"Chapter 1: Morning in the Frat House
The door to the frat house slammed open at 5:30 AM sharp.
"UP! UP! UP! Let's go, let's go, let's go!"
Pops Benson stormed in like a drill sergeant, cigar already clenched between his teeth, brandy mug in one hand. At seventy-six, the old man moved like he still had jungle mud on his boots and Charlie on his six.
"Jesus Christ, Pops!" Jake groaned from the top bunk, throwing an arm over his eyes.
"Don't Jesus Christ me, boy. Sun's up, you're up. That's the rule." Pops grabbed the edge of Jake's blanket and yanked it clean off. "Move your ass!"
Billy was already stirring on the bottom bunk, but not fast enough. Pops slapped the metal bed frame with his palm—CLANG. "That means you too, little brother. Let's go!"
Across the room, Celeb sat up on the bottom bunk, disoriented. "What the—"
"Beaumont! You think Louisiana runs on Benson time? Get vertical!"
From the top bunk above Celeb, Jr groaned and swung his legs over the side. "I'm up, Pops. I'm up."
"Good boy."
On the mattress wedged between the two bunks, a slow drawl emerged from under a pillow. "Is he always like this?"
"Every damn morning, Louisiana!" Pops barked, grinning down at Colton. "And you love it, don't you boy?"
Colton—seventeen years old, Baton Rouge born and raised, Celeb's cousin—poked his head out, squinting. "Yes, sir, Pops."
"Damn right you do. Now move!"
Jake dropped down from the top bunk, landing barefoot with a thud. "You're insane, old man."
"Damn right I am. And you love it." Pops grinned, teeth flashing around the cigar. "Now get dressed and get downstairs before your mama throws out the bacon."
The five of them stumbled into jeans and boots, muttering curses under their breath—half of them picked up straight from Pops himself. Colton was still rubbing his eyes, his Louisiana drawl thicker in the morning. By the time they hit the stairs, the old man was already halfway down, barking orders at someone else.
Downstairs was controlled chaos.
Sarah Benson had three pans going on the stove—eggs, bacon, and hash browns—while Tom poured coffee and dodged his wife's spatula every time he tried to steal a piece of bacon. Ray was at the table with his laptop open, already running numbers. Josh stood near the counter with his clipboard, mentally organizing the day.
Rebecca was pouring orange juice for her son. "Jr, you eat before you go out. I don't care what Pops says about—"
"Rebecca, the boy's fine!" Pops hollered from his spot at the head of the table, refilling his brandy-laced coffee. "He's got Benson blood. He doesn't need coddling."
"He's sixteen, not bulletproof."
"Same thing on this ranch."
Billy and Jake slid into their chairs, already loading up plates. Celeb sat down next to them, still half-asleep. Colton grabbed a seat, yawning wide. Jr grabbed a biscuit and stuffed half of it in his mouth.
"Chew, don't inhale," Sarah said without looking up.
Tom grinned. "He gets that from you, Ma."
"Watch it, Thomas."
Pops leaned back in his chair, cigar smoke curling toward the ceiling, surveying his kingdom. "Alright, Josh. What's the word?"
Josh glanced at his clipboard. "Billy, Jake—north pasture. Fence line check and move the herd closer to the creek. Celeb, you're with Ray on the south side. Jr, Colton—you and your crew are on drone patrol. Wade wants eyes on the perimeter after last week."
"Copy that," Jr said through a mouthful of biscuit.
Colton nodded, his drawl kicking in. "We got it, sir."
Billy and Jake exchanged a look—one of those wordless twin moments. North pasture. Just the two of them. Long day in the sun.
"Radios, sidearms, water," Josh added. "And I mean it—radios on."
"Yes, sir," Billy said.
Jake grabbed another piece of bacon. "We'll be fine."
Pops raised his mug. "And don't do anything stupid."
Jake grinned. "No promises, Pops."
The table erupted—laughter, overlapping conversations, someone cursing when they spilled coffee. It was loud. It was messy. It was home.
Sarah turned from the stove, shaking her head with a smile. "Y'all are gonna wake the dead."
"Good," Pops said. "Dead don't work hard enough anyway."
Billy laughed, standing up to clear his plate. Jake clapped him on the shoulder as they headed for the door.
It was a good morning. A normal morning.
It wouldn't stay that way for long.
Chapter 2: The Abduction
The north pasture stretched out under the Texas sun like a promise—endless sky, rolling grassland, the kind of quiet that made you feel like the only two people on earth.
Billy and Jake had been at it for three hours. Fence line was solid. Herd was moving easy toward the creek. They'd stopped to drink water, leaning against the truck bed, boots dusty, shirts soaked through with sweat.
"Think Pops'll let us knock off early?" Jake asked, wiping his forehead with his forearm.
Billy grinned. "You asking the man who thinks sleep is for the dead?"
"Fair point."
That's when Billy saw it—dust cloud rising in the distance, coming fast.
"Someone's moving," he said, straightening up.
Jake turned, squinting. "That's not one of ours."
The truck came into view—black, unmarked, no plates visible from this distance. It wasn't slowing down.
Billy's hand went to his radio. "Something's off."
Before he could key it, the truck skidded to a stop twenty yards out. Doors flew open. Four men—tactical gear, balaclavas, rifles up.
"HANDS! HANDS UP! NOW!"
Billy's heart slammed into his throat. Jake's hand was already reaching for his sidearm.
"DON'T!" one of them shouted. "Touch that gun and you're dead!"
Billy's mind raced—no time to call it in, no time to run. The men were already closing in, weapons trained.
"Hands behind your head! On your knees! NOW!"
Jake's jaw clenched. "Billy—"
"Do it," Billy said quietly. His voice was steady, but his pulse was hammering. "Just do it."
They dropped to their knees, hands laced behind their heads. The dirt was hot under Billy's knees. The sun beat down. Everything felt surreal—like watching it happen to someone else.
Two of the men moved in fast. Rough hands patted them down—sidearms ripped from holsters, radios yanked off belts, phones pulled from pockets. Billy's hat hit the ground. Then Jake's.
"Strip," one of them said. "Shirts off. Now."
