Chapter 1
Brian Benson, 21, stood talking with his brother Cody, 20, in the warehouse they were taken to. "They took the fuckin' truck," Brian said, "why did they not just leave us at the construction site?"
"Yeah," Cody replied, "and why did they make us strip to the waist and take our shirts?"
"Maybe they will send them to dad as proof they have us."
"Shit, just had a bad thought...what if they decided to hold us as hostages or for ransom?"
"Yeah and what if they tie us up or something...could that be why we're shirtless, so if they tie us with rope it will hurt our skin?"
"Don't even say that! If we're tied up we're fucked!!!"
It was then the door slid open and three men came in carrying coils of hemp rope and duct tape.
This is it, Brian thought, his muscular chest tightening as he watched the men approach. Just like every challenge we've ever faced. Who's first to figure a way out? Who's first to show strength? Always been me.
The first man, tall with weathered hands, motioned for Brian to turn around. "You first."
Of course me first, Brian thought with bitter satisfaction. Just like first across the finish line in high school track, first to finish the math homework, first to bench 200. Even kidnappers know who's the alpha.
Typical, Cody's mind raced as he watched Brian being grabbed. Big brother always has to go first. Well, just like when we raced to the bus stop every morning, or competed for Dad's attention, or tried to see who could hold their breath longest—we'll see who comes out ahead this time.
The rope was rougher than anything they'd ever used in their escape competitions. The man began with Brian's wrists, wrapping the hemp in tight figure-eights, the coarse fibers already biting into his skin. Brian's wrists were thick from years of construction work, but the kidnapper compensated by adding layer after layer, cinching each wrap tighter than the last.
Jesus, this is tight, Brian thought as the rope bit into his flesh. Way tighter than our games. But I've always been stronger than Cody, always lasted longer in every contest. I'll handle this better than him.
"Your turn," the second man said, grabbing Cody.
Finally, Cody thought, his competitive instincts kicking in despite the terror. Been waiting my turn since we were kids. Who finished their chores first, who got the higher SAT score, who could do more push-ups—let's see who handles this better.
Both brothers were spun to face each other as their captors worked. Cody was already being bound by the second kidnapper, who ran extra rope around Cody's massive arms. The rope went around his wrists first, then up to his forearms, binding them together. But it didn't stop there. More rope circled his elbows, forcing them closer together behind his back, making his chest muscles bulge forward.
This isn't like our practice sessions, Cody thought, panic starting to mix with his lifelong competitive drive. But Brian's watching me. Just like when we'd see who could take a harder hit in football, or who could work longer without complaining at the construction site. Can't show weakness first.
The third man stepped forward with more rope. Working on Brian now, he began wrapping hemp around the muscled biceps, pulling Brian's arms tighter against his back. The rope went around his arms, then through the elbow binding, creating an intricate web that made any movement impossible.
My arms are going numb, Brian realized with growing alarm. But look at Cody—he's trying not to wince. Same face he made when we'd compete to see who could hold ice cubes longest, or take cold showers, or finish Dad's brutal workout routines. This is just another contest.
Both brothers watched each other as their captors moved to their torsos, each measuring the other's reaction like they had through countless competitions. The rope went around Brian's chest, above his pecs, then below, cinching tight against his ribcage. Each wrap was methodical, calculated.
Can barely breathe, Brian thought desperately. But Cody's getting the same treatment. Who's going to break first? Who's going to show they can't handle it? Same question we've been asking since we were five years old.
Cody received identical treatment, the rope biting into his muscular torso. Even in terror, his mind catalogued Brian's responses. Big brother's sweating more than me. Just like when we'd see who could run farther, lift more, stay awake longer cramming for exams. Maybe I'm finally going to be first at something that matters.
"On the floor," the tall man ordered. "Face down."
Both brothers were pushed down onto the cold concrete, their eyes meeting with that familiar competitive intensity. The hogtie began—rope around their ankles, then pulled up to connect with their arm bindings, forcing them into agonizing arches.
