Page 5 of Seven Graves

The Executioner

She’s an absolutely beautiful, pain in the ass nightmare with the smarts of a numerical wizard, the patience of a toddler, the body of a goddess and a heart made out of a paper bag full of dog shit that’s been set on fire.

She gets every damn thing she wants, and I wish I could say it was solely from the big dog himself…

but I’m just as fucking guilty. All she has to do is poke that painted lip out and I turn into feral mush and go hunting for whatever poor bastard broke her heart this week.

And by break her heart, I mean…he didn’t get the right almonds at the convenience store and unwittingly signed his own death warrant.

Bridget is the little sister nobody wants, but the one I got condemned with.

I love her fiercely, and she’s lucky I do…

or I would’ve buried her in pieces years ago.

She’s a five-foot, four-inch ball of fire with an attitude that rivals mine and—luck of the Irish—the only girl born into the darkest part of the world.

Did I get a brother to help me tame the wild beast?

No. We lost Mom during childbirth with Bridget, and Pop never remarried.

He likely won’t. One female barking orders and jerking his leash is enough.

But damn, I’m getting way too numb to taking a life on her behalf.

When she sees red, it’s over. And there’s no talking her out of it or convincing her that it’s the fiery color of her hair obstructing her good sense.

He’s a dead man, and she’s not getting her tiny hands dirty.

Earlier today, I strung up her flavor of the week by his bowels for taking her out to a dinner that made Bridget’s tummy hurt.

Yes, it’s that petty and ridiculous. Pop said to take care of it…

so I did. That’s usually how it goes. The brat doesn’t even ask me anymore.

She goes straight to Daddy and stomps her little feet until she inevitably gets her way.

The poor guy didn’t even see it coming. From what I understand, she didn’t even break things off before she decided the bell was ringing for this kid’s life.

It’s been heavily stressed that it’s not my place to question it, so at this point… I don’t anymore.

I’ve barely been in the shower for five minutes and I can hear my bedroom door putting up a fight against her fist. It’s always the same.

She’s got the bloodlust of a starving vampire.

She wants to see the pictures I’m forced to take of every body I drop for her and…

like the sweet big brother I am, I didn’t immediately seek her out when I got back to the house.

How dare I rid myself of this guy’s innards before serving her dessert before dinner?

I toweled off and shrugged on a pair of jeans before opening the bathroom door to see her tearing through my phone, sitting cross-legged on my bed.

“I thought he’d make a prettier corpse. What a dipshit.

” Her bare feet swayed in the air behind her while she stretched out on her stomach, completely engrossed in a senseless murder.

I tried to contain my insufferable eye roll, lest she go back and tell Daddy about that too, and finished drying my hair.

“Why didn’t you come get me? I’ve been waiting for hours.

You didn’t text me back either, and don’t say you never got it.

” She turned her snarky head in my direction and the phone with it. “It’s right here.”

“Bridget, it might not ever occur to you that we have more shit to deal with sometimes than whoever ‘pished you off today.” I grit my teeth when I turned away and started rummaging through my wardrobe for a shirt. I’ve waited years to take a literal whack at the company we have coming tonight, and fuck if I’m gonna let her ruin this for me.

“What’s got your nuts in a knot?”

“The O’Dell’s. They’ll be here in less than an hour. You got what you wanted. Get outta my room.”

She got surprisingly quiet. Quiet enough that I looked over my shoulder to see her gnawing on her red lip. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. Is he coming?”

“He has no choice. The only way Pop is closing that deal with them is through Braughton, himself. He can’t afford not to come. It’s gonna be tonight. I’m not waiting a second after he puts that money through and it’s confirmed.”

She dropped my phone to the bed and slid off the edge, padding to the bedroom door. Before she opened it, she turned and gave me a onceover. “It shoulda been you, Malek. Nobody disagrees with that. But killin’ that pig won’t bring her back. And it doesn’t really feel that much better afterwards.”

“That’s rich, comin’ from you .”

“Feels good at first,” she shrugged. “But I can’t say I don’t regret some of ‘em. It’s left more tears in my pillow than I care to admit. And if you tell anybody that, I’ll snap your cock off.”