Billy hesitated. Jake's jaw was set, defiant.
The man raised his rifle. "Now."
Billy pulled off his shirt, his hands shaking slightly. The sun blazed down on his bare shoulders, his muscular chest already glistening with sweat. Jake did the same, his six-pack abs tensing as he moved. They stood there shirtless, boots still on, vulnerable.
"In the truck. Back. Lay down."
One of them grabbed Billy by the shoulder and shoved him toward the truck bed. Billy climbed in, the metal scorching hot. Jake was pushed in behind him.
"On your backs. Hands behind your heads. Don't move, don't talk, don't even breathe loud."
Billy lay down on the burning truck bed, the metal searing against his bare back. He laced his hands behind his head, elbows out. The sun beat down mercilessly on his exposed chest and torso. Sweat was already forming, trickling down his ribs.
Jake lay down beside him, same position—hands behind his head, biceps flexed, chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Their shoulders were almost touching.
One of the men leaned over the truck bed, rifle pointed down at them. "You move, you die. Understood?"
"Yeah," Billy said quietly.
"Good boys."
The truck lurched forward.
Billy stared up at the endless blue sky, the sun directly overhead, blinding. The heat was unbearable—the metal beneath him felt like it was cooking his back, and the sun was roasting his front. Sweat poured off him, soaking into his jeans, dampening his boots.
He could hear Jake breathing beside him—steady, controlled, but fast.
"You okay?" Billy whispered, barely moving his lips.
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah."
The truck bounced over rough terrain. Every jolt sent Billy's body sliding slightly on the sweat-slicked metal. His arms were already aching from holding them behind his head. His shoulders burned. His back was on fire.
But worse than the pain was the fear.
Why us?
The drive felt endless. The sun didn't let up. Billy's vision swam with heat exhaustion. His mouth was dry. His chest heaved with each breath, sweat rolling down his abs, pooling at his waistband.
Jake's breathing was getting heavier too. Billy could see him out of the corner of his eye—jaw clenched, muscles taut, glistening with sweat.
"Jake," Billy whispered.
"I know."
They both knew. This wasn't random. This was planned.
The truck slowed. Turned. Stopped.
Billy's heart hammered. His arms were shaking from holding the position.
"Up. Out. Now."
Rough hands grabbed them, hauled them out of the truck bed. Billy's legs nearly buckled—his boots hit gravel, and he stumbled. Jake caught himself against the truck.
Billy blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden shade. They were at a barn—old, weathered, isolated.
"Inside. Move."
They were shoved forward, shirtless and sweating, hands still behind their heads. The barn door creaked open. Dim light. Dust in the air.
And then Billy saw it.
Ropes. A pulley system rigged to the rafters. Cameras on tripods. A laptop set up on a crate.
His blood went cold.
"Jake—"
"I see it."
One of the men stepped forward. "Center of the room. Back to back. Hands stay behind your heads until I say otherwise."
Billy moved to the center, his boots quiet on the dirt floor. Jake backed up against him—their shoulders touching, their bare backs pressed together.
Billy could feel Jake's heartbeat. Could feel the sweat still dripping down both their spines.
"Hands down. Behind your backs."
Billy lowered his arms slowly. His shoulders screamed in relief—then in terror as his wrists were grabbed and yanked together behind him.
Rope. Thick, coarse. Wrapping around his wrists. Tight.
Jake grunted as they did the same to him.
And then the real work began.
More rope. Around their forearms, lashing them together. Around their elbows—Billy gasped as his arms were forced closer, biceps looped and cinched tight, pulled two inches apart. His shoulders felt like they were dislocating.
"Jesus—" Jake hissed through his teeth.
"Breathe," Billy whispered. "Just breathe."
More rope around their torsos now—chest to chest, their sweaty bodies bound together. Rope after rope, coiling around their muscular frames, lashing them into one unit. Billy could feel every breath Jake took, every twitch of muscle, every tremor.
His shoulders were on fire. The ropes bit into his biceps, pulling his arms back at an unnatural angle. Sweat poured down his chest, his abs, soaking into the ropes.
And then he felt it—rope around his neck.
A noose.
It looped around him, then around Jake. One noose for both of them.
"Stand up straight," the man said calmly. "Your legs give out, you both choke. Simple as that."
Billy's legs were already shaking. His boots were planted on the dirt floor. Jake's breath was ragged behind him.
One of the men stepped forward with a roll of duct tape. "Open your mouth."
Billy's stomach dropped. "What—"
The tape was ripped from the roll—a sharp, tearing sound. Before Billy could finish his sentence, a strip was slapped across his mouth, then another, wrapped around his head. He tried to speak but only muffled sounds came out.
Jake struggled. "Don't you—"
They did the same to him. Tape across his mouth, wrapped tight around his head, gagging him.
"Can't have you boys yelling for help," the man said.
Then came the tape over Billy's eyes. One strip, then another, then another—wrapped around his head, sealing him in darkness. He couldn't see. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe through his nose.
He heard the same happening to Jake—the rip of tape, the muffled protest, then silence.
Billy stood in complete darkness now, bound and gagged and blind, his body pressed against Jake's, the noose slack but present around both their necks. His boots planted firm on the ground. His heart hammering.
He tried to say Jake's name but it came out as nothing—just a muffled sound behind the tape.
He felt Jake shift behind him—felt him try to speak too. Nothing.
"Comfortable?" one of the men asked, mocking.
Silence. Just the sound of their breathing—fast, panicked, through their noses.
"Good. Get used to it. You're gonna be here a while."
Footsteps. The sound of a door closing.
Billy stood in the dark, bound and gagged and blind, alone with Jake in the silence.
All he could do was stand.
And breathe.
And wait.
Chapter 3: Discovery
Pops was halfway through his second cigar when he checked his watch. 11:47 AM.
"They should've checked in by now," he said, more to himself than to Wade Nelson, who was standing next to him at the fence line on the east side of the property.
Wade—Kings County Sheriff, Virginia vet, and Pops' closest friend for forty years—glanced at his own watch. "Give 'em till noon. Billy's good about check-ins."