Oh God, Brian's mind screamed as the rope cut into his chest with every breath. But I'm not giving Cody the satisfaction of seeing me break first. Same as every wrestling match, every endurance test, every stupid challenge we've ever done.
Brian's arch looks worse than mine, Cody noted even through his own agony. His feet are pulled higher. Finally—maybe I'm handling something better than the golden boy. Who's first to tap out? Who's first to show they can't take it?
The tall man approached with duct tape, sealing Brian's mouth first, then Cody's. Even gagged, both brothers' eyes burned with that same competitive fire that had driven them through twenty years of rivalry.
Can't even trash talk now, Brian thought, staring at his brother across the warehouse floor. But the question's still there. It's always been there. Who's stronger? Who's first to find a way out? Who's first to prove themselves?
Even tied up by kidnappers, Cody realized, meeting Brian's gaze, we're still asking the same damn question we've been asking our whole lives: Who's first?
The three men gathered their remaining rope and headed for the door. The tall one paused, looking back at the two bound figures.
"Don't bother struggling," he said matter-of-factly. "That's military-grade rope work. You ain't getting out of that."
The door slammed shut, leaving the Benson brothers alone in the darkness, more helplessly bound than they'd ever been in their lives, but still locked in the same competition that had defined them since childhood.
This changes everything, both brothers thought simultaneously. But if we do get out... who's first?
Chapter 2: The Struggle
The first hour was all about proving who was stronger.
Brian tested his bonds methodically, the way he'd approached every challenge since childhood. Just like when we'd time our escape games, he thought, working his wrists against the hemp. Start with the weakest point, work systematically.
He tried rotating his shoulders, feeling for any give in the elbow ropes. Nothing. The chest harness only seemed to tighten when he expanded his ribcage. Cody's probably panicking by now. I'll be out of this before he figures out where to start.
Across the warehouse floor, Cody was taking a different approach. Brian always overthinks everything, he reasoned, throwing his body weight against the hogtie rope. Sometimes you just have to muscle through it.
The rope bit deeper into his ankles as he strained, his muscular back arching even further. The chest bindings cut into his pecs with each desperate pull. Come on, something's got to give. There's always a weak spot.
What the hell is Cody doing over there? Brian watched his brother's violent struggling. He's going to hurt himself. This takes finesse, not brute force. Same as when we'd race to solve Dad's puzzles—I think, he just attacks.
But after two hours, neither approach was working.
Brian's wrists were raw now, the hemp fibers embedded in his skin. Every movement sent fresh pain shooting up his arms. This isn't like our games, the thought crept in despite his determination. We always tied knots we could eventually work loose.
My shoulders are on fire, Cody realized, finally stopping his thrashing. His chest was heaving against the rope harness, each breath a struggle. And look at Brian—his wrists are bleeding. Maybe brute force isn't the answer this time.
The third hour brought the first real fear.
I can't feel my fingers, Brian's panic began to build. The circulation had been cut off so long that his hands were numb, useless. How am I supposed to work knots if I can't even feel what I'm doing?
He tried a different technique, using his body weight to create slack, but the hogtie system was too well-designed. Every movement that might loosen one rope only tightened another. Whoever tied this knew exactly what they were doing. This isn't some amateur job.
Cody was having his own revelation. The ropes are getting tighter, he realized with growing horror. Every time I struggle, they cut deeper. But I can't just lie here doing nothing. That's not who I am.
Look at us, Brian thought, watching his brother's increasingly desperate movements. Twenty-one years of competing, and we're both losing to some rope.
By the fourth hour, blood was seeping through the hemp.
The rope around Brian's biceps had rubbed his skin raw, then deeper. Each movement now left red stains on the coarse fibers. I'm bleeding, he realized with shock. Actually bleeding. This has never happened before.
