Stripping Callum (Last Hangman MC Book 6)

by Muriel Garcia

  I liked that small hotel. My room was quaint. It had a big bed that had seen better days, an old TV, a small table and chair, a small bathroom with a shower/bath combo, and a little balcony that I enjoyed sitting on in the evening after work.

  It wasn’t big or a busy hotel. The majority of the clientele were truckers who were coming in every day to get some rest while on their long stretch trips across the country or for some food before getting back on the road.

  I enjoyed working in the diner, and it also meant three free meals per day, which I appreciated greatly. It might not have looked much from the outside, but the cook was amazing.

  One night in late August, a man and his son checked into the hotel. They were staying over the weekend as it was the son’s eighteenth birthday, and they didn’t want to spend it on the road. I knew I’d never see him after that weekend, so I didn’t mind spending time chatting with him. I usually tend to avoid people if I can. After I finished my shift at the diner, I went to the pool, ready to cool off after a hotter than hell day. He was sitting there on one of the sun loungers. His father was shitfaced and had crashed already. Duncan, the son, and I spent the night on the sun loungers and quickly started making out, which eventually escalated to sex by the pool, with possible onlookers. Major cringe. I don’t know what got into me at that moment, but I didn’t care. I was feeling loved, even though it was just for a few minutes. I was craving that closeness with another person.

  It was my first time and nothing to rave about. I didn’t have any point of comparison, but it seemed lackluster compared to what my high school friends were telling me and what you hear in movies and on TV.

  He left the next day, and I was cool with it. I knew he wasn’t staying and that it would be the only time I ever saw him. What I was not cool with was two weeks later, I was late for my period, and I freaked out instantly. I was always on time. At first, I thought it was simply because I had sex for the first time and my body was disturbed. Two weeks later and it still didn’t come, so I took a pregnancy test. It was positive. I thought it could have just been a fluke and took three more. They were all positive.

  I kept it to myself. I didn’t have anyone to talk to anyway. I packed up my stuff and left as quickly as I came here and jumped on the first bus to Denver, Colorado. I had no particular reason to go there. It was the next bus leaving.

  I found another small hotel that was rather cheap when I got to Denver and started working at another diner. It felt like things kept repeating themselves. I met a guy, we fucked, and I never saw him again because I left. He came into the diner the day after we had sex and asked if I wanted to go out with him that night. I said yes but never showed up. I packed up and left. I didn’t want anyone to get to know me or to let what happened to me slip into the conversation. I was sad to leave Denver after six weeks. I loved it there. It felt like home.

  I traveled down to Dallas, Texas and spent another six weeks there. I stayed away from any guy at that time. I learned my lesson with the first two, and I was starting to really show now. I left when the people employing me were concerned about my wellbeing.

  I moved onto Shreveport, Louisiana for another six weeks. I worked at another diner, but it was a hell of a lot busier. The further I got into my pregnancy, the harder it was for me to be on my feet all the time. It was really stressful, and I just had to leave. I wasn’t as lucky in Shreveport as the owners of the hotel I was staying at weren’t as kind as to give me a discount for the room. I didn’t make much extra money to travel further away, and I was saving the five thousand dollars I had for when the baby would be here. I wanted to be able to have money for a while to take care of him and be able to afford a studio apartment or something small. I didn’t want to subject my baby to living out of hotel rooms, and I knew I would be out of work for a while, so I had no other choice but to save that money.

  I just rolled into my new location this morning.

  New Orleans.

  It’s such a big and busy city, it’s overwhelming. I’ve been to big cities, but this one is different. There’s an aura to it. It feels like I could enjoy myself here, and I see myself staying here for more than six weeks. I hope so anyway. The baby is due to arrive in three months, and I don’t know how much longer I can handle all the traveling and working on my feet.

