Page 20 of Seven Graves

The Executioner

My foot tapped against the table I was sharing with about twelve other people, my father at the head, as I reclined in the uncomfortable contraption, staring at Viper’s picture on my phone and toying with my lip ring.

I’m not even pretending that I’m listening to whatever this meeting is about, and it shows.

All my concentration is tied up in how to convince her to allow me to get her taste stuck on my body jewelry so that I can savor it long after she’s screamed my name.

She said something about finding out how well I’d fit in her coffin—she honestly has no idea how much she turned me on.

I’d like to find out how well I fit in about four different other places, but we can certainly bring that unlikely piece of living room furniture into play. I’m very… very open to that, actually.

“Malek. Did ‘ye hear what I said?”

I glanced up at Pop and raised my eyebrows. Finn snorted across the table. “Sorry, no.”

“Maulden’s debt puts us about eleven thousand short. What’s ‘yer plan for settlin’ that?”

I’m not really sure why he’s looking at me like that’s my problem. He tells me to go kill; I go kill. Sometimes I entertain myself with it, sometimes it’s just quick and messy. I’ve never been the one to plan the who or the when. I’m just the messenger.

“My plan? My plan is to carry out whatever you tell me to.”

“You’ve gotta learn some more responsibility at some point, boy. I need ‘ye to get ‘yer head in the game. Start takin’ some initiative. We need to collect. Does Robert have family?”

I have absolutely no interest in that. It’s bad enough that I was raised to feed off slaughter, and smile at the thought of murder.

Even worse that I made my first kill, a bloody one at that, at the wee age of sixteen.

Let’s start tacking on things like making plans to kill off innocent family members that don’t deserve it or delving into money and collections.

I’m not good with numbers and I’ve got much better things to do than try to expand my knowledge in it.

Especially now that a certain someone is occupying my ginger head.

I’ll gladly let her take up all that extra space.

“He don’t. Single and miserable. Kinda like me.

” I shot him a knowing look, making sure he understood that yes…

that was a dig at the fact that you were no help in making sure Shavonn stayed on my arm.

“Why don’t you send a few of the boys to go through all his shit and see if we can hock anything he owns? ”

Finn jumped in. Always the voice of fucking reason. “If he had anything that was worth that much, Mal, then he might still be alive. With all his digits. And teeth. ”

“Not my problem. You need a planner? Hire one. I never signed up for the shit.”

My father looked like he was about to explode.

“‘Yer my son. ‘Ye didn’t have to sign up for it, Malek. Stop bein’ difficult and ‘figger it out.”

I dropped my boots from the table and sat up in my chair, having quite enough of the conversation.

“We don’t have as much pourin’ in as we used to, but we’re not hurtin’ for money, Pop.

Don’t sit there and try to pressure me with shit I have no experience in, nor do I want, when you just dropped a healthy amount on a cleaner . ”

“It’s less about the money, Malek, and more about the fact that ‘ye don’t have any ambition to be part of this family.”

Enough. I’ve had enough.

“Yeah? When’s that ever meant anything to you, Pop? Aren’t we just as expendable as the fuckin’ money?” There were a few mumbles from the people I forgot were even sitting at the table and Finn’s eyebrows lowered when he looked first at me, then to my father. “Oh, do tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Finn asked. Pop just looked at me like he’d flay me alive. I stood, pocketing my phone and straightening the collar of my shirt.

“Figure your own shit out. If there’s no ‘honey-do’ list, then I’ve got other things on my agenda today.” I turned to walk out, making it a point not to meet anyone’s eyes as I headed for the door.

“‘Ya keep this shite up, Malek Byrne, and whatever it is you keep runnin’ off to? It’ll find itself on some other agendas .”

Seven…

I tipped my head over my shoulder. “That a threat?”

“Should it be?”

“Okay. Tread carefully. Just remember you were the one that made me a killer. You already know what I’m capable of.

” I glanced around the table, definitely meeting eyes with all of them now.

“If any of you feel the need to insert yourself into my personal business…you’ll become my personal business. And you all know my trade. Slán.”

I left that room with a very damning realization.

If he goes that far, it won’t be just the O’Dell’s I’m taking down. I’ll crumble all our empires. Every last one. And suddenly, it doesn’t really matter to me which one I end up starting with.

