“And, bitte, no blood. You know I dislike the sight of blood.” He patted Marta’s leg.
Having eased the knife through the tape binding her arm to the armrest, Wilhelm gripped the end of the tape.
“Wilhelm, we must take extra good care of our guest. She will need her hands and arms to work with. Be a little gentler.”
Wilhelm’s brows dipped deeper as he eased the tape from around her arms and wrist, pulling away the scabs that had formed from her last confinement.
Marta bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
Blood oozed from the torn scabs.
“Get something before it stains the leather!” Teuling shouted.
Wilhelm ducked behind Marta.
“The man is a bumbling fool,” the crazy billionaire said. “But a big bumbling fool can be of use if trained properly.”
Back with a towel, Wilhelm handed it to her and worked on the tape holding her other arm. By the time she was free, she had to hold both wrists in the towel to keep from bleeding onto the white leather seat. “Where’s the toilet?” she asked, gasping.
Teuling lifted his chin toward the rear of the cabin. “Wilhelm will escort you.”
Marta pushed herself to her feet and stood for a moment, fighting the residual dizziness from the drugs. She’d need to stay alert and be ready to run as soon as they landed. If Teuling was like Vasquez, there would be few opportunities to escape and plenty of minions to catch her if she tried.
After using the restroom, she splashed water on her face and rinsed the blood from her wrists, praying the water on the plane wasn’t contaminated. When she returned to the seat where she’d been bound, it was upright, facing the crazy billionaire.
“Please, have a seat and buckle your seatbelt.” Teuling waved a hand toward the seat. “We’ll be landing soon.”
At that moment, the aircraft hit some turbulence.
Marta dropped into the seat and secured her belt across her lap.
For the next few minutes, she watched out the window as the plane came in for a landing and taxied to a stop near a small building.
As soon as the engines died down, a van pulled up to the plane.
If she was going to make her escape, it had to be now, or never.
Marta unbuckled her seatbelt and stood.
One of the men opened the door, extended the stairs and descended to the ground.
Teuling was next out the door.
Marta followed.
Before Teuling took the last step down, Marta shoved him hard, sending him sprawling across the tarmac.
The man behind her reached out to grab her, but she jumped to the ground, dodged Teuling and his other goon and ran toward the terminal screaming, “Help!”
The door to the building opened, and two men dressed much like the other security guards who’d taken her from Miami stepped out.
Marta changed direction and ran toward the chain-link fence surrounding the building and the landing strip.
She made it halfway up the fence when hands grabbed her ankles and yanked her free.
Marta fell backward, landing in the arms of one of the men.
She kicked, flailed, and bit her captor, but his arms encircled her like thick steel bands. She couldn’t break free. The man carried her effortlessly to the van and stepped inside. Again, he didn’t give her a chance to make another dash for freedom.