  As I’m sitting in the café, signing the application after filling it out, I wonder what my life will be like. Up until now, it was okay. I could take care of myself. I had my three meals a day, plenty of drinks, a roof over my head, and I wasn’t as unhappy as I thought I would be when I first left. With the baby coming so soon, I don’t know how I’m going to cope and deal with everything on my own.

  I’ve never used my real name wherever I’ve been. I couldn’t. If they looked into things, they would be able to see that I’m an underage runaway. That’s if my aunt reported me missing. I wonder how she’s doing. I have my cell phone with me, but I never built up the courage to dial her number and check on her, nor has she. Does she still care about me or is she happy that she got rid of me? Was I a nuisance in her once quiet and happy life?

  I put the pen down and take a long sip of my hot chocolate rubbing my baby bump with my other hand. I feel the baby kick again.

  “We’ll be okay, bump, I promise.” I blow out a breath hoping that I’m right and that we’ll be okay.

  Annabella James died the day I left. Annabella Williams was born that day. Nobody knows a thing about Annabella Williams, and it’s better that way. I just have to figure out a way to get papers in my new name.

  September 12, 2016

  Life doesn’t always go as you plan it.

  Has my family dream happened? No.

  Do I regret it not happening? No, not at all.

  The only thing I do wish is that my parents were there to see me go through life.

  They were ripped away from me when I was six.

  It shaped me into the woman I became.

  My life has been in shambles since they died, but I make the most of what I have, which right now isn’t a lot. I’m twenty-two-years-old, I work in a café with my best friend and roommate, Gail, and I have a little boy named Elijah. These two are my life. If it weren’t for Gail, her mom, and her brother, I probably would be homeless and wouldn’t be in New Orleans anymore.

  I’ve traveled a lot in my twenty-two years of life, and it hasn’t always brought me happiness. I regret some of the things I’ve done. The only thing I don’t regret is Elijah. Even though he wasn’t planned, I love him dearly and couldn’t imagine my life without him. He’s my little bundle of joy, and he’s all I need.

  Callum

  August 2, 2016

  My life has been a series of one fucked up situation after the other. It all started the day the woman that popped me out found out she was pregnant with me. She never wanted kids. Ever. My father was perfectly fine with that as he didn’t want kids either. They were a match made in heaven, but I came along and fucked up their perfect life or debauchery.

  My mother, and I use the term loosely, abandoned me at the hospital as soon as she could leave, leaving me with my father who didn’t have the first idea of what to do with a baby. I cost him his chances at the perfect life with a woman who wanted the same thing as he did and didn’t want the highlife or kids. Just a life of fun—drugs, sex, and alcohol. My father, true to himself, kept up with the alcohol, resulting in being drunk twenty-four seven.

  From as early as I can remember, he was drunk and always told me I was an accident and never wanted. That if he could have, he would have abandoned me or stopped the pregnancy short, but they found out too late that she was pregnant with me to get an abortion. Everybody in the good town of Pleasant Valley knew my parents’ were expecting.

  My father, despite his addictions, was a respected man. He was the coach of the football team, and he was funding the team. It was his pride and joy.

  Some days I still wish he would have just got rid of me so I wouldn’t have had to go t
hrough what I did with him.

  Jack became violent with me when I turned five, and it didn’t stop. It kept getting worse, and there was nothing I could do. I was just a little kid.

  As the years went on, so did the bruises. He was too respected amongst the teachers that nobody dared say anything and just left me be even when they saw the bruises, the busted lip, the black and blue eyes. They didn’t care because appearances and money were too important for them.

  If I was late getting home, I was beaten. If I was too early, I was beaten. If I didn’t make good grades, I was beaten. If I asked for the littlest thing, I was beaten. So, I stopped everything and was an obedient child even if I just wanted to run away. I didn’t have a happy childhood to say the least.

  I didn’t make friends. They knew what was going on at home; it was written all over my body, and their parents’ knew and warned them not to get close to me or befriend me. The only friendship I could have had was cut short when Jack decided to mess with him and scare the kid. He made sure I wouldn’t make any friends and that people would stay far away from me. I was counting down the days to graduation so I could leave him for good.