“Noted. Thanks.”

I buttoned my shirt, staring at my reflection in the gilded mirror and straightening my collar, knowing damn well I’d see the life leave that fucker’s eyes tonight.

It’ll be the most satisfying kill I’ve ever made, no matter what Bridget says.

Seven years ago, the lass I loved and planned to marry, or maybe just run away with…

was sold off to the O’Dell’s. Shavonn has been my everything since we were wee kids, but growing up with the kind of families we have…

not everybody is as ‘lucky’ as fucking Bridget.

We were already close-knit with the McCannon’s, and there was opportunity there for Shavonn’s father to tie in with Nolan O’Dell.

They thought it would put a plug in the blood flow between all of us.

All it really did was make it worse…make it darker .

I tried my best to fight it and so did she.

I offered everything, even my soul, to get her out of it.

Braughton O’Dell has been one of my biggest rivals since before either of us were even born.

The Byrne’s and the O’Dell’s have had a long-standing feud for nearly fifty years.

My father never had any ambition to end it…

until my little sapphire ended her own life.

That was two years ago, now.

I vowed to be the one to slaughter this prick the day he forced her to take his last name.

The day he tried to stake a claim in what was fucking mine .

And now she’s lost to us both. Forever. Six months ago, Pop struck a deal with Braughton’s father, and after nearly half a century of playing cat and mouse… we’re on a level of parlay.

Or so they believe.

We’re selling nearly a hundred-thousand dollars’ worth of guns and blow that will be personally delivered to the O’Dell sanction in actual Belfast later this week, and from there…

distributed out to other potential buyers.

A slow trickle that is quickly becoming a business far more lucrative than whiskey.

And twice as dangerous, which is where I like to thrive.

I’ll be killing the heir to the O’Dell throne tonight.

It’ll be a slight bump in the beaten path, but old man Nolan has known this was coming for his eldest son for some time now, and he has three others to fulfill the role.

Whether they live long enough to do so, after tonight…

that’s something we’ll have to find out as the chips fall.

I’ve been my father’s paid executioner since I was sixteen.

I’ve paid my dues. I’ve done my waiting.

I’ve been the ever patient and doting big brother.

I’ve made my sacrifices. He owes me this night.

The life I’m about to claim now, seems like a sorry-ass payment for the one they took from me, but I’ll sleep better knowing he no longer breathes the same air.

To know that the last thing this sack of shit sees…

is the tip of my blade before I gouge his pretty blue eyes out and use them to season my stew.

I dragged a hand through my hair, trembling with excitement before heading downstairs.

I’ve been standing outside this door for almost an hour.

My palms are twitching. My blood is singing.

I can hear Braughton’s clean voice through the wood and it’s splintering my fucking eardrums. He’s got three guys with him.

Clearly, he’s not as bright as I was generous enough to give him credit for.

It would take Nolan’s entire army to stop me from ripping his throat out tonight.

I can almost taste the spray of blood in my mouth.

“He’s ready,” Conor whispers, sliding his silenced phone back into his pocket.

He used to run the books for the O’Dell’s, and he wants this chance to act out as bad as I do…

I can tell. But I’ve never trusted Conor, and I’ll have a sharp eye on him throughout this little blood bath…

even if Pop is naive enough to think he’s not a dirty little prick.

He turned his back on me and opened the door and Braughton’s face went fifty shades of gray when he saw me trail in behind.

Good. I want you to know what’s coming.

“Callum, what is this?” Your fucking comeuppance. The little bitch darted his head back and forth like Pop was gonna save him. “You know if I don’t show up at that—”

“‘Yer father paid a great deal for the shipment…as did I. This is where I leave you, Braughton. Pleasure doin’ business.”

I knew he’d made it possible for me to have my moment, but I hadn’t known the little detail that Nolan had sold his own son into the hands of the fucking Reaper.

My father buttoned his jacket and walked towards me, clapping my shoulder on his way out the door.

My cue to enjoy the gift he likely paid a steep price for.

One I paid everything for. I’ll have to find a way to properly thank him for this.

“Fuckin’ traitor .”