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Chapter 4
“Unit 52, we have a 10-31. Female in distress, possible gastrointestinal rupture. She’s hysterical and requesting fire assistance, as well as EMS. Be advised, she seems to be handcuffed and unsure if anyone else is in the home. Over.”
I steal a glance at Stanley as my heart rate picks up to a dangerous speed. What the fuck? “Did she just say handcuffed?”
Stanley smirks, adjusting his grip on the wheel. “Welcome to the job, rookie. You’re about to get your first taste of the weird and wild world of being a paramedic.” He shakes his head. “Shit gets crazy after midnight. All the freaks come out to play.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap, my hands fisting on my lap. Handcuffed? That sounds bad. Who would handcuff a person besides a cop? A bad guy, obviously. “She’s in danger. Hurt. Have some compassion, man.”
Chuckling, he flicks on the ambulance lights. “Whatever.”
We fly through the streets of my hometown so quickly; I have to grab the oh-shit bar to keep from slamming into the door multiple times. If I’ve learned anything today, it’s that Stanley is a shitty driver who’s more than likely going to kill us before we have a chance to save anyone.
I swallow hard, my mind racing with scenarios that might have put this poor woman in this situation. Was she kidnapped? Trafficked? Assaulted? My heart aches for her.
We pull up to the scene, a modest suburban house that looks shockingly ordinary for what’s probably going on here. Police cars, fire trucks, and even SWAT are swarming the place.
So, I was right.
This is bad.
My stomach churns with anxiety, but I force it down, focusing on the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I jump from the vehicle and wipe my sweaty palms down my too-tight uniform. The thick pants cling to my massive thighs like ballet tights, and I momentarily worry I might rip through them, but the worry disappears as I hear SWAT call out.
“We’re busting down the door in three, two, one!”
A terrifying bang fills the chaotic night air seconds before a desperate scream that I feel all the way down to my fucking toenails. Stanley and I quickly grab our equipment, strapping ourselves down with everything we might need, including a gurney.
Once we’re given the all clear, we hustle inside, the cacophony of shouting voices leading us to the source of the chaos. In the bedroom, a stunning woman, naked and handcuffed to the bed, is sobbing uncontrollably.
The sight is… jarring, to say the least.
“Oh, my God!” she wails, repeating the phrase like a devastated mantra.
Her face is shrouded by a mess of peach-colored hair. She’s twisting and turning as if she’s trying to hide, but with both hands suspended above her head, the best she can do is tuck her face into the crook of her shoulder.
Fuck. This poor little bed bug.
Her thick thighs are pressed together and tilted to the side, covering her maidenhood. But her big, soft melons are on display, heaving with painful sounding breaths. My sword stirs at the sight, but I ignore the fucker, forcing myself to stay present for her. My dick’s had enough attention today, yet it’s somehow found the energy to awaken from its slumber.
I bite my cheek hard enough to draw blood, hoping it’ll reset my body. This woman deserves my care right now. Not a one-eyed devil spitting baby-batter at her.
Help her, you asshole!
Swallowing hard, I tighten my fists around my bag and flick my gaze around the room. There are three cops, two firemen, Stanley and myself. All men. And not a single person is speaking or moving. Everyone is just…
Staring at her.
What the fuck?
Anger, fierce and feral, rips through me like a raging fire I’ve never felt before. Why the hell isn’t anyone helping this poor baby? She’s vulnerable and exposed. She’s hurt, for tit’s sake.
The woman chokes on a sob, and it’s enough to yank me from my anger, forcing me to focus. I’m worried she might be close to, or already, having a panic attack. If she hyperventilates, this situation is going to become much worse.
A laugh slips free from my right and my head snaps toward the sound just as a wide-eyed Stanley tries to cover the sound with a cough. He fails. Just like he fails to be discrete when he adjusts his obvious hard-on.
Oh, hell nah.
“What happened, sweetheart? Got a little roughed up?” Stanley coos. A couple of the other men laugh, and she whimpers, breaking my heart.