  I never cared about school, but my lifelong dream was to become a Marine. I knew I had to stay in school if I wanted to have the chance, one day, to join those admirable men and women who serve our country and protect it.

  Whenever I could, I worked out. It wasn’t hard to find time at home, as past six in the evening Jack would be passed out drunk. So, I took that opportunity to go out and run, lift whatever I could to build up strength and muscles. I didn’t know the first thing about working out, but I knew I had to become stronger. If not for my possible future career, to hopefully be able to defend myself the next time Jack would lash out at me.

  It was proven useful when my father decided to ‘roughen me up’ as he’d say.

  I was coming home from my evening workout, and he was awake and waiting for me. Right then and there, I knew I was in deep shit. He had no idea of my nightly whereabouts because of the state he put himself in, but this time, he knew.

  As soon as I walked through the door, he punched me in the jaw. I stumbled but didn’t fall. That was the first time I didn’t cower to him. I confronted him about him always hitting me. I’m glad I spoke up that day.

  “This is the last time you will ever hit me, Jack,” I spit out his name as if it was poison filling my mouth.

  “Oh, you think, kiddo? I wouldn’t be so sure.” He chuckled darkly and swung at me, but I moved out of his reach.

  “Oh, but I am.” I took a swing at him and connected with his nose. It wasn’t strong enough to make him lose his stance, but it rattled his confidence.

  “Where did you learn how to fucking fight back?” he yelled.

  “You taught me for ten years how to hit someone. It’s your fault for showing me the bad example.” I took another swing at him and connected with his jaw. Hitting a lot stronger than the first time, making him tumble against the wall and slide down it.

  “I didn’t hit you hard enough or you would have fought back, you little shit!” He tried to get up, but I pushed him back down and punched him with all my might right across his temple, making him lose consciousness briefly. I dragged him to the center of the room so he didn’t have anything to grab that he could use against me.

  “No, you should have hit me harder and killed me years ago.”

  “Where would the fun have been in that? You ruined my life so I ruined yours. That was only fair.” He sneered at me, and I hit him in his aged face. Years of alcohol abuse didn’t do him any good. The punches kept raining until he was unconscious and had no fight in him anymore. I didn’t check if he was still alive or not. I ran to my room and grabbed the duffle bag I had ready just in case something happened and I had to leave. I picked up my father’s credit card on my way out. I needed to make a pit stop at the bank. I wasn’t planning on taking the card anywhere with me, but I needed some money to make my way as far away from him as I could. Besides, if he’s dead he wouldn’t need it anymore.

  That’s how I left ‘home’ twenty-four years ago.

  Things haven’t been any easier since then. I’ve had my fair share of heartbreak and pain.

  I made my way down South and ended up in New Orleans, Louisiana. I had no idea what to do, but I knew I wanted to join the Marines still. I went to a shelter directed by nuns, and they really were saints. They helped me get the education I needed so I would be able to fulfill my purpose in life. They didn’t ask me questions. Seeing the state I was in when I reached the shelter was enough for them to know roughly what I had been through. I loved those women. They were strict but fair and had my best interest in mind.

  One of them sat down with me the day I was leaving and asked me my life story, and I told her everything. She understood why I did what I did and said she hoped I’d find happiness. That I was a good man and deserved the best things in life. That was the first time anybody showed me love and compassion. I soaked it up because I had no idea when it would happen again.

  I had no idea what to expect when I joined the Marines. The first few weeks of training were rough, but it got better and I could do what I wanted. Serve my country. It brought me a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction to do what I was set to do. What I wasn’t ready for was to witness the men, the brothers I made, die in front of my eyes. We were on a mission in Bosnia when our Jeep suddenly burst into the air, bodies being tossed from the vehicle. We’d hit an IED and only two of the ten men in the vehicle survived. I was badly injured and brought back to the country as soon as it was safe to fly me back home. I stayed in their Dallas facility until I could walk again, but it took some time.