"Billy is. Jake gets distracted."
Wade grinned. "Apple doesn't fall far."
"Watch it, Nelson."
They went back to discussing fence repairs, but Pops kept glancing at his watch. Noon came and went. 12:15. 12:30.
"That's it," Pops said, pulling out his radio. "Billy, Jake, you copy?"
Static.
"Billy, this is Pops. Check in."
More static.
Wade straightened, his cop instincts kicking in. "Try Josh."
Pops keyed the radio. "Josh, you heard from the boys?"
Josh's voice crackled back immediately. "Negative. They were supposed to check in at noon. I was about to call you."
"We're heading to the north pasture," Pops said. "You stay on comms."
"Copy that."
Pops and Wade climbed into Wade's truck, and Wade gunned it. The drive to the north pasture took twenty minutes at normal speed. Wade made it in twelve.
They came over the rise and saw it immediately—Billy and Jake's truck, sitting alone in the middle of the pasture. Doors open. No one around.
"Jesus," Wade muttered.
Pops was out of the truck before it fully stopped, moving fast for a seventy-six-year-old man. Wade was right behind him, hand already on his sidearm.
The scene told the story before they said a word.
Two hats on the ground. Billy's and Jake's.
Two radios, lying in the dirt.
Two sidearms—still holstered—sitting near the truck.
And boot prints. Lots of them. Not theirs.
Pops stood there, staring at the gear, his jaw working. His hands were shaking—not from age, but from rage.
"Wade," he said quietly.
Wade was already on his phone, dialing. "I see it."
"They were taken."
"I know."
"They were taken, Wade."
Wade held up a hand, phone to his ear. "Dispatch, this is Sheriff Nelson. I need units to the Benson Ranch, north pasture, immediately. Possible abduction, two missing persons, ages twenty-one and twenty-two—" He rattled off descriptions while Pops paced, fists clenched, cigar clamped between his teeth so hard it was about to snap.
Pops pulled out his radio. "Josh. You there?"
"Go ahead, Pops."
"Tell Jr to hit the button."
There was a pause. Josh knew exactly what that meant. "Copy. Hitting it now."
Within seconds, the emergency protocol activated. Every radio, every phone, every system in the consortium lit up with the automated alert:
"911 BILLY JR. 911 BILLY JR. 911 BILLY JR."
Then the radios exploded.
"—what's happening—"
"—Jr, what's your status—"
"Benson Ranch, this is Renzo, we copy, what's the emergency—"
"—on our way—"
"Wade, you there? Wade—"
"—someone talk to me—"
"CLEAR THE NET!" Jr's voice cut through, sharp and commanding. The chatter stopped. "All families, emergency at Benson Ranch. Billy and Jake missing, possible abduction. Converge on main house immediately. Repeat—converge on main house. Over."
Silence for half a second. Then:
"Beaumont family rolling now."
"Nelson family en route."
"Renzo, copy, five minutes out."
"Mattern, on our way."
"Rodriguez, moving."
The consortium was mobilizing. Six families. Husbands, wives, and the wiz kids. All of them dropping everything and heading to the Benson Ranch.
Pops stared at the hats on the ground—Billy's and Jake's, sitting side by side in the dirt like grave markers.
Wade walked up beside him, hand on his shoulder. "We'll find them."
"I know we will." Pops' voice was low, dangerous. "And God help the sons of bitches who took my boys."
Wade nodded. "Amen to that."
They loaded the gear into the truck—evidence now—and headed back to the main house. The consortium was mobilizing.
And somewhere out there, Billy and Jake were standing in the dark, waiting.
Chapter 4: The Livestream
The Benson Ranch main house had never felt so crowded or so quiet at the same time.
Trucks kept pulling up—Beaumonts, Renzos, Matterns, Rodriguezes. Husbands and wives filed in, faces grim. The wiz kids—Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez—came through the door right behind their parents, all of them heading straight for the command center upstairs where Jr and Colton were already setting up.
Sarah stood by the kitchen counter, hands gripping the edge, knuckles white. Rebecca sat at the table, one hand over her mouth. Tom paced near the window. Ray and Josh were at the dining table with maps spread out, already trying to think tactically.
Celeb stood near the stairs, arms crossed, jaw clenched. He'd been in the south pasture with Ray when the 911 alert came through. Now he was back, helpless, waiting.
Pops stood near the fireplace, cigar between his teeth, brandy mug in hand, saying nothing. Just staring at the hats—Billy's and Jake's—sitting on the mantle where Wade had placed them.
Wade was on his phone with dispatch, coordinating deputies, keeping his voice level and professional. But his jaw was tight.
The front door opened again. Robert and Caroline Beaumont walked in.
"What happened?" Robert asked.
"They were taken," Pops said quietly. "North pasture. Two hours ago."
Caroline's hand went to her chest. Celeb turned away, fists clenched tighter.
Upstairs, Jr had the command center lit up. Four monitors, satellite phones, drones already prepped on the table. The wiz kids were moving fast—pulling up files, checking systems, running through protocols they'd drilled a hundred times but never thought they'd actually use.
"Jr, we got the surveillance footage from the north pasture perimeter?" Ryan asked, fingers already flying over a keyboard.
"Pulling it now," Jr said, his voice tight but focused.
The footage loaded. Grainy, but clear enough. The black truck. Four men. Billy and Jake on their knees, hands behind their heads. The men stripping them of gear. Forcing them to remove their shirts. Loading them into the truck bed.
"Jesus," Daniel muttered.
"Can you get a plate?" Jr asked.
"Negative. No plates. But I'm running the make and model."
Colton stood near the door, arms crossed, his Louisiana drawl thick with tension. "We gonna find 'em, right?"
Jr looked at him. "Yeah. We are."
Downstairs, Pops checked his watch. 1:47 PM. Almost two hours since the last contact.
And then Tom's laptop on the dining table chimed.
Everyone froze.
Tom looked at the screen, his face going pale. "We've got an incoming email. Unknown sender."
Wade was beside him in two steps. "Don't open it yet. Could be malware."
"It's a video link," Tom said.
Pops set down his mug. "Open it."