I’m the shittiest stalker in the history of ever.

It’s taken everything in my wee Irish heart to keep from texting or calling her today.

I wanted to prove myself, and show her I am indeed a ‘good boy’…

but what even is that? Seven doesn’t strike me as the type that wants a good lad, anyway.

How boring. But all this do-gooder shit has landed me at the cafe, drinking my milkshake by myself and wondering where the hell she is.

She’s not at the apartment, either. I checked there first. Granted…

I know she has a life and could easily be just about anywhere, but the reality of knowing that I’m absolutely obsessed with a woman I truly don’t know…

is kind of embarrassing. I don’t know her favorite color, her favorite book…

favorite position ? None of that. What kind of biggest fan does it make me if I can’t even figure out where her usual hangout is when she’s not working or trying to shove her tongue down another man’s throat?

Fuck…what if that’s where she’s at?

The end of my straw got the brunt of that crappy inkling. I rang Declan.

“Yo.”

“Hey, Dec. Gotta quick trace for ya.”

“You’re startin’ to build a nice little tab, brother. I accept payment in expensive scotch, video games and pussy.”

“Would you grow up?”

“Never. What’cha got?”

“Can you ping her location for me? I can’t find her.”

I heard him snicker and wished I could kick his teeth in for it, but I rolled my lip ring back and forth across the straw, letting him work his magic. “She’s in Brooksville.”

“Brooksville? What the hell is in Brooksville?”

“Looks like…” I heard him strumming keys on his computer. “She’s at a place called Little Tumblers Gymnastics. Been there for a while now.”

“Hmm…thanks, man. I’ll find you one with a nice rack.”

“You know me so well.”

I hung up the phone and left a generous tip for the lovely cafe owner, heading back to my car.

My phone buzzed and I got excited for a second, thinking she was reaching out…

until I realized Declan, being the honorable soul that he is, sent me the link to have direct access to her GPS location.

I couldn’t tell if it was his subtle way of telling me to leave him the hell alone and stop asking for favors, or if he was activating bro code.

Probably both, but I’m grateful, anyway.

Now, the question is…do I wanna drive all the way to Brooksville?

I didn’t. I ended up sneaking into her apartment.

I’m gonna blame her for this. She gave me the idea last night on the phone.

What better way to see what she’s about than to snoop around all her personal things.

Isn’t that what stalkers do? I gotta redeem myself, somehow .

It was fairly easy getting into her door.

We’re gonna have to fix that. I walked in and the place is immaculately clean.

Open kitchen to my left that leads out into the living area.

Her coffin is so much sexier in person. It’s against the back wall where a couch would probly be in a normal person’s apartment.

There’s a small end table on either side, one with a lamp and one with a black candelabra, a half-empty mug of coffee, some snacks and a marked novel.

I went and slid it off the table, opening it to the marked page and—damn, my girl is dirty.

What is this?! I felt the grin spread across my face and I gnawed on my lip with intrigue.

If this is her fantasy, I’m so here for it.

Please, God let there be a robin at my back door, or a black cat or…

anything . I’ll do literally anything to talk her into this.

I set the smut back on the table and took a look around.

She likes dark flowers. Noted. Pretty impressive shelf full of dated literature.

About the only thing that stands out and looks out of place to me is a couple of finger-painted pictures on her fridge.

Wait— Little Tumblers Gymnastics —I’m an idiot.

While she’s been over here thinking I’m gonna chop up her family, I’ve completely forgotten about them.

I guess it is my fault that she thinks I’m that dark, but I’m honestly not.

I’ve never, and would never, hurt a child.

No matter what kind of order I’m given. I’ve gotta figure out how to make her see past everything I’ve been throwing at her.

I’m only making myself look like a bigger asshole. That’s a sour ass feeling.

Feeling pretty confident about the fact that she’s not testing the box springs on Little Jimmy’s side of town, wherever that is…

I slipped into her bedroom next. It looks about the way I imagined it would.

Black everything. Very emo. Four post bed with a black lace canopy.

I can just about imagine the way she’d look with every one of her limbs tied to this thing. I had to adjust the front of my jeans.

Easy, tiger.