The Executioner
I got her.
I wondered how long it would be after my little performance before she took care of everything I knew was firing up between her sexy tattooed legs. I didn’t make it out of her neighborhood before the texts started firing off. I smiled to myself, shifting gears and turning up the volume on the radio, the great Ville Valo chiming out every way I was gonna have Seven crawling to me, one way or another.
“She’ll be right here in my arms, so in loooove…”
And she will.
It’s not really a secret that all a man with an Irish soul has to do to reel one in, is what he wasbornto do…sing them sweet nothings until they can’t resist us anymore. Actually, it’s most definitely a long shot. I have a horrid singing voice, but it’s an outlet I’m still gonna try. Bet you she’ll be singingJadedevery day for the next week, thinking about my manhood. I’m quite proud of this little move on the chessboard, if I do say so myself. Even prouder that I’m riding shotgun with the Girthmaster she’s currently looking for, and I snatched that right out from under her nose without rustling a single one of her feathers.
I didn’t peek at my phone until I was pulling through the gate at the house. Oh, she’smad. I love it when she threatens me. It makes all the blood go straight to my cock. Just the sheer balls she had to poke that little fork into the hollow of my throat—now that might have got me more hard than when she held a knife to my dick. Little Viper is a savage. I can’t stop smiling. I still was when I pranced into the house.
Short-lived.
Bridget met me in the foyer, dressed to the nines in a red dress with a thigh split that was way too damn high for a lass her age, and heels that you’d otherwise find on a stripper.
“Where the hell have you been? And where’s yourshirt?”
“Morning, Bridget.”
I continued towards the stairs, her clacking following me every step. “Don’t you‘morning, Bridget’me. Why do you smell like a tanning salon?” I smirked and lifted the side of my jacket to get a whiff of Seven’s coconut shampoo. “It’s almost three in the afternoon. You’ve gotta get ready. I’ve called you a thousand times, Mal.” I paused at the top of the stairs, finally remembering why she looked like a slut about to go to the opera.
“The banquet.”
“Yeah, the banquet. You can’t tell me to stay away from the brothers and then leave me to fend the wolves off bymyself, Malek. Where were you?”
“I’m sorry, Bridge. I forgot, okay?” I tugged at a curl of copper hair by her face. “You look devastating.”
She batted my hand away, rolling her eyes with a smirk. “I know I do. Stop trying to be cute and tell me where it is you keep disappearing to. Better me than Finley.”
My head sprang up. “Finley? Whadd’ya mean?”
“You gotta stop pissin’ him off, Malek. Daddy doesn’t know that I know, but he gave Finn a hit last night after you stormed out.Yourhit. And he’s supposed to be keepin’ eyes on you.”
“And you know thishow?”
“Because Finn still worships the quicksand I walk on, that’s how. He doesn’t wanna do it, but he’s not gonna say no to Daddy and you know it.”
My teeth are grinding. My jaw is set. I was in no mood to spill blood last night, but I sure as shit am now. This is a power shift. And Pop’s trying to teach me a lesson. So be it, then. Thisisn’t gonna go the way he wants it to go. Not with the cards I’ve got up my bloody sleeve. Now, it’s a banquet I’m looking forward to, when two seconds ago, it was the last fucking thing I wanted to do.
“Thank you. I’ll be down in a few minutes. When the banquet’s over, we’re going out. So be ready.”
“What the hell makes you think I’d wanna go out withyou?You’re the worst wingman ever.”
I rolled my eyes. “You wanna know where I’m going, or not? Stop bitchin’ and pack a bag. You’re way too overdressed. I’m not goin’ anywhere with you lookin’ like that.” Truthfully…she’sunderdressed. Not enough fabric on her tits, her legs, or her back. It’s setting my brotherly alarms off, and I know I’m gonna need to get it together, because the first time either of those midget-dick fucks starts eyeing her like a piece of meat…
“Fine.”
I turned on my heel and started down the hallway, leaving her behind.
“Later, brat.”
Most people have an outfit for everything. I’d like to say that I’m different, but for times like these, I definitely have a specific getup that sets the tone that I’m not to be fucked with. I call it my lucky shirt. It’s pinstripe, black, and fits in all the right places. I always feel like a badass in it, and tonight…I’m accessorizing. My face is getting sore from the smile I can’t seem to kill off. I also need to write down whatever shampoo Seven uses. I might smell like Malibu Ken, but my hair never looked this damn good.
Braughton’s gold ring still has dried blood caked to it, and it’s dangling from a silver chain around my neck. I left the top few buttons open to make sure these little bitches see it. I want them to know what’s coming for ‘em if they think either one of them is about to park their diseased cocks into my little sister. Shavonn was bad enough. This’ll never happen.
I’ll never wear dress shoes. The DNA I’ve acquired on these boots is a brand I fucking earned, and I’ll keep repairing the soles in them until they bury me in these things. It also bothers Pop more than when he has to look at my bare feet. I think that’s a thing. Either way…the O’Dell’s won’t be the only ones I make sweat tonight. I checked the mirror for the last time, satisfied with what I saw, and went to meet Bridget who was waiting at the bottom of the stairwell. Neither of us said a word as I offered my elbow and we walked to the massive dining room a couple hallways down.