Wade nodded. Tom clicked.
The screen went black for a second. Then it loaded.
The room went silent.
On the screen: Billy and Jake. Shirtless, bound chest to chest, ropes coiled around their torsos and arms, their muscular frames pressed together and lashed tight. A noose looped around both their necks. Duct tape wrapped around their mouths and eyes. Standing in a dirt-floored barn, boots planted, barely moving.
Sarah's hand flew to her mouth. Rebecca choked back a sob. Celeb turned away, fists clenched harder, his knuckles white.
Pops stared at the screen, his jaw working, his hands shaking.
"They're alive," Wade said quietly. "That's what matters. They're alive."
The camera angle shifted—three cameras. One focused on their bound arms behind their backs. One on their taped faces pressed close together. One pulled back, showing the full setup—the noose, the pulley system, the way their sweaty bodies were bound together.
"This is a message," Wade said. "They want us to see this."
And then, as if on cue, a FedEx truck pulled up outside.
Tom looked out the window. "FedEx."
"What the hell?" Josh said.
Wade was already moving toward the door. He stepped outside, met the driver—a kid, maybe twenty-five, clueless, just doing his route.
"Package for Benson Ranch," the driver said, holding out an envelope.
Wade took it, signed for it. The driver left.
Wade walked back inside, turning the envelope over in his hands. Plain. No return address. Heavy paper stock.
He opened it.
Inside: documents. Legal papers. A deed transfer. Signatures required from all six consortium families.
And a note, printed in plain black text:
Sign and return within 24 hours, or they die. You have one day. We'll be in touch.
Pops read it over Wade's shoulder. His hands were shaking. His voice was low, deadly calm.
"Get everyone in here. Now."
Chapter 5: The Hunt Begins
Upstairs in the command center, Jr stood at the main monitor, his jaw tight, his hands steady on the keyboard. The other wiz kids—Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez—were at their stations, fingers flying over keys, eyes locked on screens.
Colton stood near the door, watching, feeling useless. His drawl was thicker when he was stressed. "What can I do?"
"Monitor the drone feeds," Jr said without looking up. "We've got four in the air. Any movement, you call it."
"Yes, sir."
On the main screen, the surveillance footage from the abduction played on loop. Jr paused it, zoomed in on the truck.
"Black Chevy Silverado, 2018 or '19," Billy Renzo said. "No plates, but look at the front bumper—there's a dent on the driver's side."
"Good catch," Jr said. "Ryan, can you run that through traffic cams in a fifty-mile radius?"
"Already on it," Ryan said. "Pulling footage from Kings County, checking highways and back roads."
Daniel looked up from his screen. "I've got the metadata from the livestream email. It's bouncing through multiple proxies, but I'm tracing it."
"How long?" Jr asked.
"Give me twenty minutes."
Jr nodded. "We don't have twenty minutes. Do it in ten."
Daniel grinned despite the tension. "Yes, sir."
Downstairs, the mood was darker.
Pops sat at the head of the dining table, the documents spread out in front of him. Wade stood beside him, reading over his shoulder. The other consortium families—Beaumonts, Renzos, Matterns, Rodriguezes—crowded around, reading the ultimatum.
"They want us to sign over the land," Robert Beaumont said, his voice tight. "All of it. To some shell company called Lone Star Development LLC."
"Never heard of them," Ray said.
"That's the point," Wade said. "It's a front. Someone's hiding behind it."
"Who?" Tom asked.
"That's what we need to find out," Wade said. "But right now, we've got twenty-four hours to decide if we're signing."
Pops slammed his fist on the table. "We're not signing a goddamn thing."
"Pops—" Josh started.
"I said we're not signing!" Pops' voice was a roar. The room went silent. "You think I'm gonna let these sons of bitches take my land and my boys? Over my dead body."
Sarah's voice was quiet but firm. "Then what do we do?"
Pops looked at Wade. "We find them. And we bring them home."
Wade nodded. "Agreed. But we need time. And we need information."
Rebecca spoke up, her voice shaking. "What if they hurt them? What if they—"
"They won't," Wade said, his voice calm, authoritative. "Not yet. They need leverage. As long as we have that ultimatum, Billy and Jake are alive."
Celeb was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his face pale. "How long can they stand like that?"
Everyone turned to look at him.
"I'm serious," Celeb said. "How long can they stay standing with their arms tied like that? With a noose around their necks?"
Wade's jaw tightened. "Hours. Maybe longer if they're strong. And they are."
"But not forever," Celeb said quietly.
No one answered.
Upstairs, Ryan's monitor chimed.
"Got it!" he said. "Traffic cam picked up the truck heading east on Route 87, two hours ago. It turned off onto Old Mill Road."
Jr was at his side in a second. "Where does that lead?"
"Middle of nowhere," Ryan said, pulling up a map. "Old ranch properties, abandoned barns, nothing out there for miles."
"Perfect place to hide someone," Billy Renzo muttered.
"Deploy drones to that area," Jr said. "Thermal imaging. We're looking for body heat, vehicles, anything."
Colton was already moving, pulling up the drone controls. "On it."
Daniel looked up from his screen. "I've got a partial trace on the email. It's routing through Dallas, but the original source is local. Within fifty miles."
Jr's eyes narrowed. "They're close."
"Yeah," Daniel said. "They are."
Jr pulled out his radio. "Pops, Wade, you copy?"
"Go ahead, Jr," Wade's voice came back.
"We've got a lead. Truck headed east on Route 87, turned onto Old Mill Road. Drones are en route. We're narrowing it down."
There was a pause. Then Pops' voice, gravelly and hard: "Good work, son. Keep going."
Jr looked at the other wiz kids. "Let's find them."
On the main screen, the livestream was still running. Billy and Jake stood in the barn, bound and gagged and blind, their chests pressed together, the noose around their necks. Their bodies were tense, muscles trembling from the strain. Sweat glistened on their skin.
Jr stared at the screen, his fists clenched.
"We're coming," he whispered. "Just hold on."
Chapter 6: Standing
Time lost meaning in the darkness.
Billy didn't know if it had been minutes or hours since the men left. All he knew was pain.
