hormones like they had endless supplies of both.

Soren felt a brief, disconnected flicker. The last time he had walked a university campus felt like another lifetime. Compared to the quieter, more reserved atmosphere of the schools back home, the air here was blunt and open.

Even with Patty clamped to his arm, more than a few girls still shot him looks as they passed. A couple in short dresses raised their cups from a distance and blew exaggerated kisses. Patty glared the entire walk, grip tightening another notch every time.

Carrie stayed quieter beside them. The noise, the unapologetic couples making out in plain view—everything scraped against the strict religious upbringing she had grown up under. Her head stayed down. Her steps were small and uncertain.

Soren noticed. He cleared his throat and flicked a look at Patty.

Patty blinked, then glanced at Carrie and grinned. "Hey, you've got us. What's there to be scared of?"

She tugged both of them forward. "If we move any slower the good food stalls are going to be cleaned out!"

—

Backstage, in a private dressing room behind the auditorium, the members of Low Shoulder sprawled across the couches. Empty beer bottles and a full ashtray cluttered the low table.

"Gotta say, life's been pretty fucking sweet lately," the drummer said, flicking ash. "That fire was the best thing that ever happened to us. Media's calling us goddamn saviors."

"Especially when we told the cameras we'd donate three percent of the new album to the victims' families." He laughed. "The brain-dead fans almost came on the spot. Calling us American heroes left and right."

The room broke into loud, ugly laughter.

The lead singer's phone buzzed. Nikolai glanced at the screen, expression shifting. He held up one finger for silence.

The room went quiet.

He stepped into the corner, spoke for less than a minute, then hung up.

"Well?" the others crowded in.

"Fuck," Nikolai muttered. "They want another girl. Last sacrifice failed. That Jennifer chick—wasn't a virgin."

"That's it?" The bassist clicked his tongue. "Hot little black-haired piece like that and she wasn't pure? If we'd known the ritual was a bust we should've just used her in the van first. What a waste."

Nikolai shrugged. "Without her we never would've blown up like this. With the heat we're packing now, the line of girls who'd climb into bed with us stretches from here to the front gate. Finding a few with good bodies isn't hard."

He flicked his cigarette away.

A few months ago they had been a nobody band living off cold noodles in a basement. Then someone reached out privately: sacrifice one virgin near Los Santos and the money and fame would follow. Easy deal. They had set the bar fire themselves for the chaos, grabbed the girl in the confusion, and let the paid PR machine turn them into heroes overnight.

Jennifer had been almost perfect—pretty, trusting, from their hometown. Almost.

"When do we move?" the keyboardist rubbed his hands, already impatient.

"After our set, obviously." A nasty light flickered in Nikolai's eyes. "Get the real work done early, then we can still take a couple of the hot ones home and finish the night right."

They looked at each other and grinned the same dirty grin.

A knock hit the door.

A school staffer poked his head in. "Gentlemen, the dance has started. You're on in about forty minutes. Please get ready."

The filth vanished from their faces in a blink. They nodded with polished rock-star smiles.

The second the door closed the bassist smashed his bottle on the floor. "We're this big and they still stick us in the middle of the bill? Fucking school doesn't know how to treat talent!"

The others joined the complaining.

"Quit acting like hillbillies," Nikolai said coldly. "Once this next sacrifice lands, they'll work twice as hard pushing us. A campus carnival at this level won't even qualify to book us."