Author's note/Disclaimer:
This is my first attempt at writing.
As English is not my first language I found an additional challenge to deliver a range of vocabulary as I could in my mother tongue (German). Also I really hope I got the tenses and the grammar good enough for fluent reading. My attempt at finding an editor were unfortunately unsuccessful as the only volunteer I met in the forums, found himself/herself overrun by more important real life issues. (In case you read this: if you have more time at present, I would still really enjoy some feedback from you!)
This is the first chapter of a five chapter story. The total word count is roughly 55k, more or less evenly distributed over the chapters. The story is as finished as I can get it. Unless I find an editor who is willing to spend his valuable time on the following chapters, I will post the next chapter in a few days.
There is no sex in this part but I feel it is needed to set the scene.
All characters depicted in sexual situations are over 18.
Of course all characters are fictional, any resemblance with living or dead real persons is pure coincidence.
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Chapter I: The day I met her
Friday, 13.15h
"Stan, help, bring the pack!"
"On the way!"
I didn't ask for an explanation. When my best friend called, I answered. There was no need for any questions. While I turned the connection off, I called for my pack to follow me and started running through the garden where I had been training my dogs until a few seconds ago when Patrick had called. Ten seconds later I reached the corner of my house, jumped the fence and moved along the street on towards my next-door neighbours.
My neighbours are the Holm's: Patrick, aged 31, his wife Esther, 30, and their two kids, Gabriella, 7, and Daniel, 6.
My name is Stan, I'm 27 years old and have been widowed for four years. I had married my childhood love Sandra, Patrick's sister, when we were eighteen. Patrick, Sandra and I had grown up as neighbours in the same houses, or more precisely on the same premises, as we lived in now but while Patrick is four years older than me, an incredibly large timespan in your childhood, Sandra and I were born just a few days apart. We spent our entire childhood being almost inseparable and once puberty started hitting on us in our youth, we soon became an item. Once we were of age, we married.
As I ran towards my neighbours, my pack, ten Dobermans aged ten to one, followed close behind. When I approached Patrick's property I took a quick look around, remembering the stress in his voice. I noticed two unfamiliar cars in the driveway and two rather beefy guys with baseball bats in their hands watching the entrance of Patrick's house. I pointed on four of the dogs, gestured a wide circle to move in behind them, pointed towards the thugs and whispered, "Enemies, take them down."
The four selected dogs sped up and moved as ordered in a wide circle to get the thugs in between us. A few seconds after they had taken off, I drew the thugs' attention to me.
"Who are you?"
They turned towards me, raising their bats, pointing them towards me with a threatening impression.
The guy on the left hollered, "Get lost! This is none of your business!"
Right then the four supporters attacked in perfect synchronisation and coordination. Two went for the hands holding the bats and two went for their faces. A few seconds later the thugs lay on the floor, desperately trying to defend themselves from the snarling dogs. I approached the defeated goons and crouched down between them. The dogs withdrew slightly.
"Lay on your back, put your hands under your ass and don't move." They obliged, obviously scared to death.
"If you stay like this, you might live..." I stated, clearly implying the opposite would happen if they moved.
"Please," they whined just a small step away from panicking.
"Hold them," I ordered the four dogs. They growled to let me know they understood the order and refocussed on their prey. I moved on, six dogs still following me in a well-trained formation, towards the green entrance door which was standing open. I slowed and glanced inside. Patrick was lying on the floor of the living room holding his stomach, either unconscious or even dead. I took a few steps inside and quietly moved towards the noise in the living room. As I peeked inside I saw Esther standing in a corner of the living room, holding a serving tray as a shield in her hands, trying to defend herself and somebody crouched behind her from a big guy with a bald head with a machete. I didn't see anybody else or signs that another person might be around. A recliner lay on its backside and porcelain shards and some flowers were scattered on the floor in the middle of a water puddle. The meat head screamed at Esther to move aside but she refused. I quietly moved into the living room to leave space for my pack to attack and scanned the room again to avoid getting surprised by an overlooked assailant. When I didn't see anybody else I announced my presence.
"Drop the weapon. Now." I spoke loud but calm surprising the attacker and causing the meat head to spin around. I could easily recognise the signs that he was either drunk or on some drug or both. This could turn into a life-or-death-situation fast if I acted thought- or careless. I pointed to Esther and ordered "Defend." The six dogs behind me moved in efficiently, one to each of my flanks while four of them moved in between Esther and meathead, growling and their fangs exposed. All six kept their eyes focussed on the man in the middle of the room ready to attack at all cost following my command to defend Esther.
"Drop your knife now or you will not survive this," I insisted. It's easy to be calm when you have a pack of Dobermans backing you up.
He swung his machete in a wide semi-circle, the blade was at least thirty centimetres long, evaluating his odds. If I wanted to avoid a blood shed, I would have to increase the pressure.
"You can't take down more than one before your right hand is torn off and once they taste your blood they won't stop until there is nothing left of you to identify." A blatant lie, they would stop the second I ordered them to but meathead didn't need to know.
"Drop it. This is my last warning."
Looking around himself he finally realised, he would not win this fight. He slowly lowered the knife and let it fall to the floor.
"Slide it away. Carefully!" He did as ordered.
"Now slowly drop on your knees, get down on your back and put your hands under your ass."