Callum’s Hell

by Mason, V. F.

  Martina kidnapped me on my wedding day!

  Before I can digest this information, the door of the minivan—I understand now where I am—opens, and Martina greets me, pointing a gun at me.

  “Get out.” I blink in shock, and she screeches, “Get out of the car.”

  “Martina, we can talk—” The words stick in my throat when I see two men, bodyguards by the looks of them, holding their own guns at me, while Martina barks again, “Get out of the fucking car before I shoot you, Giselle.”

  Dear God, what the hell is going on?

  I scoot forward, my legs tangling in the all the chiffon, and Martina huffs in exasperation, motioning with her head to one of the guards.

  He grabs my elbow and drags me out, digging his beefy fingers into my skin, and I cry out. “Careful. Let go of me!” I tell him, finally standing on the ground. Shaking and frowning, I glance down and lift my dress.

  One of my heels is broken, so I’m tilting to the right side while my left ankle aches.

  Pulling away my elbow, I toe off the shoes and step barefoot on the concrete.

  Martina moves in front of me, and I open my mouth to ask her why she is acting like a psycho, when she hits me hard with the back of her gun. Instantly, pain travels through my jaw, and for a second, I can’t even move it. Then she fists my hair and presses the tip of the gun to my temple, her face twisted in an evil grimace, and I don’t recognize the woman I’ve known for so long.

  “You always fucked up my plans.” She pulls at my hair, and I hold back a whimper, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of hurting me. I can’t even wiggle out of her hold with all the guns pressing behind me.

  She sure planned this whole thing well!

  “I was willing to be patient, but a baby?” Her gun slides to my waist and then shifts to my stomach, where she digs it painfully, and a groan slips past my lips. “This baby ruins everything. If you think I will let you give Alfred Walker his rightful heir before Lucy does, you are out of your mind.”

  A baby? Rightful heir? What is she talking about?

  “I’ve worked so hard all these years… not for bastards like Callum and you to take it away from me.” With that, she barks at the guards, “Take her to the garden. Are the supplies there?”

  “Yes, we prepared it as you asked.”

  Her mouth lifts in a sinister smile as she puffs out her chest in satisfaction, and she pulls my hair harder. With my scalp aching, I feel like she’s plucking my hair out. “The time has come to end it where it all began.” She points at the house and my eyes widen. “Maybe if I ended it all thirty years ago, nothing would have happened.”

  She spins around and saunters toward the gates. A guard grasps my elbow, hauling me after her, but I push my heels into the ground, halting their movements and screaming at her. “Martina, are you insane? Stop it!”

  She ignores my words, continuing to stroll to wherever she wants while one of the guards bumps me on the back of my knees, making me wobble. I can barely stand upright. The guards curse next to me and lift me up, dragging me to their destination.

  I won’t surrender so easily though! “You think they won’t search for me?” I might have been difficult, but Callum will move hell and everything else for me.

  That’s a truth my heart knows, despite all the darkness he lives in.

  Martina’s laughter echoes in the night, her head thrown back, and then she shakes it at me. “You are so naïve.” She comes closer and lifts my chin, while I twist to the side, avoiding her touch. “Dead don’t talk, darling.”

  And then she points to the right to the far end of the garden, where I see a shovel sticking in the soil near the Walker oak tree.

  Shock and fear zip through me, settling in the pit of my stomach, as Martina whispers in my ear, her happy voice sending shivers down my spine and chilling my blood.

  “I’m going to bury you alive.”

  Callum

  Arson types various instructions effortlessly on the computer, but the big screen shows nothing but a bunch of code names I don’t understand.

  “Faster.”

  He doesn’t miss a beat or even take his eyes away from the laptop while replying, “Don’t order me.” And with that, another fucking code shows up, and another one.

