By the time the police arrives, Jacob has tied Christine’s hands behind her back with his belt.

When they knock on the door, he gets up and opens it with both his hands raised so they know he’s not a threat.

The long cut on Jacob’s abdomen has stained his white shirt red. Even though I still can’t fully open my eyes and my vision is blurry, I can see it hurts for Jacob to raise his hands, as the stance forces him to stretch his torso.

He’d feel more comfortable if he kept his hands down, maybe press one hand against the wound. The steady pressure would help slow down the bleeding.

I can’t blame anyone for looking at Jacob and deciding he’s a threat, though. Especially not under these circumstances.

The cops got a phone call from a woman who was obviously not fully conscious. When they get there, they see one big, intimidating man, and two women, both of whom are incapacitated. If they assume Jacob is the guy responsible, it would be a pretty reasonable conclusion, everything considered.

Still, I can’t help but feel bad for Jacob. It’s not fair that, even though he’s my hero, he’s the one being treated like the criminal. They pat him down and, realizing he has a wound, get a paramedic to take a look at him.

My breathing gets slower and more regular. Without realizing it, I’d been holding my breath, hoping Jacob would hold out until the paramedics gets here.

In my condition, it’s hard to judge how bad the cut is. I wanted to see it, but Jacob kept his bloodied shirt on. I was too weak to say or do anything, so I just lay there on the floor, waiting in silence as Jacob stroked my hair.

The cops check to make sure Christine and I are not dangerous, and there’s no one else in the house.

“I was just trying to protect this town,” Christine says over and over again to anyone who would listen. One cop takes her outside, saying things to her that I can’t quite hear.

Despite what she has done to me, I feel bad for Christine. She’s obviously a disturbed person with a sad life. That said, I don’t know if I’d feel the same had she succeeded in slashing my face.

“Ma’am, are you hurt anywhere?” A paramedic squats down in front of me and starts poking at various parts of my body.

I shake my head from side to side, still too weak to speak.

Maybe the effects of the drug get more intense after some time has passed. I’m so sluggish now that I find it hard to believe I actually held a conversation with Christine.

I wonder if it was due to the urgency of the situation. I once read that people often develop super strength or super stamina when they’re in danger. Maybe I knew that my life—and Jacob’s—depended on how I communicated with Christine, and that gave me the power to break through the fog and do whatever I had to do to survive.

“Can you walk, Ma’am?”

I put all my effort into focusing my eyes on the paramedic and shake my head again for him. There’s nothing I want more than to fall asleep right now, but I’m worried they’d suspect Jacob if I didn’t give my statement before passing out. If I had any emergency superpower, I’d like it to kick in now and keep me awake.

“We’ll get a stretcher for you. You’ll be okay. You’ve been given a new kind of date-rape drug. I’m guessing you were given some powder to sniff?”

I nod.

“Yep. That’s some strong stuff. The effects last for about six hours. It makes you drowsy, dizzy, and confused. You’re probably also experiencing loss of motor control,” the paramedic says as another guy in a paramedic uniform pulls an empty bed inside.

The bed stands on a metal frame and a few small wheels. It sounds weird rolling on the wooden floor, probably because my ear is pressed against the wooden planks, which magnify and distort the sound.

The men lift me onto the stretcher. I can tell they’re good at their job from how efficient they are. Still, I can’t help but worry about Jacob.

As they roll me out of Bertha’s house, I turn my head to the left and to the right, scanning the place for Jacob. But all I see is a crowd of sleepy, curious neighbors in their pajamas, robes, sweatpants, and old college shirts.

Everything looks so surreal with the red and blue lights flashing, casting unnatural primary colors onto everybody’s skin. The cops have marked off Bertha’s house with a yellow police line to keep the audience away from the crime scene.

Good, they won’t trample on Bertha’s lawn, I think to myself.

What an inane thought. Why would I be thinking about Bertha’s grass and flowers at a time like this? I wonder if it’s the drug or if it’s just a quirk of the human brain, to never have full separation between normal thoughts and in-emergency thoughts.

I finally see Jacob when they ‘re about to roll me into the ambulance. Jacob, who has been sitting on the back of the car, stands up and gives way for my stretcher to be pushed inside.

They have removed his shirt. It’s probably so they can treat his wound or so they can keep the shirt as evidence. But I can’t help thinking it’s also because the female paramedics want to see the hard, sculpted body underneath.

I must be delirious, I realize. There are way more important things to worry about right now than other women ogling Jacob.

A rectangular piece of white gauze covers a small area on Jacob’s lower abs. I want to touch it, feel the texture of the gauze with my fingers. I want to compare the size of the wound with my hand, so I can tell if it’s a small wound or if Jacob’s just such a big guy that a big gash looks small on his body.

