Chapter 148 THE ART OF SURVIVAL

Chapter 148 THE ART OF SURVIVAL
~ANNETTE'S POV~

The jar of artisanal olives I had dropped shattered against the floor, the sound exploding like a gunshot in the silent house.

For a second, nobody moved.

I stared at the scene, my brain trying to process the impossible. Richard Blackwood, covered in blood like a butcher. David Blackwood, holding the corner of a rolled-up rug. 

And my father... my father lying facedown on the floor, a dark pool expanding around his head.

"Dad?" I whispered.

Then, survival instinct kicked in. I took a slow step back toward the open door. Just one step.

"Grab her!" David shouted.

I turned around to run, but Richard was faster than he looked. He lunged, his bloody hand clamping around my arm. 

I screamed—a high, piercing sound that I hoped would reach the street—and swung my purse at his head.

"Get off me!" I shrieked, kicking and clawing. "You murderers! Help!"

David was there a second later, grabbing my other arm. They dragged me backward, my heels skidding uselessly on the shiny floor. They shoved me onto my father's favorite leather couch, pinning me down.

"Shut her up!" David hissed, looking around frantically for something to use.

"I didn't kill him!" Richard panted, his weight pressing me into the cushions. "Stop screaming, Annette! He's breathing!"

"Liar!" I spat in his face. "You killed him! You killed my father!"

David found a roll of duct tape on the sidebar—left over from their clumsy attempt to wrap the body. He ripped a piece off with his teeth and slapped it over my mouth before I could scream again.

I gagged, the chemical taste of the gluey filling my mouth. 

They grabbed my wrists, taping them together. I stopped fighting. Not because I gave up, but because I realized I was outnumbered. I slumped back against the couch, chest heaving, tears burning my eyes.

Is this it? I thought, panic cold in my gut. Is this how I die? Tied up in the house I hated, killed by the men who ruined my sister's life?

I thought of Darla. She was probably sitting on the couch right now, waiting for me to text her that I was on my way home. I had lied to her. 

I told her I was meeting an old college friend. 

I had sat through drinks with a girl I hadn't seen in five years, laughing and pretending to be normal, just to create an alibi so I could come here and confront my father about the VP paperwork he was stalling on.

I should have gone home. I should have gone to Darla.

"What do we do with her?" David asked, running a hand through his hair. He looked manic. "We can't let her go. She saw everything."

"I told you," Richard said, walking over to the bar and picking up his glass. He seemed terrifyingly unbothered. "We finish the job."

"You piece of shit," David snapped at him. "I am innocent in this. This was all you, Richard. I walked in and found you standing over the body."

"Geez, David," Richard took a drink, blood from his hand smearing onto the crystal glass. "Thanks for ratting me out. Very brotherly."

"She's a loose end!"

I rolled my eyes. Even bound and gagged, facing death, the mere incompetence of these two men was exhausting. Richard looked at me. 

He swirled his drink, staring at me with glassy, dead eyes. He walked over, setting his drink down on the coffee table.

He reached for the tape on my mouth.

"Don't you dare," David warned, grabbing Richard's wrist. "What are you doing?"

"We need information," Richard said. "She's here for a reason."

"What information could an illegitimate daughter possibly have?" David sneered, looking at me with pure disgust. "She's a nobody. A mistake."

I glared at David. 

I had never liked him—he was too smooth, too quiet—but now I understood why Alexander and Claire despised him. 

He was arrogant. Dismissive. And underneath the expensive suit, he was just as messy as Richard.

Richard ripped the tape off my mouth. I gasped, the skin stinging, but I didn't scream. Screaming hadn't worked. I needed a new tactic.

"You two are idiots," I said, my voice hoarse.

"Watch it," David warned.

"No, you watch it," I snapped. I looked at the body on the floor. "Is he dead? Tell me the truth."

"He's alive," Richard said. "Unconscious. Shallow breathing. But alive."

"For now," David added darkly. "Unless we finish it."

"If he dies," I said rapidly, my mind racing, "you both go down. Richard for murder, David for accessory. You think the police won't find your fingerprints all over that rug? You think they won't trace your cars parked outside?"

"We're cleaning it up," David said.

"You're rolling him up in a carpet like a cartoon villain!" I scoffed. "You need a plan. And lucky for you, I have one." They both looked at me.

"Why should we trust you?" David asked. "You're friends with Claire. You're friends with Alexander. You're the enemy."

"I am not the enemy," I said, meeting his gaze steadily. "I am a survivor. And right now? I don't care about my father. I hate the man. But I need him alive."

"Why?" Richard asked.

"Because he hasn't signed the papers to make me VP of Sterling Corps yet," I told them. "If he dies tonight, the company goes into probate. Or worse, it goes to Monica. I need him breathing long enough to sign my inheritance."

I saw a trace of interest in David's eyes. Ambition. He understood ambition.

"And what do we get?" Richard asked.

"You get Monica," I said. "I know my father is hiding her. If he wakes up, I will make him tell me where she is. I will drag her out of whatever hole she's in and hand her to you on a silver platter."

"You would betray your sister?" David asked, skeptical.

"I'm not betraying anyone. I'm surviving." I leaned forward as much as the bonds would allow. "And this is the part where you untie me."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't just silence you right now," David said, stepping closer.

"I will give you four," I said coldly. "Four security guards. In a black SUV. Parked down the street."

Richard froze. David went pale.

"What?"

"Alexander doesn't trust me," I said. "He has his men tailing me 24/7. They followed me here. They saw me enter. And if I don't walk out of this house in the next ten minutes... or if they see you two dragging a rolled-up rug out the front door... they are going to storm this place."

"You're lying," Richard whispered.

"Am I?" I raised my eyebrows. "Look out the window. Black Cadillac Escalade. Tinted windows. Go ahead. Check."

David rushed to the window, peering through the blinds. He cursed loudly.

"She's right," he hissed. "There's a car. It's Hayes' security detail."

"Which means," I said, "that you are trapped. If you kill me, they know. If you kill my father, they know."

I took a deep breath. This was it. The gamble.

"But they don't know what's happening inside," I said. "Not yet. So here is the deal."

I looked from Richard to David.

"Untie me. We get my father to the hospital. I drive him. I tell the doctors I found him like this—he fell, hit his head. An accident. No police. No investigation. You two slip out the back. Alexander's men won't stop you because they're watching me."

"And if he wakes up and talks?" David asked.

"He won't," I promised. "I have enough dirt on him to keep him quiet. He'll go along with the accident story to save his own reputation."

Richard looked at David. David looked at Richard. They were cornered. They had no other play.

"Do it," Richard said, dropping onto the couch next to me. "I'm tired, David. Just do it."

David glared at me, hate burning in his eyes. He knew I had beaten him. He pulled a pocket knife from his jacket and cut the tape on my wrists.

I rubbed my wrists, standing up slowly. My legs were shaking, but I forced them to hold my weight.

"Get him to my car," I ordered, pointing at my father. "And clean up the blood. If I'm going to save your asses, you better make sure this house looks spotless by the time I get back."

David sneered, but he grabbed my father's legs. Richard grabbed the shoulders. As they dragged my unconscious father toward the door, I pulled out my phone.

One text to Darla: 'Running late. Family emergency. Dad had a fall. Headed to hospital. Don't worry.' I hit send.

I wasn't a victim anymore. I wasn't just the maid's daughter. I was the one holding the strings.

"Move," I told them. "We have a cover-up to stage."