His shoulders were screaming. The ropes around his biceps pulled his arms back at an angle that felt like his joints were tearing apart. Every breath sent fire through his chest where the ropes bit into his skin. His legs were shaking—not just from fear anymore, but from exhaustion.
He could feel Jake's chest rising and falling against his own, fast and shallow. Could feel the sweat between them, slick and hot. Could feel the tremor in Jake's body that matched his own.
Billy tried to shift his weight slightly—just to ease the pressure on his left leg—but the movement made the noose tighten. He froze. Felt Jake freeze too.
Don't move. Just don't move.
He tried to take a slow breath through his nose, but the duct tape was making it hard. His mouth was dry. His tongue felt thick. Every inhale was a conscious effort.
Behind the tape over his eyes, tears were forming—not from crying, but from the strain, the heat, the exhaustion. He blinked them away, but they had nowhere to go, just pooling against the tape.
He wanted to say something. Wanted to tell Jake he was okay, that they'd get through this, that help was coming. But all he could do was make muffled sounds behind the gag.
He felt Jake's heartbeat against his chest—fast, hard, steady. It was the only thing keeping him grounded. The only thing reminding him he wasn't alone.
We're in this together. Just keep standing.
Jake's legs were on fire.
Every muscle from his calves to his thighs was cramping, trembling, threatening to give out. He'd been standing for—how long now? Two hours? Three? He didn't know. Couldn't tell.
His shoulders were worse. The ropes around his elbows and biceps were cutting into him, pulling his arms back so far he thought his shoulders would dislocate. He'd felt this kind of pain before—dislocated his shoulder once in high school during a rodeo—but this was different. This was sustained. Relentless.
He could feel Billy's chest pressed against his, could feel every breath Billy took, every twitch of muscle. They were one unit now. If one of them fell, they both choked.
Don't fall. Don't you dare fall.
Jake tried to focus on something—anything—other than the pain. He thought about the ranch. Thought about Pops yelling at them to get up in the morning. Thought about breakfast with the family. Thought about Billy laughing at something stupid he'd said.
Billy.
Jake could feel Billy's breathing change—getting faster, more panicked. He tried to steady his own breathing, tried to slow it down. Maybe Billy would feel it. Maybe it would help.
We're gonna make it. We have to.
The barn was silent except for their breathing.
Billy's mind was starting to drift. The pain was so constant now that it was almost becoming background noise—almost. He could feel his body shutting down, conserving energy, trying to keep him upright.
His legs buckled slightly.
The noose tightened.
Billy gasped—a muffled, panicked sound behind the tape—and forced his legs straight again. His boots scrambled on the dirt floor for purchase. Jake grunted, his body tensing, compensating for the shift in weight.
No no no no—
Billy's heart was pounding. He could feel Jake's heart pounding too, pressed against his chest, matching his own frantic rhythm.
They stood there, frozen, the noose slack again but present.
Billy's legs were shaking harder now. He didn't know how much longer he could do this.
Behind the tape, he closed his eyes—not that it mattered in the darkness—and focused on breathing. In through his nose. Out through his nose. Slow. Steady.
He felt Jake's breathing slow too. Felt Jake's chest expand and contract against his own in a deliberate rhythm.
I'm here. Stay with me.
Time passed. How much, Billy didn't know.
His body was beyond exhausted. Every muscle was screaming. His shoulders felt like they were being ripped apart. His legs were trembling so hard he didn't know how he was still standing.
But he was.
They both were.
And then—footsteps.
Billy's heart jumped. He felt Jake tense against him.
The barn door creaked open. Light—Billy could see it even through the tape, a faint glow at the edges.
Heavy footsteps on the dirt floor. Multiple people.
"Well, well," a voice said. "You boys are tougher than I thought."
Billy tried to speak, but it came out as nothing behind the tape.
"Let's see how tough you really are."
Billy heard a mechanical sound—a ratcheting, like a pulley being turned.
And then the noose around both their necks started to tighten.
Slowly.
Lifting them.
Billy's boots lifted off the ground—just an inch, then two. The rope bit into his throat. He couldn't breathe. Couldn't—
Jake was choking beside him, their bodies jerking, trying to find footing that wasn't there.
No no no—
Ten seconds. Maybe less. It felt like forever.
And then they were dropped back down. Their boots hit the dirt floor hard. Billy gasped for air through his nose, his throat burning, his vision swimming even in the darkness.
Jake was gasping too, their chests heaving against each other.
"That's just a taste," the voice said. "You've got twenty-three hours left. Better hope your family signs those papers."
Footsteps. The door closing.
Silence again.
Billy stood there, trembling, his throat raw, his body shaking.
He felt Jake's heartbeat against his chest—still there, still strong.
And he held on to that.
Chapter 7: Mobilization
The scream came from Sarah.
Everyone in the dining room had been watching the laptop screen—the livestream still running, Billy and Jake standing in the barn, bound and silent. And then the pulley system activated.
The noose tightened. The boys were lifted—boots off the ground, bodies jerking, choking.
Sarah's hands flew to her mouth, but the scream escaped anyway. Rebecca was crying, her hands shaking. Caroline Beaumont turned away, unable to watch.
Ten seconds. It felt like an eternity.
And then they were dropped. Their boots hit the ground hard. Their chests heaved, gasping for air through their noses.
Pops stood frozen, staring at the screen. His cigar had gone out. His hands were trembling—not shaking, trembling—with pure, unfiltered rage.
"That's it," he said quietly.
Wade looked at him. "Pops—"
"I said that's it." Pops turned, his voice rising. "We're not waiting twenty-four hours. We're not signing a goddamn thing. We're going in."
"We don't have a location yet," Wade said, trying to stay calm.
Pops grabbed his radio. "Jr. Tell me you got something."
There was a pause. Then Jr's voice came through, tight but steady. "We got it, Pops. Abandoned barn, Old Mill Road, twelve miles east. Drone just confirmed heat signatures—two bodies, upright, stationary. It's them."
The room went silent.
Pops looked at Wade. "Now we have a location."