Jesus, Brian's arms are torn up, Cody noticed, his own competitive instincts momentarily forgotten. But mine probably look just as bad. Can't see my own back.
The rope around Cody's chest was the worst. Where it crossed between his shoulder blades, the constant pressure and movement had worn through skin to raw flesh. The hemp was now dark with blood, sticking to his wounds.
We always said the tightest tie wins, Cody thought bitterly. Well, congratulations to us. We're both losing.
My whole torso is on fire, Brian's thoughts were becoming fragmented with pain. Every breath hurts. The rope's cutting deeper every time I try to expand my chest.
The fifth hour brought desperation.
What if they don't come back? The thought hit Brian like a physical blow. What if they just left us here to die? People don't survive being tied up this tight for days.
He looked across at Cody, really looked at him for the first time since their capture. His brother's muscular frame was streaked with blood, the ropes dark and wet where they cut into his flesh. Cody's eyes above the duct tape were wide with the same realization.
We're not getting out of this, Cody's mind reeled. Not individually. Not with our usual tricks. This isn't about who's faster or stronger or smarter.
Look at what we've done to ourselves, Brian thought, seeing his own blood mixing with Cody's on the concrete floor beneath them. Five hours of trying to prove who's better, and we're both just... bleeding out.
For the first time in their lives, neither brother was thinking about winning.
I don't want to die here, Brian's internal monologue had lost all its competitive edge. I don't want Cody to die here either. What the hell have we been doing?
We're idiots, Cody realized, his body finally going limp with exhaustion. Tied up by professionals and we're still trying to one-up each other. While we're bleeding to death.
The warehouse fell silent except for their labored breathing through swollen noses, the sound of blood slowly dripping onto concrete, and the creak of rope that had been pulled too tight for too long.
This isn't a competition anymore, both brothers understood simultaneously. This is survival. And we're both losing.
Chapter 3: The Breaking Point
The sixth hour began with a sound that made both brothers' blood run cold—their own labored breathing echoing off the warehouse walls, punctuated by the steady drip of blood onto concrete.
We're dying, Brian realized with crystalline clarity. Actually dying. Not in some dramatic movie way, but slowly, pathetically, tied up on a warehouse floor.
His arms had gone completely numb hours ago. The rope around his biceps had cut so deep that he could feel warm blood pooling beneath his chest on the concrete. Every breath was a struggle against the chest harness that seemed to constrict tighter with each passing minute.
Look at Cody, Brian thought, forcing himself to focus on his brother across the floor. He's not moving anymore. Just lying there. His back is covered in blood.
Cody's muscular frame was streaked with dark stains where the ropes had worn through skin. The hemp around his chest was so soaked with blood it looked black in the dim warehouse light. His eyes above the duct tape were glazed, unfocused.
He's going into shock, Brian realized. We both are.
It was then that something shifted in Brian's mind. Not the competitive drive that had pushed him his entire life, but something deeper. Something that had nothing to do with being first.
I can't watch him die.
The thought hit him with surprising force. Not I can't let him beat me or I have to get out first—just the simple, devastating realization that his brother was dying in front of him.
Move, Brian commanded himself. Move toward him.
The first attempt to shift his position sent white-hot agony through his torn shoulders. The hogtie rope pulled tighter, forcing his spine into an even more severe arch. Blood flowed fresh from the rope burns on his biceps.
Jesus Christ, his mind screamed, but he didn't stop. Using his knees and what little leverage he could get from his bound feet, Brian began the agonizing journey across the warehouse floor.
Each movement was torture. The rope around his chest cut deeper with every attempt to inch forward. His torn wrists left smears of blood on the concrete as he dragged himself, foot by foot, toward his brother.
Ten feet, Brian counted desperately. Maybe twelve. Come on.
The sound of his movement—the scrape of his knees on concrete, the creak of overstretched rope, his muffled grunts of pain through the duct tape—finally reached Cody's consciousness.
