Prologue Part 1
Billy: "What the hell are they going to do with us?"
Jake: "I don't know... lock us in here maybe?"
Billy: "Or tie us up."
Jake: "Shit... if they tie us up, they could beat the shit out of us. We'd be helpless."
Billy: "Hogtie us... string us up from the rafters..."
Jake: "Tie our hands behind our backs, ankles together... we wouldn't be able to fight back."
Billy: "They could gag us too. Duct tape over our mouths so nobody hears us scream."
Jake: "How would they even do it? Rope? Chains? Zip ties?"
Billy: "Does it matter? Either way we're screwed."
Jake: "They could torture us, man. Get information about the ranch, the consortium... access codes to the tech system..."
Billy: "The emergency network, the drones, everything Billy Jr. and I set up..."
Jake: "Or just make an example of us. Send a message to Dad and Pops."
Billy: "String us up by our wrists... leave us hanging here for hours..."
Jake: "Beat us until we talk. Waterboard us. I've heard stories..."
Billy: "Christ, Jake. You're not helping."
Jake: "Just saying what we're both thinking."
Prologue Part 2
The barn door suddenly swings open with a heavy creak. Three figures step inside—two carry coils of thick hemp rope over their shoulders, and one holds a sturdy tree branch and red bandannas.
Abductor 1: "Alright boys, time to get comfortable."
Jake: "What the hell do you want from us?"
Abductor 2: "Shut up. On your stomachs. Now."
Billy: "Listen, whatever this is about—"
Abductor 1: "I said down!"
They shove Billy and Jake face-down onto the hay. The abductors work quickly and efficiently. They force a sturdy tree branch horizontally across each brother's back, threading it between their backs and biceps. Thick hemp rope wraps around each bicep, binding it tightly to the branch, the rope cinched and frapped until it bites deep into their muscular arms.
Billy: "Ahh—that's too tight!"
Abductor 3: "That's the point."
They yank Billy and Jake's wrists up behind them toward the center of the branch and bind them there, forcing their arms into an unnatural, straining position. The moment their wrists are raised, their biceps naturally bulge against the restraints—the ropes cutting in like hacksaws against their muscular upper arms.
Jake: "Son of a bitch!"
Next come the boots. The abductors bind their ankles together, then run rope from their bound boots up to their wrists, pulling them into a tight hogtie. But they don't stop there—they extend the rope further, connecting it to ropes looped around their necks, creating a cruel tension. Any struggle pulls on everything at once.
Abductor 2: "Open up."
Billy: "No—mmph!"
They stuff red bandannas deep into Billy and Jake's mouths, then tie thick ropes between their teeth and around their heads, securing the gags firmly in place. The brothers can only grunt and strain against their bonds.
Abductor 1: "Perfect. Get the camera. Time to send Mom and Dad a message."
Chapter 1: Bound and Broken
The barn was silent except for their breathing—ragged, strained, fighting through the bandannas stuffed deep in their mouths.
Billy's face was pressed against the rough hay, his eyes locked on Jake's across the six feet of barn floor that separated them. Sweat poured down his temples, soaking into his white t-shirt. Every muscle in his body screamed. The tree branch across his back dug into his spine, and the ropes frapping his biceps to it felt like they were sawing through muscle and bone.
Jake's eyes were wide, bloodshot. His jaw worked uselessly against the gag, the rope tied between his teeth cutting into the corners of his mouth. His sleeveless shirt was drenched, clinging to his torso. He tried to shift his weight, to find any position that didn't send lightning bolts of pain through his shoulders, but the hogtie was merciless. His wrists, bound high and tight to the center of the branch behind him, pulled his arms into an impossible angle. His biceps bulged against the restraints, and with every tiny movement, the hemp rope bit deeper.
How long has it been? Billy thought. An hour? Two?
Time had stopped meaning anything.
Jake's chest heaved. He made a muffled sound—half grunt, half whimper—and Billy saw the shame flash across his brother's face. Jake was the hothead, the tough one, the one who never backed down from a fight. But this wasn't a fight. This was helplessness.
Billy tried to send him a look that said it's okay, hang on, but he didn't know if Jake could read it through his own pain-glazed stare.