Wade nodded slowly. "Alright. But we do this smart. We go in fast, we go in quiet, and we don't give them time to hurt those boys any more than they already have."
"Agreed," Pops said. He looked around the room—at Tom, Ray, Josh, Robert Beaumont, the other consortium men. "Gear up. Rifles, sidearms, vests if you got 'em. We roll in fifteen."
"I'm coming," Celeb said from the doorway.
Pops looked at him. "Son—"
"I'm coming," Celeb said again, his voice harder. "They're my brothers too."
Pops nodded. "Alright. Get your gear."
Upstairs, the command center was a hive of controlled chaos.
Jr had the barn location pulled up on the main screen—satellite imagery, drone feeds, thermal overlays. The wiz kids were already moving, packing up the portable command center, syncing their iPads, checking systems.
"How many hostiles?" Jr asked.
"Drone picked up four heat signatures outside the barn," Ryan said. "Could be more inside, but we can't confirm."
"Four we can handle," Jr muttered.
He opened the emergency locker mounted on the wall—five sidearms, holstered and loaded. One for each of them. They'd been shooting since they were eight years old. Every one of them could hit a target at a hundred yards.
Jr tossed a sidearm to Billy Renzo. Then Ryan. Then Daniel. Then Colton.
"We're going with them," Jr said.
Colton's eyes widened slightly. "All of us?"
"All of us," Jr said, holstering his own sidearm. "We take the portable command center, keep the drones up, maintain comms. We're their eyes and ears out there."
Billy Renzo nodded, already slinging his iPad bag over his shoulder. "Let's do it."
Ryan grabbed the portable command unit—a reinforced case with laptop, satellite uplink, and battery packs. Daniel had the drone controller.
"Pops is gonna let us?" Colton asked, his drawl thick.
Jr grinned grimly. "Pops knows we can shoot. And he knows we can run comms better than anyone. He'll let us."
They headed downstairs, armed and equipped.
Downstairs, the living room had been transformed into an armory.
Rifles laid out on the coffee table. Sidearms being checked and loaded. Tactical vests pulled from storage. Pops was already geared up—vest, rifle, sidearm, knife. He looked like he was back in Vietnam, ready to move.
Wade was methodical, checking his gear piece by piece. Tom and Ray were doing the same. Josh had his rifle slung over his shoulder, jaw set. Robert Beaumont was loading magazines, his hands steady.
Celeb stood near the door, rifle in hand, his face pale but determined.
The wiz kids came down the stairs—Jr in front, the others behind him, all of them armed with sidearms, carrying the portable command center and iPads.
Pops looked at them. Looked at the sidearms. Looked at Jr.
"We're coming," Jr said. Not a question.
Pops studied them for a long moment. Then he nodded. "You stay back. You run comms, you guide us in, you keep those drones up. You do not engage unless you have no choice. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Jr said.
"All of you?"
"Yes, sir," the wiz kids said in unison.
Sarah stood near the kitchen, arms crossed, watching her son gear up. Her face was tight, but she wasn't crying anymore. She was past crying. "You bring them home," she said quietly.
Pops looked at her. "I will."
Wade pulled out a map, spread it on the table. "Alright, listen up. Old Mill Road, twelve miles east. Abandoned barn, middle of nowhere. Drones confirm two bodies inside, standing. Four hostiles outside, possibly more inside."
"We split into three groups," Pops said. "Wade, you take Tom, Ray, and Robert—come in from the west. I'll take Josh and Celeb—we come in from the east. Jr, you and the wiz kids set up command at the tree line, two hundred yards out. You keep eyes on us, you call out movement, you guide us in."
"Copy that," Jr said.
Wade's voice was hard. "Rules of engagement: they kidnapped and tortured two of ours. They don't get a warning. They get taken down."
No one argued.
Pops checked his rifle one last time. "Mount up. We leave in five."
The trucks rolled out—three of them, loaded with armed men and the wiz kids, moving fast down the ranch roads toward Old Mill Road.
Inside the lead truck, Pops sat in the passenger seat, rifle across his lap, cigar clamped between his teeth. Jr sat in the back with the portable command center on his lap, monitoring drone feeds on his iPad.
"Drone's holding position," Jr said. "No movement from the hostiles. You're clear to approach."
"Copy," Pops said.
Behind them, Wade's truck followed, and the third truck carried the rest of the wiz kids with their equipment.
Pops looked out the window at the darkening sky. The sun was setting. They'd be going in at dusk.
Perfect.
"We're coming, boys," Pops muttered. "Hold on just a little longer."
The hunt was on.
Chapter 8: The Raid
The trucks killed their headlights a mile out and rolled in silent.
Old Mill Road was nothing but dirt and gravel, flanked by scrub brush and mesquite trees. The barn sat in a clearing ahead—weathered wood, rusted metal roof, no other structures for miles. Perfect isolation.
Perfect for an ambush.
Wade's truck peeled off west, disappearing into the tree line. Pops' truck continued east. The third truck—carrying Jr and the wiz kids—stopped at the tree line two hundred yards out.
Jr was out first, Ryan and Daniel right behind him with the portable command center. Billy Renzo had the drone controller. Colton was already pulling up thermal imaging on his iPad.
"Set up here," Jr said quietly. "Billy, get the drone repositioned—I want a full view of the barn and all approaches."
"On it."
The drone adjusted, its camera feed streaming to all eighteen iPads—the ones carried by every man on the raid, and the one back at the ranch house with Sarah and the ladies.
At the Benson Ranch, Sarah stood at the dining table, her hands gripping the edge. Rebecca was beside her, one hand over her mouth. Caroline Beaumont stood on Sarah's other side. The other consortium wives crowded around.
The iPad screen showed everything—the barn in the center, four heat signatures outside, two inside the barn standing upright.
"They're moving in," Sarah whispered.
Rebecca's voice shook. "Please, God—"
Jr watched his screen, his jaw tight. He could see his father and Celeb moving through the brush on the east side. Could see Wade's team advancing from the west. Slow. Methodical. Professional.
"Sixty yards out," Jr said into his radio. "No movement from hostiles."
