THE STRAGGLERS PROTECT
THE STRAGGLERS PROTECT
Misha Anderson
Translated by Luciana Kezen
“THE STRAGGLERS PROTECT”
Written By Misha Anderson
Copyright © 2018 Mia Klein
All rights reserved
Distributed by Babelcube, Inc.
www.babelcube.com
Translated by Luciana Kezen
Cover Design © 2018 MK Capas
“Babelcube Books” and “Babelcube” are trademarks of Babelcube Inc.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
THE STRAGGLERS PROTECT
SUMMARY
THANKS - ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
LYCANTHROPY AND THE INSTINCT OF PROTECTING
“PROTECT”
CHAPTER 1 | ADAM VAUGH
CHAPTER 2 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 3 | ADAM VAUGH
CHAPTER 4 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 5 | ADAM VAUGH
CHAPTER 6 | ADAM VAUGH
SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 7 | ADAM VAUGH
CHAPTER 8 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 9
ADAM VAUGH
CHAPTER 10 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 11 | ADAM VAUGH
CHAPTER 12 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 13 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 14 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
TRACKING DANGER
CHAPTER 15 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 16 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
ADAM VAUGH
“Coffee is ready! Eat it all and don’t get late to work. I can only thank the privilege of having met a family, such a special pack. Connie, your stutter is sexy, believe in it and forget the rest. Hunt, you’re the man, the ring awaits for you. Kay, when you get better look for me, I have a Lakers shirt you’re going to love it. | Adam, try to be happy, look yourself in the mirror and see the truth, you’re a lovely man, go on with your life and life in peace, but please, don’t look for me anymore. | With all my love to the Vaugh boys. | Samantha.”
CHAPTER 17 | ADAM VAUGH
“Tick-tok, tick-tok, time is running out and our patience too...” | A New York friend.
CHAPTER 18 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 19 | ADAM VAUGH
CHAPTER 20 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CONNOR VAUGH
KAYDEN VAUGH
CHAPTER 21 | ADAM VAUGH
SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 22 | ADAM VAUGH
SAMANTHA THOMPSON
SAMANTHA THOMPSON
CHAPTER 23 | SAMANTHA THOMPSON
EPILOGUE | Adam Vaugh
THE STRAGGLERS
PROTECT
Misha Anderson
Cover: MK Capas (Mia Klein)
Revision: Sabryne Cunha de Matos
1st Edition
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
It is prohibit the distribution or reproduction of any part of this body of work without the written consent of the author.
SUMMARY
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
EPILOGUE
BONUS CHAPTER
THANKS - ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First I thank God and my hunter of joy, asking them to allow me to make dreams like this come true.
In memoriam of my dear mother and father, Elizete de Souza Silva and Osvaldo Leônidas da Silva, who always made me believe in the existence of true love.
To Elize Souza, my sister and friend for all times, who always brings me back to the reality of everyday life and plunges my feet on the ground.
To my dear husband, Vivaldo Bomfim, for the incentive, support and understanding that all these “delicious wolves” only exist in my imagination.
To my cubs, Piettra and Pierre, for understanding that mom is kind of weird and for loving me anyway, with all their heart.
To my dear father, Orlando Quitete, a deep expert of my aspirations and my feelings, thank you for your wisdom.
To my dear faithful friends that endured with affection my questions, researches and doubts.
To the lady of books, Adriana Pinheiro, bookseller and lover of romances, my thanks for the exposure of my work and the sincere support, every time I need it.
To my dear “spicy women”, a group of avid and demanding readers that always make me want to do more and better.
To my reader friends, my partners in this crazy journey that is reading, Wattpad and Amazon wouldn’t be the same without you.
And with all my affection, to my Editor in Chief, the genius Cristiane Spezzaferro, from SPZ Editora, for believing I can and conducting me always forward and beyond.
LYCANTHROPY AND THE INSTINCT OF PROTECTING
It’s the ability or curse that makes a human turn into a wolf. Greek Mythology tells stories such as Lycaon or Damarchus from Parrhasia.
Lycaon (Greek: Λυκάων) in Greek mythology was the son of Pelasgus (king of Arcadia), the first mythic king of Arcadia. In Pausanias (geographer), Lycaon was king of Arcadia at the same time that Cecrops I was king of Athens. He was really adored by his people, because he had abandoned the wild life he had had in the past and had became knowledge and very a religious man.
Lycaon founded the city of Lycosura, one of the oldest of Greece and in it he created an altar to Zeus, but his beloved religiosity took him to perform human sacrifice, what denigrated his position. He got to the point of sacrificing all foreigners who got to his home, violating the consecrated law of hospitality.
