Signed (22)

“I wonder if she figured out that you had this made to your military cadence?”

“Left, right, left,left, right!”

The two men laughed, turning one last right before ending in the center of the maze.

“Wait.” He held up a hand.

“Something’s not right here.”

Years of special ops work as SEALS had trained them well. A change came over them both, moving from easy rapport to sudden keen alertness. Reggie bent to look at the water bottle, lying crushed on the ground beside the statue.

“It’s a shoe print. Man-sized. Some prints in the grass here, too.” He pointed with a finger to where a series of steps led to a crushed area. “Whoever it was, she didn’t go without a fight.”

They followed the tracks, pausing now and again and backtracking when the steps led into dead ends. A broken series of branches caught His attention.

“Fell, or was pushed here.”

From off in the woods they heard a roaring yell. The words were unintelligible, but both heads went up, eyes sharpened.

“That fucking bastard.”

They moved as one, Reggie’s visage as  terrifying and grim as his own. A muscle in his jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth.  In silent tandem, they moved through the twists and turns of the back of the maze. Shortly, they came to the back entrance, where He paused again. A roll of duct tape lay in the shadows.

“He has her. That fucking shit found her. He’s contacted me twice saying he wanted her back.”

“Too fucking bad. Any bastard who sells his woman …”

The thought was cut off by a sharp scream. The two men took off at a run.


When he found her, he was going to mangle her tits, he was gonna punch her cunt, he was gonna rip her ass to shreds. He was drunk, mad, and mean with it. A red haze of fury colored his brain, narrowing his gaze to the faint flickers of white as his cunt of a wife ran naked through the woods. The whore. His cock throbbed in his pants as he stumbled and ran through the undergrowth.


Her side ached. Her head throbbed where he had struck her twice. She blinked blood from her eye, swiping at a scratch above her eyebrow that oozed slowly. She ran uphill, certain that she was close to Sir’s property. She worried that perhaps she’d gone too far westward; though she thought she’d corrected her course, she knew that  if she wasn’t careful, she’d run deeper into the forest instead of home.

Pausing for breath, leaning back to a tree, she remembered when He’d told her of finding this gem of land.  He’d come back from war, from bleak dry desert, and found this oasis. They’d been standing on the balcony outside his bedroom, looking out towards the darkening woods, where fireflies danced in the underbrush. He’d been brushing her hair. She remembered the sensuality of that moment, the feel of His hands stroking over her scalp, the brush moving gently, firmly. How His hand would stroke down her hair, down her back, and sometimes, snake around and slide along the sensitive side of her breast.

She’d giggled, she remembered. She, no longer a girl, had giggled as if she were twelve again.

Pushing off of her resting spot, she began to haul herself up the embankment, tree by tree. As she neared the top of the hill, she risked another look behind her. She had gained a bit of space, but not much. And….he terrified her. The face of her former husband had been replaced by that of a monster  intent on destroying her. Done with the past, with her ex, she wanted to giggle again, wanted to be stroked, to be held. She wanted it so badly, to be with Sir. With a gasp, a small moan, she struggled upward. As she stepped over a branch, she teetered, fell backwards. With a short, sharp scream, she rolled down the hill until she fetched up against a stout tree.


“Where did it come from?” Reg paused, listening intently, as they entered the woods.

Sir paused a moment, orienting himself with the maze to his back, pointing to the west.

“I think perhaps there. Somewhere down that way is a small but wicked ravine. Geezuz…” He swiped a hand across his eyes, praying that she hadn’t gone that way, hadn’t fallen. Reg’s hand on his shoulder steadied him.

“Let’s go get our girl.”

Moving like one, the two moved quickly through the forest.


There! He heard her scream, and looked hard through the trees. Up ahead, he could see her round white ass. She was climbing the hill, the fucking cunthole, which was gonna slow him down, but maybe if he cut around the base he could angle up and catch her. In his pants, his cock oozed precum, throbbing with a jungle rhythm. This was what it was all about. The hunt, the chase, and in the end, the wild fucking of his prey. With renewed vigor, he picked up his pace.

He kept her flashing rump in his view, watching as she staggered around one tree, over a rock, around a slight bend. Where the fuck had she gone to now? Turning, he began his ascent up the hill.


“Ravines over this way. But I thought the scream came more from there.” Part of Him wanted to bellow her name, but he knew stealth was better. If that jerkwad was out there, it was best to not alert him that he and Reg were en route to her.

“Cap’n–” Reg pointed off in the distance. Through the thick woods they could see a form moving quickly, until it was lost in the undergrowth.

“Let’s go.”

Grimly, the pair moved silently, quickly.


Her hair hung in her face, her breath came in deep, heaving gasps. Visions of water, icy cold, danced before her as she licked her parched and swollen lips. Her head hurt, she felt dizzy. Leaning against a tree, trying to catch her breath, she knew she was in danger of fainting. That would not be good. The ground leveled off here, and she moved on, slowly. Her side ached, her legs were wobbly. She must have made a wrong turn somewhere. The maze should have been there, Sir’s yard. But instead there was only the woods, deep and dappled with light. The scent of green growth surrounded her. It was tranquil here–

His body landed on hers. Toppling to the ground, she struck and struggled. His hand closed on her mouth and she bit, hard. He howled as she tasted the sharp tang of blood. A long-lost memory rose; swiftly she raised her hips, lifting him, then fell back to the ground and shoved her knee up.

