Seven Graves by H.B. Elliott

Author:H.B. Elliott [Elliott, H.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2025-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Every word he said to me was still ringing in my ears when I unlocked my door and found Bridget chopping vegetables at the kitchen island. Every word…and what he went out of his way to do today. Even if hacking into our computer system was a bit much.

No one has ever done anything like this for me. Not ever. I couldn’t even get my chair pulled out on a date. And then I went and threw a molotov cocktail into his ego, which would normally fill me with delight, but somehow…somehow right now, it just doesn’t. I set my bag on the table, and an obnoxious vase of about two dozen blood-orange roses sat between me and Malek’s baby sister.

Deep orange…

“Hey. I saw you had a thing for plants, so I got you these as a thank you. For all you’re doing. I’m also trying to cook, but…I’m known to burn fucking water, so…I don’t really know how this is gonna turn out.”

“Bridget…these are stunning. I—thank you.”

“Don’t get soft and shit. I’m cutting onions.” She sniffled and wiped her eye with the back of her wrist. “I’m not used to all this happiness. It’s disgusting.”

I walked around the island and bumped my hip against hers, kissing her on the temple and taking the knife out of her hand. “What are we burning? Lemme help.”

“Well, I saw this thing on Malek’s phone for some sort of vegetable lasagna? It seemed easier than it is.”

The door opened, and he stepped through it—two pizza boxes in one hand.

“If she hasn’t already cremated our dinner, I’ve already decided I’m not eatin’ that shite. Pizza?” Bridget’s mouth dropped open and her brows knotted.

“You know what? I take back everything I ever said about loving you, Malek Byrne. I hope they gave you anchovies. I hope somebody’s toenail is in that pizza. I hope it gets stuck in your windpipe, and you need a stoma to speak for the rest of your life.”

“So…no to the pizza, then?” I tried to cover my mouth and keep from laughing. Bridget shoved the vegetables aside and reached over the counter.

“Gimme that. Fucker.”

I ate in silence, listening to them bicker back and forth for a while, and if I’d really put a dent in Malek’s swag, he wasn’t letting it show. At least not in front of his sister. We started a slasher movie, and I was laying next to Bridget, who was snoring, watching the undead murderer chase an idiot with obviously fake tits through a slaughterhouse.

“I hope her boobs are the first thing to go,” I said through a mouthful of popcorn. Malek snorted from his spot in the coffin.

“I don’t like her face. I’d probly take care of that first.” I turned my head in surprise.

“Really?”

He glanced at me and grinned, chewing. “I mean, yeah. I don’t have a particular order to the madness. If I’m carvin’ somebody up like a Christmas ham, then I start with whatever feels right.”

To be inside the mind of a butcher…I’m perplexed.

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