Disapproving these abominable acts, Zeus, god of gods, made himself into a traveler and became a guest in Lycaon’s palace. Lycaon prepared himself to sacrifice him, as he had done to other in the name of his religiosity. However, warned by some divine signs he wanted to make sure his guest wasn’t a god as his feared subjects were saying. For that he ordered to cook the flesh of a slave and serve it to Zeus. Enraged, Zeus transformed Lycaon into a wolf and, for being witness of such cruelty, he set fire to his palace.
Lycaon was father of a number of sons, around fifty. Lycaon’s sons were as cruel as their father and became famous for their insolence and their crimes. Soon it was known of the barbarie Lycaon’s son were committing, Zeus disguised himself as an old beggar and went to the house of Lycaon to confirm the rumors. The young princes had the audacity to murder their own brother Nyctimus and serve his entrails mixed with animals to their guest.
Upon discovering the cruelty, Zeus enraged transformed all of them in wolves, banishing them.
“PROTECT”
Cover (oneself) with something or take shelter (oneself) in some place to be safe of danger or external factors; hide (oneself). To give protection, shelter.
CHAPTER 1
ADAM VAUGH
I first open an eye and after a few seconds the other one, the lights bother me, my head throbs as if a heavy metal band was playing an inferno guitar solo on my temple.
I’ll never drink like this again, getting wasted definitely doesn’t agree with me, I spend thirty five years without getting drunk once and now I can figure out the real motive: I’m an intelligent guy, I was right in being sober.
The wet umbrella taste in my mouth, the sore muscles as if th
ey had been crushed in a grinder. Anyway, all this torture after a drinking day, it’s definitely not for me.
I get up towards the bathroom, walking like an eighty year old man and when I look at the clock beside my bed, an adrenaline rush takes over my body like a feral attack of a thousand eels.
I’m late, FUCK, I’M FUCKING LATE!!! I scream out loud, and a few more quite original swear words.
HOLY SHIT! I was certainly heard by all my brothers in our house, that is surprisingly quiet during the first hours of the morning.
I take a quick shower, put on my uniform adjusting the holster on my belt and go to the kitchen.
I rest my gun on the marble counter and I angrily stare my brother Hunter, that by the looks of it either woke up early or just got home now.
A night owl, the son of a bitch, that’s what Hunter is, I don’t know how he can live in this shit, women, drinking, potent Harley Davidsons, not necessarily in this order. This little shit, two years younger than me was watching me with a ridiculous grin on his bad boy’s face.
“Old man, you look terrible, man!”, he gives me a coffee mug and a piece of toast with peanut butter.
“Good morning to you too, Hunt.” I return his scornful look with a frown.
“A great day, my brother. Do you want an aspirin?”
And he gives me a pill, I struggle in admitting my morning misery, but I accept.
“Hunt, I’m late to work, do you believe it? I was never late.”
He agrees nodding his almost shaved boxer big head and completes it:
“You also have never gotten drunk before, can I help you with anything?”
“No, it’s alright, I’m going.”
When I almost at the door, Hunter yells, making me go back to him:
“Open your hand, Damy Boy.”
I open my hand still frowning, Hunt know I hate this ridiculous nickname, anyway, am I the older brother or not in this shit family?
He showed me his tongue and behaving childlike as if he was a big ogre baby, he hands me my fucking gun and my badge.
My head is really shitty, he smiles and I thank him.
“Thanks, man!”
He bumps his fist on mine, in a masculine greeting and smiles clumsily.
“I try to support my brother now that he’s becoming an old forgetful person.”
I raise my middle finger in answer and run towards the Portland Police Station car, parked at our door.
Traffic is fine, in twenty minutes I get to work.
Peter Cumming, my only friend and one of the most competent policemen in the District, kindly gives me a cup of coffee with cream from BT Cake and throws himself in the chair in front of my desk.
“Good morning, Sheriff Vaugh, what’s up with the face?”
“Thanks for the coffee and don’t annoy me, Cumming. Hunter is already filling the position well enough to fuck with me. What do we have for today?”
“After such a long calming period in this small town, we have an investigation ahead of us, a breaking in, let me see...”
He stops and looks at the police report on his hands, finishing his thought:
“Mrs. Thompson, at 1240 Kruse Oask Boulevard, near Lake Oswego.”
“Okay! Let’s get to work, but before that I have to have my coffee, I just need a good dosage of caffeine and I’ll be ready to another one.”
Peter watches me curiously, we were always friends and the complete opposite. While Peter can’t resist to the perfect combination of a good whiskey bottle and a huge pair of breast.
Me, ah... What can I say, I allow myself at most an afternoon fishing and a Budweiser once in a while to relax from work.
Excesses, irresponsible behavior, was always things I despised, but recently, the weight of conducting my small and secret pack of wolves, has made me want to forget sometimes that I’m the older brother, the one responsible in keeping the order inside and out of the house, the alpha male of this pack.
Whiskey didn’t bring the answers I need to find peace, it only makes me forget briefly. It wasn’t the solution of my problemas, but it’s something, forget, to just rest my head on a pillow without dread, without sleepless nights, without anger taking over my body, only the most complete and tasteful forgetfulness, even if is just for one night.