  I shift my attention to my right, where Santiago plays the footage from the hallway cameras in the hotel, finding Martina and Giselle running from the room while they both engage in some kind of conversation. “Why is she with her?” I murmur, and Arson points at the second screen, the surveillance camera from behind the building. “There is a black minivan. The kidnappers must’ve come from it.”

  “But who would want to kidnap them both?” I wonder, the dots in my head not connecting.

  Based on the research I did before destroying Giselle’s life as she knew it, Martina and she had nothing in common. They didn’t go to the same places or interact with the same people. The photos available of them were only taken during functions.

  “Does it make sense, given their relationship?” Lachlan asks, and I shake my head.

  He rubs his cane over his chin, and exchanges looks with Arson. “What?”

  “Have you considered she is helping the kidnappers? Maybe they need it for Marvin’s campaign?” one of them suggests, but I dismiss the idea.

  Everyone who knows Marvin knows he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about his family. He would prefer to play devastated at losing someone he loves and use it in his voting game, over giving money to kidnappers any day.

  But they’re right.

  Those people would have needed help from the inside.

  “You don’t think you rushed into marriage too quickly?” Martina asks me while I adjust my bow tie, wondering why the fuck she decided to speak to me.

  “No.” She’s in for a surprise if she expects friendly chats.

  “Is there a reason for you to hurry?” The way she says those words, as if coating them with double meaning, grates on my nerves.

  Fed up with it, I dish out, “Yes. Our desire to have a baby.”

  Arson chooses this moment to click his fingers. “Found the van. It moved through the streets leading to her grandfather’s mansion, based on all the cameras I hacked.”

  And that’s when Tank’s call from back home a few days ago makes sense. He said someone has been in Texas digging for my past, but he couldn’t locate the person. I didn’t give many shits, because finding the truth was almost impossible.

  Unless you knew my past pre-Callum identity and had a lot of resources.

  “Martina didn’t help them,” I say, and the guys raise their eyes to me. “She is the kidnapper.”

  And the monster inside me finally roars, demanding blood and vengeance.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Giselle

  “Faster,” Martina orders the guards, who wipe the sweat from their foreheads before they resume digging the ground, shoveling the soil up as the hole becomes deeper and deeper. They are almost shoulder-high in it. How deep does Martina need it to be to bury me?

  I sit on the grass on my knees as the dress, along with the veil, encircles me. I’m surprised the thing hasn’t fallen off.

  I’d probably make the perfect image for a magazine if not for the bruises on my face and my hands held together with metal handcuffs that jangle with each move. She secured them so tight they rub my skin, pinching whenever I try to get them off. The wounds will fester if I don’t treat them.

  That’s assuming I’m going to survive this.

  She brought me to Grandfather’s mansion of all places! Does she think burying me here won’t ever be discovered? She kidnapped me from my own wedding; she’ll obviously be a suspect.

  I glance around and know I just need an opening to run away. Snatch the gun from Martina, and then I can run behind the house to the gates at the east wing that are hidden from most people.

  Grandfather used to tell me that back in the day, the owner planted rose bushes all around it so en
emies wouldn’t know he had a secret passage to sneak out. This way his family was always protected in case terrible danger came for them.

  Nothing speaks terrible danger more than a stepmother wanting to bury you alive!

  I blink when I see something silvery glistening in the chiffon, and I scrunch my eyes before focusing my stare on it again.

  Is that a hair pin? The one Magnolia gave me to use as something blue before Martina showed up and I dropped it?

  It must have hooked into the chiffon.

  Oh my God, I’ll kiss that woman if I get out of here.

  Martina points the gun back at me, and I freeze, afraid to spook her. Shifting a little so the side with the pin won’t be visible to her, I plead again, even though I detest every word. “Martina, please stop this madness.”

  She kicks me in the side with the tip of her shoe, and I sway a little, gritting my teeth.

  “Shut your mouth. I should have killed you a long time ago,” she says, and my brows furrow at such hatred in her voice.

  How could she have hidden all these emotions from me through the years? “What have I ever done to you?” I ask in disbelief. Breathing through the ache, I place my hands on the chiffon, fisting it, and fingering the pin into my palm.