The explosion of pain in his engorged groin far eclipsed the pain of his hand. His animal cry of pain rang through the woods as she scurried from under his curled up body.

“Gonna fucking kill you for that. Gonna fuck you dead.”

She knew he would. Her feet took flight, racing for her life now. The slap of leaves, of branches against her face, on tits, on thighs, ignored. Now it was only the urge to run, to flee, to put as much distance between them as possible while he was writhing on the ground. Yet all too soon she heard the crashing behind her, knew he’d be on her if she didn’t run for her life.

No one was there, but she screamed for help anyway.


His roar gave her the impetus she needed to surge ahead. Her feet hurt, but–

She shrieked, grabbing onto a young sapling. It kept her from tumbling headlong into the long open split in the earth. Below, far too far below, the silver thread of a stream ran. The jagged edges of granite upthrusts jutted out. If she’d fallen…yet she hadn’t. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him coming. Rubbing his groin, he was close, too close. The opening of the gorge ran left to right. She had no place left to run.


The scream for help froze them in mid-stride.

“There.” Reg pointed to the right.

“She’s at the gorge. Geezuz…”

He took off at a full-out run.


He caught her at the point where a thicket of trees made moving forward impossible without backtracking down the hill. His fist caught her cheek as she turned, and she fell into a star-filled blackness.

His breath caught, ragged from charging up the hill towards her. She lay at his feet. His balls ached. He fell atop her, the strain from his abused balls making him groan. His hands grabbed at her throat, squeezing, shaking her.




He fell back onto his heels.  His wife lay motionless, her body crisscrossed with scratches, welts, and the bruises he’d put on her. Her nipples mocked him. Pinching them he tugged and twisted them.

A soft moan came from her lips.

“good, you’re not dead, cuntwhore.”

He slapped her cheeks.

“Wake up, cuntwhore. Wake the fuck up.”

He rubbed his balls, hoping he could get it up, hoping he could fuck her here, put her in her place, the little fucking bitch. Standing, still straddling her, he reached for his belt.  He turned at the tap on his shoulder.

“Pardon me, but is this the way to Blueberry Hill?” Reg asked him. Andrew turned, jolting.

“What the fuck…?” He hadn’t heard anyone coming up behind him. He wiped his hand over his face. He wasn’t that drunk, was he?  The first blow was to his midsection, making him gasp, bending over. Twisted as he was, his feet tangled in his wife’s legs.

“oh no you don’t.”

He was spun around, pulled forward. He hit the ground. What the fuck? He coughed, rising up to his knees. He was pissed now. No one sucker punched him and laughed about it. When he stood at last, there were two of them.

Maybe he was that drunk?

“Reg. Take her down from here.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” came the crisp reply.

“YOU. You fucktard bastard. I want my wife back.”

“She is not yours anymore. She is her own person. And that person is now mine. Look at yourself. Drunk, for starters. You hit her, tried to strangle her, but you want her back? Pathetic. You have no idea what her value is, yet you abuse and misuse it? Which of us is the fucking bastard, really?”

His sarcasm bit through the last of Andrew Blanford’s sanity. He launched himself at the cocky bastard.

And became airborne.

His scream ripped through the woods. The silence afterwards was nearly as shocking. He tugged his cell phone out of his pocket. No signal. Ah well, it would have to wait until he returned home. His smile was ferocious. Turning, he jogged down the hill to where Reg waited with his woman.


She woke with warmth beside her. He was home, she was safe. She was free. The horrible afternoon with her ex-husband lay in the past now. Sir had given her comfort. A warm bath, the gentle massaging of her wounds with some of Reggie’s salve. He’d sat by her side when she told the police about the abduction, though she hadn’t mentioned that she’d been running through the woods with only a pair of canvas sneakers on. His body had been removed from the ravine, his death ruled accidental. The car had been found on the access road that ran through the parklands, the rest of his ‘kidnap kit’ inside.


He didn’t touch her, except in comfort.

A week had passed, then another. The bruises faded from her throat. From her breasts. Scratches healed, welts receded, until she was fully whole.


He hadn’t touched her.

Oh, He cuddled her, surrounded her with His warmth, kissed her, brushed her hair. But the casual intimacy was gone, as dead as Andrew.

Her thirty days were done. The contract lay in her purse in the closet. He hadn’t asked her to go, nor had He asked her to stay. Her job had given her an extended leave of absence after “The Incident”, so that she could heal. She didn’t want to go back. But she couldn’t stay here, not in this sort of limbo.

He was in the City, coming back tonight. He was bringing food, she wasn’t to fret about dinner.

But dammit, she wanted to fret. She wanted to yell, to scream, to pound Him on his chest and make Him see her.

She wanted to make him want her.

The idea, when it came to her, almost lit up the room.

So did her smile. She wouldn’t fret. She’d make things happen. She jumped out of the chair. She had a million things to do before he got home!