Pops keyed his radio. "On my mark, we take them simultaneous. Wade, you got the two at the back?"
"Affirmed. We got 'em."
"Jr, you call it."
Jr's heart pounded. He watched the screen—Pops' team closing in from the east, Wade's from the west. The hostiles hadn't moved. Hadn't noticed.
"Forty yards," Jr said.
The teams kept moving. Silent. Ghosts in the dusk.
"Thirty yards."
Pops raised his rifle. So did Josh. Celeb's hands were steady on his own weapon.
"Twenty—"
And then the barn door opened.
Jr's blood went cold. "Contact! Hostile exiting the barn!"
Back at the ranch, Sarah gasped. On the screen, a fifth man stepped out of the barn, holding something in his hand.
"What is that?" Rebecca said.
"A remote," Caroline whispered.
"He's got a trigger!" Daniel said.
The man pressed the button.
Inside the barn, the pulley system activated.
Billy felt the noose tighten before he heard the ratchet.
His boots left the ground. The rope bit into his throat. He couldn't breathe—couldn't—
Jake was choking beside him, their bodies jerking upward together, the ropes around their chests holding them tight.
No—not again—
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
Billy's vision was going dark even behind the tape. His lungs screamed. His legs kicked uselessly.
And then—gunfire.
Sarah saw it on the screen—the two heat signatures inside the barn lifting off the ground.
"NO!" she screamed.
And then the gunfire started. Four—no, five—shots in rapid succession. The heat signatures outside the barn dropped.
"They're moving in!" Rebecca said, her voice breaking.
"TAKE THEM DOWN!" Pops roared.
The silence shattered.
Pops' rifle cracked—once, twice. The hostile at the front entrance dropped. Josh took the second one. Wade and Tom fired simultaneously—the two at the back fell.
The man with the remote spun toward the sound, fumbling for his sidearm.
Celeb fired. Center mass. The man went down, the remote clattering from his hand.
"GO GO GO!" Wade shouted.
Pops was already moving, rifle up, charging the barn. Josh and Celeb flanked him. Wade's team converged from the other side.
Pops hit the barn door first, shouldering it open. Inside—dim light, dust in the air, cameras still running.
And there—center of the barn—Billy and Jake.
Hanging. Boots off the ground. The noose pulled tight around both their necks. Their bodies limp.
"GET THEM DOWN!" Pops roared. "GET THEM DOWN NOW!"
Josh was already climbing, knife out, cutting through the pulley rope. Wade grabbed Billy's legs, lifting him. Tom grabbed Jake.
The rope went slack. They dropped—Wade and Tom caught them, lowering them to the ground.
"Somebody get this rope off!" Wade shouted.
Pops was there, knife out, sawing through the noose around their necks. The rope fell away. Billy gasped—a wet, choking sound. Jake did the same.
"They're breathing!" Wade said. "They're breathing!"
Sarah's knees buckled. Rebecca caught her. "They're alive," Rebecca sobbed. "They're alive."
On the screen, they could see the heat signatures on the ground now, men crowded around them, moving fast.
Caroline's hand was over her heart. "Thank God. Thank God."
Josh was cutting the ropes around their torsos—layer after layer, thick and tight. Celeb was cutting the ones around their arms. It took three knives and two minutes to get through it all.
The ropes fell away. Billy and Jake collapsed forward, still gagged and blindfolded, their bodies shaking.
"Easy, easy," Pops said, his hands on Billy's shoulders. "You're okay. You're safe now."
Wade pulled the tape off Jake's mouth first—carefully, slowly. Jake gasped, coughing, his voice raw. "Billy—"
"Right here," Pops said, peeling the tape off Billy's eyes. "He's right here."
Billy blinked, his vision swimming. The first thing he saw was Pops' face—weathered, furious, relieved.
"Pops," Billy croaked.
"I got you, son. I got you."
Wade pulled the tape off Jake's eyes. Jake's gaze found Billy immediately. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Billy whispered. "You?"
"Yeah."
Celeb dropped to his knees beside them, his face pale, his hands shaking. "Jesus, guys—"
"We're okay," Billy said. "We're okay."
Jr came through the door, the other wiz kids behind him. He stopped, staring at Billy and Jake—freed now, sitting on the ground, leaning against each other, alive.
"You did good, Jr," Pops said. "Real good."
Jr nodded, not trusting his voice.
Wade was already on his radio. "Dispatch, this is Sheriff Nelson. We've got the victims. Barn secured. Five hostiles down. Send paramedics to Old Mill Road, abandoned barn, twelve miles east of Benson Ranch. Over."
Pops looked at Billy and Jake, his hands still on Billy's shoulders. "Can you stand?"
Billy tried. His legs buckled. Jake caught him.
"Take your time," Pops said. "We got all the time in the world now."
Billy looked up at him, tears streaming down his face now—not from pain, but from relief. "Thank you."
Pops' jaw tightened. "You're family. We don't leave family behind."
Outside, sirens wailed in the distance. Paramedics were coming.
But for now, in the dim light of the barn, surrounded by his family, Billy closed his eyes and let himself breathe.
They were safe.
They were home.
Chapter 9: Heroes
By noon the next day, the Benson Ranch command center was packed.
Two FBI special agents—Morgan and Chen—stood at the main monitor with Jr, watching as the wiz kids walked them through the digital trail. Billy Renzo had the keyboard, pulling up files, metadata, email routing logs.
"We traced the livestream email back through six proxies," Billy Renzo said, his fingers moving fast. "But the original source IP is here—Dallas. Commercial building, downtown."
Agent Morgan leaned in. "Can you confirm the address?"
"Already did," Ryan said, pulling it up on his screen. "1847 Commerce Street. Registered to Lone Star Development LLC. Same company on the land transfer documents."
Agent Chen was taking notes. "What else did you find?"
Daniel pulled up phone records from the kidnappers' devices. "Burner phones, but they were sloppy. Multiple calls to the same Dallas number over the past two weeks. We cross-referenced it with the LLC's business filings—matches the registered agent's contact info."
Jr looked at the agents. "They planned this. Surveillance, timing, everything. This wasn't their first job."