“What happened, man? Did a truck ran you over or were you drunk last night?”
“Nothing spectacular, I had some Bourbon and it didn’t agree with me.”
Didn’t agree with me... At the moment so many things aren’t agreeing with me: the bitter memory of the accident that took my parents and the premature death of my younger sister, Onika. having to gather strength of only God knows from where and gather what is left of my family, the huge amount of work I do to keep us in Portland without suspicions.
There are so many little details that make me sick... To list them all it’s practically impossible.
We parked in front of Mrs. Thompson’s and the first thing I noticed was that her house wasn’t one of the best.
The wooden floor was really wasted on the porch, the door was in a decrepit state, it made me think for a few moments, why would anyone try to rob such a simple house?
I rang the door bell and after an eternity, I was surprised on the crack of the door by the most beautiful pair of blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.
Scared and supplicant, they stared at me for long and unbearable seconds, I caught myself holding my breath without any logic reason.
“Mrs. Thompson?” I asked after a ridiculous long time.
She opened the door a bit, correcting me.
“Miss, I’m single.”
I responded something incomprehensive and Peter poked me on the ribs. What was happening to me after all? I put on a smile and respond in an automatic way.
“Hmm.”
Fuck, what I meant with this pathetic “Hmm”? A woman called us to report a crime, she wasn’t a piece of meat to be appreciated with moans and growls.
“Forgive me, Miss Thompson, I’m Sheriff Vaugh, may we have a quick talk?”
“Okay, just give me a minute, please.”
The door opened right after and a young and small woman revealed herself behind it, holding shyly the door knob.
Small, scared and... annoyingly beautiful.
With light blond long and straight hair, irregular bangs covering her forehead, with little freckles on her cheeks and nose, that made her a frail and curious package of femininity wrapped in flesh and bone.
Her skin was very white and pale in contrast with the huge and clumsy black coat that covered her to half of her thigh.
Trying to disguise it my interest and not being able to, I admire her milk creamy thighs, the well shaped legs, the feminine and round hips, the smooth curve of her small breasts.
Till I’m captured by her look, she caught me inspecting her.
“You may come in, Sheriff Vaugh.” She stretches out her hand in a smooth shake and I take my time to let it go from her thin and warm fingers, her eyes go towards my companion.
Confused, I point at my partner and he saves me from the embarrassment of my sudden silence.
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Thompson, I’m officer Cumming.” Peter nods and gives her his best smile, like an Irish Don Juan.
Miss Thompson points to the couch so we can be comfortable, but without covering her nervousness she remained standing, wrapping the tip of the coat with tense fingers, letting it be revealed a big chunk of her deliciously pale thigh.
I try to control my breathing and my heart beating, that are totally out of compass, I look down at the volume compressing the zipper of my pants, I raise my eyes and I’m facing Miss Thompson watching my male misery.
What kind of man is aroused in front of a woman in a delicate moment? To be aroused in front o her is absolutely unacceptable, I look away and get a notepad in the uniform pocket, without being able to look at her.
“Could you tell us what happened in the break in of your house,
we are here to help you, Miss Thompson.” I informed her, without success, in the attempt of calming her down.
Pacing, she told us all the important details, since her arrival at the door of the house, when she noticed that it was broken in, till the cigarette butts that the criminal left on her living room ashtray.
It wasn’t an argument, actually I was talking out loud, but something made me extremely intrigued, and I asked Peter to take note of this observation too.
“It’s weird that the suspect stopped to smoke in the middle of the robbery, there was a robbery, right? What have you missed in your house, miss?”
She stopped her pacing and turned to me, bitting her nails.
“Now that you mentioned, I don’t miss anything.”
“Very weird, it’s like the suspect had no hurry in leaving the house, he calmly smoked two cigarettes, and he didn’t take anything, that’s not typical for someone who wants to sneak in, it seems like some kind of warning.”
Miss Thompson’s pale face transfixed itself in a terror mask. She held the backrest of the couch and went quiet, her big blue eyes were even more wide and, as always, the shiver on my neck that’s never wrong told me instinctively: she’s hiding something.
“Do you have an enemy? Someone that wants to scare you, threaten you for some reason?”
Her silence told me more than a thousand words, she has something to hide and for what I can see it’s going to he hard to be reveled now.
That’s no problem, I’m an innate tracker, the wolf that lives in me loves to sniff the truth, her secret won’t be hidden for a long time, I’m sure of that.
Nervously she twists the tip of the coat and denies it vehemently my question, looking away and changing the subject discreetly.
“No, why would a waitress have enemies? It must be some crazy person that decided to break in my house, I won’t give too much credit to what happened, I think it would be better if I withdraw my complaint, it wasn’t anything really, I’m sorry for taking your time with something silly like this, I’ll accompany you to the door.”