  “Darius brought you here. I thought I was done with your stupid-ass mother when her second baby died. I knew he wouldn’t bring the boy here. But no, he had to come up with a different plan!” She takes out a pack of cigarettes from her jacket, puts one in her mouth, and lights it up, all while dangling the freaking gun in front of me.

  Hopefully soon she will turn her attention to the guards, allowing me to use the pin to free myself.

  But then I pause when her words register in my mind. “Second baby?” I rasp and she laughs, puffing smoke all around us.

  “Oh, I forgot. You don’t know the truth. Callum didn’t tell you, huh?” She hunches in front of me, the ash of her cigarette falling on my dress and staining it, burning the cloth. “You are not a Walker, Giselle.” She shrugs. “Not by blood anyway.”

  “What?” She has lost her mind for good. What else explains this statement?

  “Darius’s daughter gave birth to two of Marvin’s kids.” Anger flashes in her face before she inhales on the cigarette again. “He couldn’t resist the stupid bitch. Do you know he still has her pictures in his desk drawer?” Hollow chuckles, and then she continues, “Marvin didn’t know about the first baby. But four years later, she got pregnant again. And then everybody knew.” Her voice turns deadly, all while shock crashes into me with one revelation after another. I can’t do anything but sit in stunned silence. “We were married, but he wanted to leave me for that bitch. I couldn’t allow that. I knew Alfred would cherish the kid; he hated Marvin.”

  “So you—”

  “So I found her address. She didn’t know me. I pretended to be a social worker, helping her with the kids. And I saw that boy, the heir to the throne.” Her breathing labors, and she almost shakes from the rage. “My worst nightmare, because I couldn’t get pregnant. The Walker fortune was about to slip through my fingers.”

  A boy?

  A four-year-old boy?

  No, God, please. No! My mind screams all this at me, but the brutal truth is not kept hidden for long when Martina gloats, reading my face. “That boy’s name was Jessie, but you call him Callum.” Callum is a Walker? My mother’s child?

  Does this mean…

  Martina sighs, clicking her fingers and snapping me from my shock momentarily. “Focus and don’t go all pale. He’s not your brother.”

  But how can he be my mother’s child and not be… I exhale a heavy breath when an invisible power slams into me, as if tons of bricks fall on me with the realization. “I added a special drug to her cup and her water broke. Her precious little girl died in the hospital. I wanted to take care of the boy, but Darius took care of that. He switched the babies with your biological mother, and then gave that woman Callum. For protection, but we both know how that turned out.” She chuckles. “The bitch didn’t mind me giving her a bigger sum so she could disappear and then sell the boy to the highest bidders.”

  Callum’s nightmare.

  His own grandfather subjected him to the fate of a monster? “We found peace, had Lucy, but then your mother called. She wanted help in finding her son. I don’t know how she managed to get our number.”

  Dread fills me, and a vague memory plays in my mind from a long time ago.

  Mommy coughs right before adjusting the blanket over me, removing the strands of my hair from my forehead, and smiles gently. “Now go to sleep, princess. Tomorrow is a new day.”

  I hug my teddy bear closer to my chest and ask worriedly, biting my lip, “Are you sick, Mommy?”

  “No, darling. Just a little cold. Nothing my honey tea won’t solve.” She tickles me under the chin, and I giggle, happiness spreading through me, because Mommy is okay.

  I got worried after that man at the job shouted at her and kicked us out, away from the flowers. I used to paint among them while Mommy created beauty for the customers who usually wanted something pretty for their wives and loved ones.

  “Now, sleep.” She leans down, kisses me on the forehead, and rubs my cheek. “My sweet princess.” She gets up, turns on the lamp, and is about to leave, when I tell her, “I love you, Mommy.”

  “I love you too.” She goes out, and while I burrow my face in the pillow, I hear the distant sound of the doorbell.