Cody lifted his head, blinking through the haze of pain and blood loss. What the hell is Brian doing?
Then he saw it—his brother, torn and bleeding, dragging himself across the floor. Not away from the door, not toward some imagined escape route, but toward him.
He's coming to me, Cody realized with shock. He's making himself worse, tearing himself up more, just to get to me.
And suddenly, like a switch being flipped, Cody understood.
It's not a game.
The realization hit him with physical force. Twenty years of competition, of measuring himself against his brother, of needing to be first, to be better, to prove himself—and none of it mattered. None of it had ever mattered.
We're going to die here, Cody thought, watching Brian's agonizing progress. And he's trying to reach me. Not to beat me. Not to show he's stronger. Just to... be with me.
Tears mixed with blood on Cody's face above the duct tape.
I'm such an idiot, he realized. We're both such idiots.
Brian had covered maybe six feet when Cody began his own movement. It was every bit as agonizing—rope cutting deeper into his already torn flesh, his hogtie pulling tighter with each desperate shift of position.
But for the first time in his life, Cody wasn't thinking about beating his brother to something. He was thinking about meeting him halfway.
Back to back, Brian's mind was working through the pain. If we can get back to back, we can work each other's knots. Like we used to do in practice, but for real this time. For survival.
The brothers' eyes met across the diminishing distance, and something passed between them that had nothing to do with competition. Understanding. Desperation. And something else—something that had always been there but had been buried under twenty years of sibling rivalry.
Love, Cody realized. Jesus, I love this stubborn bastard. And he's going to get himself killed trying to save us both.
Almost there, Brian thought, his vision blurring from pain and blood loss. Almost to him. We can do this. Not me first, not him first. Both of us. Together.
When they finally reached each other, both brothers were gasping through their noses, their bodies slick with blood and sweat. They maneuvered with agonizing slowness until they were positioned back to back, their bound hands almost touching.
This is it, both brothers thought simultaneously. Not a competition. A partnership.
For the first time in their lives, Brian and Cody Benson were truly on the same team.
The question wasn't who would get free first anymore. The question was whether they could get free at all.
And they would find out together.
Chapter 4: Working Together
Back to back, the brothers could feel each other's labored breathing, the warmth of blood seeping through torn skin, the tremor of exhausted muscles. For the first time in hours, they weren't alone.
His hands are right there, Brian realized, feeling Cody's numb fingers brush against his own bound wrists. But we're both so torn up. Can we even do this?
Brian's fingers were swollen and nearly useless from the tight bindings, but he forced them to work, feeling along Cody's wrist ropes. The hemp was slick with blood, the knots pulled impossibly tight from hours of struggling.
Feel for the working end, Brian's mind focused despite the pain. Every knot has a working end. Find it.
Behind him, Cody was doing the same, his own damaged fingers exploring Brian's bindings. There, he found a loose end of rope. The chest harness. If I can work this loose, maybe the whole system will give.
They worked in silent coordination, each brother feeling for weak points in the other's bonds. Brian found where the hogtie rope connected to Cody's arm binding—a complex knot, but one with a clear working end.
Pull here, Brian thought, using what little strength remained in his fingers. Loosen this, and his whole hogtie might release.
The rope was embedded with blood and skin, making it difficult to grip. Brian's torn wrists screamed with every movement, but he didn't stop. Not about me anymore. About both of us.
Cody felt the tension in his hogtie rope shift slightly. Brian's doing it. He's actually loosening something. The small change allowed Cody to arch his back less severely, giving him better access to Brian's bindings.
The duct tape, Cody realized. If we can get our mouths free, we can use our teeth.
Cody worked his torn fingers up toward the back of Brian's head, feeling for the edge of the tape. The adhesive had bonded with Brian's hair and skin, but there was a small section where it had pulled away slightly.
There, Cody found the edge and began working it loose with his fingernails. The tape came away slowly, painfully, taking hair and skin with it.