  I was still grieving the loss of my brothers when I was discharged from the Marines. I was suffering physically and mentally. I took the little belongings I had left and was on my way back to Louisiana. I didn’t have anywhere else to go so I just settled in New Orleans again. It was the only place that brought me any peace and happiness.

  My life was a mess. I wasn’t doing much besides drinking and wallowing in self-pity until a beautiful blonde caught my eye as she refused to pour me another shot.

  Alina.

  She was my angel sent from above. I took one look at her and knew I would marry her someday. It took me three days to get her to go out with me, two weeks for her to move in with me, and three months for her to marry me. Everything was so quick, but we knew it was the right thing to do.

  We were in love and happy. Life was good, and I was able to let go of the past and enjoy the present without constantly letting my past cloud my vision.

  Almost a year after the wedding, she gave birth to our beautiful baby boy, Billy. He was the perfect little bundle of joy, and I felt like I had it all. A beautiful wife, an amazing and healthy son, and a house paid for. I didn’t have to worry about a thing, or so I thought.

  Four years later, we were happy as ever. Alina was pregnant with a baby girl this time, and things were perfect. I found a job at a garage to make more money and to pass the time. There’s only so much a man can do at home when he has too much time on his hands.

  Alina was getting in her car with Billy to drive him to school as I was getting on my bike to ride to work.

  In a split second, my world shattered again. A buzzing noise resonated in the car as Alina turned the key in the ignition, and the car burst into flames with Alina and Billy inside.

  I climbed off my bike and rushed to the garage to get the fire extinguisher. Time seemed to slow down. As I made my way from the garage and rounded the car to break the passenger-side windows, I saw Billy and Alina pounding against the glass as the flames were burning them alive. I got closer to the car, ready to break the windows to put out the fire, but the windows exploded before I had the opportunity to do anything. The force of the explosion shoved me backward. I was knocked out for a minute but pushed through the pain of shards of glass lodging themselves into my chest. I crawled closer to the ca
r.

  The only sound I heard was the blood pumping in my ears. Alina and Billy were in the car, burning alive, and there was nothing I could do. I grabbed the fire extinguisher and doused the inside of the car, but I knew it’s too late. I knew they were dead.

  I called 911 but didn’t wait. I wanted to be the one to bring their bodies outside of the car. I don’t know why but I had to do it. I picked up Alina first. Her body was blistered and burned in almost its entirety. Her baby bump revealed through what was left of her clothes. I laid her burned body in the grass and opened the door on Billy’s side. It broke my heart to see his little lifeless body. He never did any wrong; why did he have to die so soon? Why did they both have to die? Alina was an angel. She never wronged anybody.

  Both the cops and fire department showed up, and I was questioned. They looked into what could have caused the fire and according to their experts, it was a default in the car wiring and a deplorable accident. I didn’t buy it then and still don’t buy it now. I’ve worked with cars for a long time and there’s no way they just catch on fire like that. It’s not possible.

  After that, I packed my stuff and left, riding around the country, needing to get away from what brought me so much pain. I only came back to Louisiana six years ago and settled down in New Orleans.

  I hoped New Orleans would be better for me, that it would bring less heartache. While I was right for the most part… It still managed to fuck with me on more occasions than one.

  Annabella

  January 22, 2012

  I got the call that I was waiting for two days ago. Could I start working at the café today? Of course, I said yes! I desperately need the money and an occupation. I’m a bit wary exploring a new city by myself. Even if I’ve been to a couple of big cities on my own, I didn’t do much exploring. Not that I wasn’t curious, but it’s already dangerous enough to be traveling to the other side of the country on my own. I don’t want to add more chances for something to happen to me on top of that. And I have to think of the baby, too.