HARDY’s
POV
Joanne’s face morphed from an intense state of loss to horror the moment she saw me standing by her door.
I watched her slowly pull the blanket above her body and clutch it tighter.
What is she supposed to mean by that?
“Joanne McCain, are you trying to starve and kill my child?”
She slowly started to sit up while I took a massive stride towards her bed.
She looked away, and I caught her rolling her eyes.
Typical Joanne.
“I’m not hungry,” she says, shaking her head.
“Like I give a fuck,” I deadpanned and caught as she engulfed hard.
“Well, it’s my body, and I’m not eating,” she said, shaking her head.
Stubborn as always.
“Trust me. You do not want me to force food down your throat. Do you?” I glowered at her.
I almost saw a glimpse of fear across her face, but she tossed it immediately and replaced it with anger.
“I hope, while forcing the food down my throat, you clog my throat and kill me instead.” Her voice was almost quiet, but that was the most wicked thing I’ve heard all week.
I promptly redirected the conversation. Because I knew Joanne was an avid fighter, and while I liked the way she whimpered in private when I made an implementation, I knew when to stop when I noticed the evil gleam in her eyes and tongue.
But I’d never let her forget who ran things here.
She was still only Bailey’s replacement.
And now that Bailey has been found, It was only reasonable that she take Joanne’s place right away.
But it felt too late.
I already brought Joanne to the game, and she has already gotten involved with everyone.
There was no way Bailey could step in now.
“You know why I’m here.” My voice was definitely not calm and collected as I spoke.
Joanne appeared dissatisfied; a drained expression of paleness settled on her face as if it were meant to be there.
I scolded myself for nearly giving in to my curiosity and considering asking her what was bothering her.
“Spill,” I ordered, and she made a shift on her bed.
Her voice was dry as she spoke.
“I told the ladies at the gazebo that I was pregnant, and they said they would throw a celebratory for me.”
My throat went dry immediately.
The same darn party.
“Was that all?” I pressed.
I needed information on these women, like I needed water on a daily basis, to act fast.
I would never let history repeat itself.
“That’s all,” Joanne snapped, sounding half angry and half sad.
I knew it was not all that they talked about, and something was bothering Joanne.
I didn’t care.
I shouldn’t care.
I approached her, and as I sat on the bed, my weight made it sink, and Joanne shifted back, curling up and hugging her knee.
Why the hell was she steering clear of me as if I were a dangerous predator?
“You’ll be attending the party they will be throwing for you. When is it?” I asked.
She wasn’t looking at me.
“They just talked about it; they haven’t fixed a date yet.”
Her brown eyes were staring at the side of the bed’s headboard, and her lashes were gracing her lids, exposing every shade of sadness she was trying to harden.
“Good,” My voice came out more quiet.
Joanne made another shift on the bed, and her skinny hand reached for her hair, where she tucked away multiple strands of her hair behind her ears and to the back of her hair.
My mind flashed back to the night where the same tiny hand stroked my hair like I was a drenched stray dog, looking for a new owner for warmth from anything or anyone.
To be honest, that night I felt more like a lost dead dog than a drenched stray dog, despite trying to cut down on alcohol that almost destroyed me. I found myself clinging to it that night.
It was like living and suddenly getting hit by life, and slowly you start to count how many things you think you need to hold on to and realize you actually have nothing and will never have anything.
And then you start to feel it hurting again-a deep hole that will never be filled-and you look at it as a mild distraction.
My mild distraction had ended up with me drinking like my life depended on it.
I was good at holding my liquor, and I thought I did a good job holding onto that night, but I didn’t know how or why I ended up in Joanne’s room.
I could only think of Lisa and what we could have become if she wasn’t gone. And I needed a distraction.
When I noticed I would start crying soon from missing her so much, I thought coming to Joanne and seeing her as Lisa’s stand-in while I got to the root of her death would make the tears disappear.
