Page 43 of The Riders’ Reign

She laughs. “Feeling better?”

“Definitely.”

She reaches for some tissues and hops off me, her legs clamped together, and hurries to the adjoining bathroom. I quickly cover myself, not wanting one of the nurses to walk in while I’m exposed. It was one thing when Camile’s body was covering me, but quite another just to be lying here with my cock out.

That was one of the hottest moments of my entire life. Perhaps because I’m a control freak who likes to fuck hard and fast, so being at a woman’s mercy and having to take it at her pace was a total change for me. I wonder if this will become a regular thing. Maybe I can manage this recovery without going insane after all, especially if I have my naughty nurse by my side.

18

GHOST

I’m back in the corner where they first dumped me after they tied me up. The assholes who’ve taken me haven’t noticed the razor blade still up my sleeve. It’s in a little plastic container, so, before I can do anything else, I need to break it out.

Making sure no one is near, I shake it out of my sleeve, so it drops into my hands. They’re tied behind me, so this isn’t easy, but I’ve opened enough containers of this kind over my lifetime that my fingers recognize the pieces I can’t see. I’ve got pretty good dexterity and focus due to my training. The most dangerous part is going to be not slicing my hands to bits when I get it out.

I’m tied with rope, since they realized I’m strong enough to snap the cable ties. It’s going to take a little sawing to get through it, but I’m confident I can, so long as I’m not interrupted.

My gaze rests on Hector’s plane. He’s going to need to go back home eventually, and I’m guessing he’ll use the plane. Land travel will take too long, and he’d have to deal with border patrol. An idea sparks in my mind, though I’m not sure I’ll be able to pull it off. I can try, though, if I get the chance. I’ll do whatever I can to take these fuckers down. Grinning grimly to myself, I return my focus to the razor blade.

My fingers slip and slide on the covering, but finally they get a purchase, and it gives. The plastic separates, and I tip the blade into my opposite hand. It’s awkward and uncomfortable to hold it at the angle I need, but I set to work, sawing at the piece of rope that stretches between my wrists. I keep my head partially down, not wanting to draw any attention to myself or make eye contact. Each time one of those assholes turns my way, I stop what I’m doing and drop my chin closer to my chest, making it look like I’m either asleep or unconscious.

Something seems to be going on. There’s a rushed urgency among them, like they’re making plans, which they most likely are.

A high-pitched scream suddenly comes from inside the plane. What the fuck was that? It sounded like a woman.

A moment later, a figure appears in the cockpit, shimmering in the window like an apparition, before disappearing again. The door flies open, and a woman in her twenties stumbles down the steps, glancing wildly around. Her face is bloodied and bruised, her clothes torn, and her hair a chaotic mess. I don’t recognize her. Who the hell is she?

She looks left and right, as though trying to figure out which direction to go, then her gaze alights on me. I’ve just seen several of Hector’s men walking out of the hangar, to my right, so I nod in the opposite direction, toward one of the smaller doors.

Her dress is shredded, revealing part of her bra, and she’s barefoot. Did these bastards assault her? I wouldn’t put it past them.

She glances at me again, at the men, and pauses. Jesus, I think, don’t stop now, or you’ll never get away. As our gazes lock, I realize there’s something familiar about her that I can’t put my finger on. I haven’t seen her before, but she reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who. What’s her connection to Hector? She must have been held in the crew area of the plane, behind the curtain, because I didn’t see her when I was in there before.

Her body twitches as if she’s had a small shock, and she turns and runs, away from the men, toward the direction of the smaller door.

I yank at the rope between my wrists, hoping I’ve done enough to make it thin enough to snap, but, frustratingly, it holds.

The woman runs, barefooted, glancing behind her at almost every step.

If those men see her, they’ll hurt her even more than she already is. I watch them like a hawk, and, if they begin to turn around, I’ll distract them, even though it puts my own escape at risk.

She reaches the door and pauses. I want to yell to her to hurry, but if I make any noise, the men will turn. Instead, I jerk my chin in encouragement. She seems to take a deep breath, then she slips out onto the airstrip and out of sight.

A moment later, someone else appears in the cockpit of the plane. He’s holding his head with one hand, and it’s bloodied.

Good girl, I think. She clearly hurt him. I didn’t notice anyone going inside, but the man must have entered while I’d been in the bathroom. Had the woman been tied up inside all this time? She must have been unconscious, or I’d have heard her sooner.

“Which way did that bitch go?” the man demands.

I keep my head down, my eyelids mostly shut, so it looks like I’m either asleep or unconscious.

A couple of the others have come back into the hangar, and they spot the bleeding man.

“What the fuck is going on?” one of them asks.

The bleeding man stumbles down the couple of steps leading from the plane. “That fucking bitch got away.”

“How did she get away? Who untied her?”