“You okay?” That’s about all I can say.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me, baby. They patched me up. I’m good as new.” Jacob smiles, making the skin around his eyes crinkle.

He looks so kind. I vaguely remember us having an argument before all this craziness started, but I can’t remember why I’d ever fight with this guy, who’s standing right in front of me now. This guy literally got stabbed in the gut to save my life.

“It’s you I’m worried about,” he says as he picks up my limp hand and kisses it.

My heart is melting inside and, more than anything, I want to kiss this magnificent man all over, but all I can muster is a smile. An honest, genuinely happy smile.

Despite how crazy the past twenty-four hours have been—hell, the past month has been insane—I’m happy at this moment.

* * *

We lay in the dark together. In my bed, at home, finally. Just the two of us. Without the cops, the paramedics, or the onlookers.

Just us.

The paramedics gave me a lot of water to drink, which helped flush the drug out of my body faster. We both gave the cops our statements, they took notes for another one of their stupid reports, and they took Christine away in the back of a car.

She looked so strange. Up until literally hours previously, that woman was an outstanding member of the community, a pharmacist that everyone in town would trust with their medication.

And yet there she was, sitting in a police car like a common criminal. She didn’t look like she belonged there at all. God, I can’t imagine Christine in an orange jumpsuit. That would be mega weird.

At the same time, she hurt Jacob and I can’t forgive her for that. I haven’t forgotten all the other things she’s done, too. I hope she rots in prison for what she did to Max, not to mention what she was about to do to me if Jacob hadn’t arrived when he did.

Jacob saved my life.

Now, with him right behind me, holding me tight, I feel safer than ever. Not just because the cops have apprehended the person who’d been intimidating me for weeks, but also because I know now just how far Jacob would go for me.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like someone’s got my back. I don’t feel alone anymore.

I reach my hand behind me and run my fingers through Jacob’s hair. In response, he sighs contentedly.

I feel the heat of Jacob’s body on my back. His hard cords of muscles underneath his skin, the soft patch of gauze on his abs.

The cops took his blood-stained shirt as evidence, as well as his belt that he used to tie Christine’s hands.

When we were walking home, his arm around my shoulders, mine around his bare waist, the thought crossed my mind that I should confiscate what was left of his clothes and strip him bare. But I also felt like maybe we should get some much-needed rest after that wild ride to crazy town.

We collapsed into my bed as soon as we got inside my home. We didn’t even bother to shed or change our clothes.

But now, as Jacob kisses my shoulder and my neck, I start to feel like maybe sleeping can wait. In no time, my breathing becomes heavy. Wetness leaks out of me and pools in my panties.

Jacob’s hands start to roam, touching my belly, my tits, my hips. He kneads the flesh of my breasts, teases the sensitive peaks until they harden and poke through the fabric of my shirt.

“Are you sure you want to do this, with your wound?” I ask.

I no longer worry that Jacob won’t recover. The wound turns out to be shallow enough to miss Jacob’s internal organs. It’s going to leave a scar, but he’s going to be fine. Still, I don’t think that poor little piece of gauze is going to be able to withstand to the way he usually fucks me.

“Who says anything about involving my wound? I’m not that kinky,” Jacob says playfully.

A girlish giggle escapes my lips. But everything stops being funny when Jacob’s fingers reach the juncture of my thighs. He rubs me over my jeans and panties, which only intensifies the ache between my legs.

“Take off your jeans, and your panties too,” Jacob orders.

As usual, I comply. No question, no hesitation, even though I have no idea what he wants. As soon as I’ve wiggled out of my jeans and panties, Jacob places his long leg between mine, his powerful thigh forcing mine apart.

He kisses the back of my neck, sometimes nibbling and biting me. Meanwhile, his skilled fingers dance over my wet folds, creating sweet, sweet friction against my clit.

I moan as I let go, as I let myself really feel the sensations Jacob is creating within me. My anxiety melts away, my fears forgotten. All that matters is what’s happening on this bed, all I care about is what Jacob is doing to me.

Jacob shifts his fingers so they’re right over my clit, teasing and coaxing and stimulating me closer and closer toward the edge. He whispers, “Come for me, baby.”

As if I’ve been trained, Jacob’s voice pushes me over the edge. As I explode in his arms, he bites my neck hard, knowing how much I enjoy a little pain. I shudder and quiver until I’ve had enough.

I try to pull away from Jacob, but his strong, muscled arms keep me in place and his thigh keeps my legs open. He rubs my clit until he has squeezed out every last tremor out of my body.

Completely sated and exhausted, I fall asleep to Jacob stroking my hair. Right before I drift off, I hear him say, “I love you.”