Page 16 of Seven Graves

It’s always the same. Whiskey, parties…money.

Sex. Cigars…blood. More sex. More blood, and lately…

less and less money. Finley was the main one pushing the idea for the guns and the drugs, and for what it’s worth, it’s a brilliant idea.

But the bigger issue at hand is that the Byrnes are on top and have been for a really long time…

and the empire’s falling. People are starting to notice.

The wrong people. I know that’s another reason that my father wants this blood feud to end.

But making my sister take one for the team isn’t the answer.

I wonder if Finn knows about it. He loves Bridget as much as I do, but their shit goes deeper than that.

She just won’t give him the pleasure of making her into the queen he sees her as.

And don’t believe for one second that just because he’s the money man, that he isn’t just as bloodthirsty as Bridget, or any one of us Irish demons.

He’s had his fair share of my sister’s playthings to string up and throw knives at. He’s just cleaner about it.

I finally laid down and felt my body become one with the bed, thankful to Bridget for cleaning up my mess earlier this morning.

I’ll never tell her that, though. I’d actually love to make another mess, but honestly, I’m just too fucking tired to bother.

Tired of everything. Somehow it feels like now that I took my own shit out on Braughton, I feel pretty complete.

Like I checked one of the last boxes off my list. I wasn’t completely honest with the prick before I sent him straight to Hell.

He said he didn’t want this life. I told him I did.

The truth is…I really don’t anymore. I never truly had a choice in the matter, and I still don’t. But it’s the cards I’ve been dealt.

Luck. Of. The. Irish.

Be that as it may, though…I still have a box to check off.

I’m not complete just yet. I pulled my phone out and flipped through a couple pictures I managed to take of Seven in her pretty night thingie.

And then I set off to rewatch her dozens of social media posts, answering all the burning questions about the mortuary business from people that are…

dying …to know. Haha…see what I did there?

“I didn’t—m-mean to. I swear, if y-you just—”

Can I just be real? I can deal with a lot of smells, but piss?

Especially terrified piss? That shit just gives me a headache.

I mean…it could be because I’m really lacking on my sleep, and it’s way too fucking early in the morning to be dealing with this shit, but…

it’s not the first time I’ve had this issue.

I really… really , hate piss. And this guy has it in spades.

“I believe you, mate. Truly, I do. But sadly, I don’t make the rules. I go where I’m told for one reason, and one reason only. If the big guy says your card is punched, then…it’s pretty punched. Last chance to do it with some dignity. I’m on a bit of a tight schedule.”

This is Robert Maulden. Robert borrowed some money that he’s had a hard time paying back.

It’s not that I don’t feel for the guy. He’s got a gambling problem.

But he had warnings. Several of ‘em, that cost him two of his fingers now, and the gold tooth he let me pull out with a pair of pliers just for the sake of having an extra month to come up with the rest. Wasn’t my call.

I was taking out orders for Pop then, too.

I’m a sympathetic guy…sometimes. Today, he’s caught me in kind of a mood.

The longer I sit here dragging this out, the less time I have to play super spy on my little daydream. That simply won’t do.

“C-can’t you just…take another finger?”

I sighed and my shoulders sagged. “Dude, do you not get it? If your plan is to pay in body parts we can’t do shite with, you owe enough for a whole body, anyway. You’re a dead man no matter how you look at it. Now can we please get on with it? Or am I gonna have to gag you?”

“Please! Malek, please!”

“Gag you it is.”

I had him hanging from chains in his own garage by his arms. I think this contraption is meant to skin deer or some shit, but it’s been pretty handy so far.

I bent over, snatching his shoe off, then one of his socks and—fuck—they stink.

The poor guy should have just handled this like a Viking and took his demise in silence in the good name of Valhalla.

I balled it up and shoved it into his mouth.

“Safe journeys, buddy. Been a pleasure.”

My knife buried into his round gut and his muffled groan actually did nothing for me today.

I twisted the handle and wasn’t getting much from that noise either.

Thinking maybe I just got up on the wrong side of my very comfortable bed this morning, I dragged it through organs and muscle…

and blubber…all the way down to his waist, turning the knife clockwise until I felt it give.

I ripped it out with some force and his insides strung out with it, cascading impressively over his spare tire and some on the concrete floor of the garage.

That’ll do.

He was gurgling now, and I touched a couple fingers to my forehead, then both my shoulders and lastly, my heart, kissing my fingertips as I pressed them chastely to the tip of his nose.

I cleaned my blade on the leg of his dirty pants while his body trembled with its last attempt to fight off death.

And then I walked out and left him there.

I wonder who’s gonna find his body?

I wonder how long it’ll take?

How would Little Viper clean this one? I’m so curious about how her wheels turn. Curious what makes her tick…other than my presence. I was halfway to my car when I stopped dead, the answer to all my problems suddenly sparking to life.

That’s how I’ll do it.

Bridget won’t have to worry about being caught up with the O’Dell’s if they don’t fucking exist anymore.

I made the comment about her getting bored and having me pick ‘em off for her, but…what if I just pick ‘em off anyway? Before they even have a chance to figure out how little time it takes her to decide she’s unamused? I’ll kill them and ask Seven to clean up for me…

in exchange for destroying any evidence that she was ever part of this shit show.

She’ll go for it. I know she will. And in the time that she spends trying to fill that quota and get away… I’ll convince her to stick around.

Damn, I just had a smart moment. And nobody was here to witness it except ‘ole Robert back there. I glanced over my shoulder into the garage. Nevermind…he didn’t see it either.

Whatever.

I’m on a high. Fuck checking in at the house. I’ll text Pop that it’s done. I’ve got another date with a hot mortician.