  The next day, Mommy is dead.

  “You killed her,” I whisper, and she snorts, the freaking ache falling on me again.

  “Of course. I couldn’t have any more kids. You think I’d have risked Alfred giving his fortune to a newly found grandson?” She pats my shoulder, but I scoot back, detesting her touch. “She had pneumonia anyway, and they thought that was the cause of her death. A little poison I gave her just sped it all up.”

  “Because you wanted the fortune.” Grandfather never shared his riches anyway. How can human life be less valuable than money?

  “Of course.” She drops her cigarette butt in the grass, dusts her hands, and gets up again. “But then you showed up. I didn’t know Darius switched kids, or that someone else was in the apartment.” Her eyes glimmer, and I shiver under the stare as pure hatred reflects in them. “I would have killed you too.”

  Oh my God!

  I fist the pin in my palm harder, vowing to myself to escape from her clutches, because that bitch is not getting another victim!

  “But you were a sweet kid, meek, and I knew you’d never get the fortune.” She scans me before huffing, “Weirdo obsessed with flowers. I got worried when you wanted to marry, because your child would endanger my chances. But my daughter took him away from you, didn’t she?” She beams proudly, her voice smug, and I want to blab to her that her daughter didn’t take away anything valuable.

  Kevin and Lucy can rot in hell for all I care.

  “Then why now?” I finally ask, coughing, because my throat is dry from all the activity.

  “He came back! I found it strange that a man like him was interested in you.” Her voice laces with distaste. “So I decided to do some digging. Thankfully, I still remembered his fake mom and found his pictures. Money talks, a little information here and there… and I understood it was him.”

  “Callum,” I clarify, still too shocked to process information about his true identity. “You were afraid he’d take it all away from you?”

  She does a weird motion with her hands up, gazes at the sky, and that’s when I put the pin in the handcuff lock, burrowing it under the chiffon while continuing to twist it back and forth, hoping to escape soon.

  Then she casts her eyes down and shifts her focus to me. “I didn’t understand his agenda at first. I ran background checks on him after that dance at the engagement. He is rich and doesn’t need the Walkers, and he made no move to claim his rightful place. And I would have let it go… except after that dinner, Alfred was in awe of him. He
respected him for standing his ground, and he said the Walker fortune could be handled only by such a man in the future. That’s when I knew I had to stop the wedding, so I hired those idiots.” She motions with her head toward the awful men.

  God, greed truly has the ability to strip some people of their sanity.

  I’m not even sure she realizes how insane this plan is and that she’ll get caught. Or maybe she just lost her marbles and doesn’t care about the consequences anymore.

  “He told me about the baby you’re carrying.”

  I freeze, blinking a few times.

  What baby?

  “And I knew that was his plan!” She points her gun at my stomach, screaming. “Marrying you to punish Darius, as you are his precious princess. And to spite Walker, because his perfect blood would have mingled with yours.” She waits a beat before adding, “The daughter of a child pimp and a whore. I couldn’t have created a better revenge plan myself.”

  The breath stills in my throat, and my heart pangs painfully in my chest so much that I pause working on the cuffs while her words settle on me.

  And I don’t want to believe her… don’t want to see the truth in her statement… yet it’s looking right back at me.

  His obsession with me, his manipulation of my relationships and work, his blackmail to marry me.

  And his refusal to love me, even after I accepted his darkness.

  All this time… Callum wanted revenge?

  Did he ever want me?

  Or was he just like everybody else who used me to satisfy their desire, and as long as I served a purpose, they kept me?

  Tears threaten to escape from the corners of my eyes, but I hold them back. I can focus on my heartache later. Right now, I have to get out of this mess.

  “There is no baby,” I finally say, and she frowns, zeroing her gaze on my stomach. “He lied to you.”

  I expect her anger, but instead I see only humor. “You expect me to believe that? Like the mother who raised you, you will always protect the baby.”

  “Martina—”