Brian felt the pressure around his mouth begin to ease. When enough tape was loose, he worked his jaw, forcing his mouth open against the remaining adhesive. The tape fell away with a wet sound.
"Jesus," Brian gasped, his first word in seven hours coming out as a hoarse whisper. "Cody, your turn."
Brian immediately began working on the tape around Cody's head, his movements more urgent now. When Cody's mouth was finally free, both brothers were breathing hard.
"Can you feel your hands?" Brian whispered.
"Barely," Cody replied, his voice cracked and raw. "But I got your hogtie loose a little. Can you reach the knot on my chest rope?"
Brian stretched his fingers as far as the bindings would allow, feeling along Cody's torso until he found the complex knot between his shoulder blades. "Got it. But it's tight as hell."
"Use your teeth," Cody whispered. "I'll try to create slack."
This was the moment that required complete trust. Brian had to lean forward, pressing his face against Cody's blood-soaked back, and bite down on the rope knot. One wrong move, and he could make the binding worse.
Taste of blood and hemp, Brian thought as he carefully gripped the rope with his teeth. The working end was buried deep in the knot, but he could feel it with his tongue.
Cody held perfectly still, fighting against his body's instinct to move as his brother's teeth worked at the rope cutting into his flesh. "There," he whispered. "I felt it move."
Brian pulled with his teeth, his neck muscles straining. The knot began to loosen, and suddenly several inches of rope were free. The pressure around Cody's chest eased dramatically.
"My turn," Cody said, already moving to attack the knot on Brian's elbow binding. The position was awkward, forcing him to crane his neck at a painful angle, but he bit down on the hemp.
Coordination, both brothers realized simultaneously. Like we're finally playing on the same team.
Working together, they created a rhythm. One brother would use his teeth to loosen a knot while the other created slack by shifting his position. Then they would switch roles, attacking a different binding.
"Wrist rope," Brian whispered, feeling circulation beginning to return to his hands. "If we can get our wrists free..."
Cody was already on it, biting through the figure-eight pattern that had held Brian's wrists for seven hours. The rope was deeply embedded with blood and swollen flesh, but it began to give way.
"Almost," Cody whispered around the rope in his mouth. "One more strand."
When Brian's hands finally came free, he nearly cried with relief and pain as blood rushed back into his fingers. But there was no time to rest. He immediately began working on Cody's wrist binding with his newly freed hands.
"Both of us," Brian whispered as he worked the knots. "We're both getting out of this."
"Together," Cody agreed, feeling his own hands come free moments later.
With their hands free, the rest of the escape went faster. They worked methodically through each other's bindings—elbow ropes, chest harnesses, ankle bindings. Each rope that fell away brought them closer to freedom.
We did it, Brian realized as the last of the rope fell to the warehouse floor. We actually did it.
Both brothers lay on the concrete, breathing hard, their bodies a map of rope burns and torn skin. But they were free.
"Can you stand?" Cody whispered.
"We'll find out together," Brian replied.
For the first time in their lives, getting up wasn't about who could do it first. It was about making sure they both could do it at all.
Chapter 5: Freedom and Flight
Standing took everything they had left.
Brian pushed himself up first, his legs shaking from hours of being bound. But instead of feeling triumphant about being first to his feet, his immediate thought was different. Is Cody okay? Can he make it up?
Cody struggled to rise, his torn back screaming as he straightened. Brian's hand was there instantly, steadying him. "Easy," Brian whispered. "We've got time."
He waited for me, Cody realized with surprise. Brian actually waited.
They moved toward the warehouse door together, both limping, both leaving bloody footprints on the concrete. Brian tested the handle—unlocked. Amateurs, he thought. They figured we'd never get free.
"You check left, I'll check right," Brian whispered as they eased the door open.
The warehouse sat in an industrial area, darkness stretching in all directions except for distant highway lights. No kidnappers in sight.