Agent Morgan nodded slowly. "Good work. Really good work." He looked at Wade, who was standing near the door. "Sheriff, we're gonna need to move on this fast. Before they know we've got their people."
Wade was already pulling out his phone. "I'm calling the Texas Rangers. This is multi-state, organized crime—we're gonna need more than just FBI on this."
He stepped into the hallway, dialing.
Pops stood near the window, cigar between his teeth, watching. "How long before you hit them?"
"Two hours," Agent Morgan said. "Maybe less. We'll coordinate with Dallas PD, get a warrant, and breach."
"I want to be there," Wade said, coming back into the room.
"You're invited," Agent Morgan said. "Let's roll."
Wade looked at Pops. "You got this here?"
"I got this," Pops said. "Go get the bastards who bankrolled it."
Wade grabbed his vest, checked his sidearm. Jr handed him an iPad. "Stay on comms. We'll monitor everything from here."
"Copy that."
Wade, the two FBI agents, and a Texas Ranger who'd just arrived headed out to the trucks. Within five minutes, they were gone.
Downstairs, Sarah had lunch going—sandwiches, chips, sweet tea, enough to feed an army. The consortium families were still there, unwilling to leave until this was finished.
Billy and Jake sat at the kitchen table, arms in slings, bruises dark on their shoulders and necks. They'd been checked by paramedics, cleared—dislocated shoulders reduced, rope burns treated, but nothing permanent. They'd heal.
Celeb sat beside them, quiet, just glad they were there.
"You guys need anything?" Sarah asked, setting plates in front of them.
"We're good, Ma," Billy said.
Jake grabbed a sandwich with his good hand. "Thanks, Ma."
Pops walked in, cigar smoke trailing behind him. He looked at Billy and Jake, then at the table. "You boys eat. You've earned it."
"Yes, sir," they said in unison.
Jr came down the stairs, iPad in hand. "Wade's team just hit the highway. ETA Dallas in ninety minutes."
Pops nodded. "Good. Now we wait."
Two hours later, Jr's iPad chimed.
Everyone in the dining room looked up. Jr answered. "Wade?"
Wade's voice came through, tinny but clear. "We got 'em. FBI, Rangers, Dallas PD—we breached the office. Four arrests, hard drives seized, documents everywhere."
Pops leaned in. "What'd you find?"
"A goddamn operation," Wade said. "This wasn't just about your land. They've been running kidnap-for-land schemes across three states—Texas, New Mexico, Oklahoma. Targeting ranchers, small operations, forcing sales. We're talking dozens of cases over the past two years."
The room went silent.
"How many families?" Sarah asked quietly.
"At least twenty that we can confirm so far," Wade said. "FBI's calling it one of the biggest organized land fraud rings in the region."
Pops' jaw tightened. "And we just took them down."
"You did," Wade said. "Your boys, your tech, your people—this was all you. FBI's gonna want statements, but they're already calling you heroes."
Jr looked at the other wiz kids—Billy Renzo, Ryan, Daniel, Colton. They were grinning.
"When you coming back?" Pops asked.
"Few hours. Paperwork. You know how it is."
"Alright. We'll save you some dinner."
"Appreciated."
The line went dead.
Pops looked around the table—at his sons, at the consortium families, at the wiz kids who'd made it all possible. "We did good today."
"Yes, sir," Tom said. "We did."
By evening, the mood had shifted. Relief. Pride. Exhaustion.
The frat house was loud again—Billy, Jake, Celeb, Jr, and Colton sprawled across the bunks and floor, boots kicked off, still riding the adrenaline.
Pops knocked once and walked in, carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels and six glasses.
"Pops," Jr said, grinning. "You serious?"
"Damn right I'm serious," Pops said, setting the bottle down. "You boys just took down a criminal empire. You've earned a drink."
He poured—not much, just enough. Handed them out. "To family. To brotherhood. And to not doing anything that stupid ever again."
They raised their glasses. "To family."
The Jack burned going down. Jake coughed. Billy laughed. Celeb shook his head, grinning. Jr and Colton were trying not to wince.
"Alright, alright," Pops said, taking the glasses back. "That's it. One drink. Don't tell your mothers."
"Yes, sir," they said.
Pops looked at them—these boys, his grandsons, his family. Beaten up, exhausted, but alive. Safe.
"I'm proud of you," he said quietly. "All of you."
Billy met his eyes. "Thank you, Pops. For everything."
"You don't thank family, son. You just show up. And you did."
He turned to leave, then stopped at the door. "Lights out in an hour. Morning comes early."
"Yes, sir."
The door closed.
They sat there for a moment, listening to Pops' footsteps fade down the hall.
Then Jake grinned. "Celeb, get the stash."
Celeb was already moving, dropping to his knees beside his bunk. He pried up the loose floorboard—the one they'd been using since the frat house became official. Hidden underneath: a case of beer, still cold from the mini cooler they'd rigged.
"Beautiful," Jr said.
Celeb pulled out five bottles, passed them around. They cracked them open, the sound satisfying in the quiet room.
"To not dying," Jake said, raising his bottle.
"To not dying," they echoed.
They drank. The beer was cold, familiar, perfect.
"Think Pops knows about the stash?" Colton asked, his drawl lazy.
"Pops knows everything," Billy said. "He just doesn't care as long as we don't get stupid."
"Fair," Jr said.
They settled in—Billy and Jake on their bunks, wincing when they moved wrong. Celeb on the floor. Jr and Colton leaning against the wall. The beer went down easy. The weight of the day started to lift.
"We really did it," Colton said again, his voice soft.
"Yeah," Jr said. "We did."
Billy leaned back, eyes closed. "You think it'll always be like this?"
"What, kidnappings and shootouts?" Jake said. "God, I hope not."
"No," Billy said. "This. All of us. Family."
Jake looked at him. "Yeah. It will."
One by one, the bottles emptied. The lights dimmed. The frat house went quiet.
Outside, the ranch was still. The stars were bright. The consortium was safe.
And in the morning, at 5:30 sharp, Pops would storm in and start it all over again.
Because that's what family did.
They showed up.
Every damn day.