The ropes connecting their bound boots to their wrists pulled taut every time either of them moved. Worse, the ropes looped around their necks kept everything in agonizing tension. If Billy tried to straighten his legs even a fraction, it yanked on his wrists and choked him at the same time.
We're strong, Billy thought desperately. We work the ranch. We can handle anything.
But strength didn't matter here. Raw power meant nothing when you couldn't use it. When your arms were pinned and bound and every instinct to break free only made it worse.
He thought of Edna. Her laugh. The way she looked at him last Sunday after church. They were supposed to go riding this afternoon.
She's going to wonder where I am.
Jake made another sound, and Billy forced himself to focus. His brother's face was twisted in pain, eyes squeezed shut. Then Jake opened them again and found Billy's gaze. For a moment, something passed between them—the same thing that had always been there since they were kids.
We're in this together.
We'll get through this.
But even as Billy tried to hold onto that, the fear crept in.
What if we don't?
The barn door was shut. They had no idea where they were. The abductors had left an hour ago—or what felt like an hour—saying something about "making the call" and "letting them sweat."
Billy's arms were going numb. He couldn't feel his fingers anymore. The ropes on his biceps had gone from sharp pain to a dull, sickening ache that radiated through his entire upper body.
Dad will find us, he told himself. Pops. Josh. Billy Jr. They'll figure it out.
But how? They didn't even know where to start looking.
Jake's breathing hitched, and Billy saw tears streak through the dust and sweat on his brother's face. Not from giving up. From the sheer physical torment of it.
Billy wanted to say something. Wanted to tell Jake to hold on, that help was coming, that they'd laugh about this someday over beers in the frat house.
But all he could do was lie there, bound and broken, and lock eyes with his brother.
And wait.
Chapter 2: Something's Wrong
Sarah Benson wiped her hands on her apron and glanced at the clock above the stove. 12:47 PM. Lunch had been ready for nearly twenty minutes.
"Tom!" she called toward the back porch. "Round everyone up, would you?"
Tom Benson set down his coffee mug and stepped out into the yard, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Lunch! Let's go!"
Within minutes, the kitchen filled with the usual chaos. Josh came in from the south pasture with Ray right behind him. Pops shuffled in from his workshop, smelling like motor oil and cigar smoke. Celab and his cousin clattered down the stairs from the second floor, still laughing about something.
Billy Jr. was the last one down from the command center, his laptop tucked under one arm.
Sarah started setting out plates of sandwiches, potato salad, and cornbread. She counted heads automatically, the way she always did.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
She frowned.
"Where are Billy and Jake?"
Josh looked up from washing his hands at the sink. "Aren't they upstairs?"
"No," Celab said, sliding into his seat. "They left this morning before I even woke up."
"They were checking the fence line on the northeast section," Tom said, pouring himself a glass of sweet tea. "Said they'd be back by noon."
Sarah glanced at the clock again. "Well, they're late."
"They're always late," Ray muttered, reaching for a sandwich.
Pops snorted. "Those boys lose track of time every damn day."
But Billy Jr. didn't sit down. He stood by the kitchen table, looking toward the front window. Something gnawed at the back of his mind.
"Their trucks here?" he asked.
Tom paused mid-bite. "What?"
"Their trucks. Are they here?"
Josh set down his fork. "Yeah, I saw them both parked out front this morning."
Billy Jr. was already moving toward the door. He pushed through onto the porch and scanned the driveway. Sure enough—Billy's black Silverado and Jake's red F-150 were both there, parked exactly where they always were.
His stomach tightened.
He pulled out his phone and dialed Billy's number. It rang. And rang. And went to voicemail.
He tried Jake's. Same thing.
He grabbed his sat radio from his belt. "Billy, this is Billy Jr., you copy?"
Static.
"Jake, you there? Come back."
Nothing.
Billy Jr. walked back inside. The kitchen had gone quieter. Everyone was watching him now.
"Their trucks are here," he said. "And they're not answering their phones or radios."
Sarah's face changed. "Maybe they took the four-wheelers."
"Maybe." But Billy Jr. didn't believe it. Billy and Jake always had their phones on them. Always. And they never turned off their radios during work hours.
"I'll check the stables," Billy Jr. said.