"There," Cody pointed toward the glow on the horizon. "Highway's maybe two miles."
They began walking, staying in the shadows between buildings. Every step was agony—their rope-burned skin rubbing against itself, muscles cramped from hours of immobility.
"Can you make it two miles?" Brian asked quietly.
"Can you?" Cody shot back, but there was no edge to it. Just concern.
We can, both brothers thought simultaneously. We can make it together.
Halfway there, Cody stumbled, his legs giving out. Brian caught him without hesitation.
"Rest," Brian said, helping his brother sit against a concrete barrier.
"No, we keep moving," Cody protested weakly. "What if they come back?"
"Then we'll deal with it," Brian said firmly. "Both of us. But you need a minute."
Both of us, Cody noticed. Not I'll deal with it or you better keep up. Both of us.
They rested for five minutes, then continued toward the highway lights. When Brian started favoring his left leg from where the hogtie rope had cut his ankle, Cody slowed his pace without being asked.
We're moving as fast as we can both go, Brian realized. Not as fast as the stronger one can go.
The highway finally came into view—four lanes of late-night traffic, bright lights, civilization. They emerged from the industrial area, two blood-covered, shirtless young men stumbling toward the road.
The first car that saw them pulled over immediately.
"Jesus Christ!" the driver, a middle-aged woman, jumped out. "What happened to you?"
"Kidnapped," Brian managed. "Need police."
The woman was already dialing 911, speaking rapidly into her phone. Within minutes, sirens filled the night air.
As the first police car arrived, followed by ambulances, both brothers found themselves surrounded by paramedics, officers asking questions, the chaos of rescue.
"We need to separate them for questioning," one detective said, approaching the paramedics working on the brothers.
"No," Brian said immediately, gripping Cody's arm. "We stay together."
"It's standard procedure—" the detective began.
"We're not going anywhere without each other," Cody interrupted, his voice stronger than it had been all night.
The detective looked between them, seeing something in their faces that made him reconsider. "Fine. We'll interview you together."
We're first, both brothers thought as they were loaded into the same ambulance. Not Brian first, not Cody first. We're first.
At the hospital, they insisted on being treated in the same room. When nurses tried to separate them for different procedures, they refused.
"We've been apart enough for one night," Brian told the frustrated medical staff.
Look at us, Cody thought, watching Brian argue with a doctor about staying together. Twenty-four hours ago we would have competed over who got the better doctor, who got treated first, who handled the pain better.
Now they just wanted to make sure they were both okay.
"Your parents are here," a nurse announced hours later, after they'd been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged.
Their father burst into the room, their mother right behind him, both of them crying.
"We got the ransom call," their dad said, pulling both sons into a careful embrace. "We thought we'd lost you."
"How did you get away?" their mother asked, examining their bandaged arms and torsos.
Brian and Cody looked at each other. The whole story was too complicated, too raw.
"We worked together," Brian said simply.
"For the first time in our lives," Cody added, managing a weak smile.
Their parents exchanged glances. In twenty-one years, they'd never heard their sons describe anything as teamwork.
Three weeks later, they were back at work on the construction site. The rope burns had healed into thin scars across their arms and chests, visible reminders of that night.
"Race you to the top of the scaffold," Cody said, the old competitive grin creeping across his face.
"You're on," Brian replied automatically, then paused. "But we both better make it up there safe."
They climbed the scaffold quickly, each pushing the other to go faster, but when Cody's grip slipped on a wet rung, Brian's hand was there instantly to steady him.
"Thanks," Cody said.
"We're first," Brian replied, and they both knew exactly what he meant.
At the top of the scaffold, they looked out over the construction site below. Still competitive, still pushing each other, still asking who's faster, stronger, better.
But now they were asking it together.
We're first, had become their new answer to every challenge. Not individually, but as a team that happened to be made up of two people who would never stop trying to outdo each other.
And somehow, that made them both stronger than they'd ever been alone.