But shamefully, I had let Joanne see my vulnerable side. I hated it, and I thought having sex would erase that part of me she had seen.
Joanne hated my guts, and I hated the fact that at that moment, it was like I wasn’t myself, and instead of tossing me aside, Joanne had delicately stroked my hair when I stupidly made her do it. like I was hers, and a stray dog who had finally found its owner.
I knew where I was going with her that night, but everything went blank before I knew it. And I’m glad it did.
It made me mad that I almost tried to have sex with Joanne.
It was all I could think about. Sensuality was the greatest distraction to me.
I never want to have a sensual connection with any woman.
And especially not the one that’s rewriting Lisa’s story.
A lot of things could go wrong.
“Is something wrong?” I finally found myself asking.
Joanne’s big brown eyes pivoted at me like I just said something abominable. Her peachy lips were hanging open and she was not trying to breathe out a word.
She was just staring at me.
“You’re not deaf,” I clarified.
She faltered.
“I… um, I’m good.”
“Liar,” I mumbled.
“Why do you care?” She mumbled in return.
“I am just your tool. Remember?” Her tone was as sharp as her glare.
She still didn’t know her place.
Always trying to put up with me.
Before and after Lisa, I never spent time with other people, needless to say other women.
My Lisa was a gentle and delicate soul. She was so nice, she let a lot of people walk over her.
Her niceness was her weakness. Sometimes I wish she was fierce and didn’t think the world was a beautiful place.
If Lisa were in Joanne’s shoes, how would she act?
I bet she would hate my guts but would never try to put up with me. She would be so nice; she would open her curious box to empty what part of me was hurting and sympathize with me.
She would ask so many innocent questions and would cry if she got mad, instead of getting angry.
But I loved Lisa, but she wasn’t coming back. Neither was our unborn child.
But when I sat on her grave during my first visit after her passing, I had made a promise to her that I would get to the end of it all. Even if it meant destroying a lot of people and places for her sake,.
She was way too nice; she got it taken away from her too easily.
If she were only like this fierce one in front of me.
Who had threatened to kill herself. Once.
I went on to say, “You’re a tool. And if you’re in my shoes, you wouldn’t be in a rusty one. So fuckin, speak up! Did the ladies at the Ale-o house say something that hurt you?”
She looked at me, surprised again.
“No,” she managed to answer.
I gave her an ominous brow stare.
I noticed she was holding on to the urge by rolling her eyes.
“As usual, they just talked about you and me. Mostly, Anne almost said something I’m not sure of, but I interrupted them with my pregnancy news. She paused, and after meeting my eye for a few seconds and immediately looking away, she continued.
“And Anne has this teenage maid, Ophelia, who dragged me into the bathroom and told me I should be careful not to trust any lady from the Aleo house. And most especially, I should be more careful about the party being thrown,” she gulped.
I watched her face morph into somewhere between fear and despair.
I didn’t like the fact that Lisa was being rubbed by these ladies, especially Joanne.
Joanne wasn’t supposed to know about Lisa.
But I guess you can’t fully avoid the taste of something if you chew it.
She must have caught on to basically everything.
Maybe including how Lisa died. And how she was resetting the stones.
Or maybe not.
But I shouldn’t care if she knew about my plan or about Lisa. Because everything was working in accordance.
That same night that I got drunk, I received an anonymous message. one with such a deep security blockage that its IP address couldn’t even be tracked. But I knew it was from the same person who sent me the same one from my email when Lisa had passed.
It had said exactly what I expected it to say.
“Coming for the new one. I’ll wait till she gets pregnant.”
Whichever psycho sent that, I couldn’t wait to get my hand his neck in between his neck and watch him fight for his last breath.
He had been a real champ in hiding. But never for long. I was finally loving my impatient side.
I got on my feet.
“If that’s all, I’ll be taking my leave.”
As I made an attempt to walk away, her words stopped me in my tracks.
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
–
*