He moved quickly across the yard to the stables, his boots kicking up dust. He checked every stall, every tack room. Their saddles were there. Their gear was untouched.
He jogged to the equipment barn. The four-wheelers were lined up exactly where they should be. None were missing.
His heart started to pound.
He pulled out his phone again and opened the tracking app—the one he and Billy had set up for the whole consortium. It showed everyone's location in real time. He scrolled to Billy's name.
Location services disabled.
He tried Jake's.
Location services disabled.
"Shit," Billy Jr. whispered.
He ran back to the house and burst into the kitchen. Everyone looked up.
"They're not anywhere," he said, his voice tight. "Trucks are here. Four-wheelers are here. Horses are here. And their location services are turned off."
Tom stood up slowly. "What do you mean, turned off?"
"I mean they're off. Both of them. At the same time."
Josh's jaw tightened. "They wouldn't do that."
"No," Billy Jr. said. "They wouldn't."
Pops set down his glass with a heavy thunk. His eyes narrowed. "Something's wrong."
Sarah's hand went to her mouth. "Tom—"
Tom was already moving toward his office. "I'll call Wade."
Billy Jr. stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, his mind racing. Billy and Jake didn't just disappear. They didn't turn off their phones. They didn't go radio silent. They didn't miss lunch without calling.
Something was very, very wrong.
And then Tom's phone buzzed.
Everyone froze.
Tom pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and his face went white.
"Tom?" Sarah's voice cracked. "What is it?"
Tom didn't answer. He just turned the phone around so they could all see.
An email. No subject line. One attachment.
And a message:
$500,000. 12 hours. Or we start with water. Then worse.
Chapter 3: The Message
Tom's hand shook as he tapped the attachment.
The image loaded slowly—painfully slowly—as if the phone itself didn't want to show what was coming.
And then it filled the screen.
Sarah's knees buckled. Josh caught her before she hit the floor.
"Oh my God," she whispered. "Oh my God, no—"
Billy and Jake. Face-down on hay-covered barn floor. Tree branches forced across their backs, thick hemp ropes binding their muscular arms to the wood. Their wrists were yanked up high behind them, tied to the center of the branches. Their boots were bound together, ropes running from their ankles up to their wrists and looped around their necks in a cruel hogtie. Red bandannas were stuffed in their mouths, secured with ropes tied between their teeth and around their heads.
But it was their faces that destroyed everyone.
Billy's eyes were squeezed shut, his face twisted in agony. Sweat soaked his white t-shirt. Jake's eyes were open, staring directly at the camera—bloodshot, terrified, pleading.
"Jesus Christ," Pops breathed. His cigar fell from his hand.
Tom couldn't speak. He just stared at the image of his youngest sons, bound and broken.
Josh took the phone with trembling hands and read the message aloud, his voice barely a whisper:
"'Five hundred thousand dollars. Twelve hours from time of receipt. Wire transfer instructions to follow. Every hour you delay, we add another method. First water. Then electricity. Then we get creative. No police. No FBI. We're watching. When we have confirmation of transfer, we'll send the location. If you try anything, we send you pieces.'"
The kitchen was silent except for Sarah's quiet sobs.
Billy Jr. felt like he couldn't breathe. His uncle Billy—his best friend, the one who taught him how to code the radio network, who snuck him beers and covered for him with his parents—was lying somewhere in agony. And Jake, the hothead who always had his back, who could make him laugh no matter what...
"When did it come in?" Ray asked, his voice tight.
Tom checked the timestamp. "Three minutes ago. 12:51."
"So we have until..." Josh did the math. "12:51 AM. Just after midnight."
Pops was already on his feet, moving toward the gun cabinet. "Forget the money. We find them and we kill every last one of those bastards."
"Pops—" Tom started.
"Don't 'Pops' me! Those are my grandsons tied up like animals!"
"We don't even know where they are!" Tom shot back.
"Then we start looking!"
Celab stood frozen by the table, staring at the phone. Those were his best friends. His roommates. The guys he'd been living with for fourteen months, the ones who'd welcomed him into their family like a brother.
His cousin's face had gone pale. "We have to do something."
"We will," Josh said, but his voice sounded hollow.
Billy Jr.'s mind was racing. Think. Think. The training, the systems he and Billy had built—there had to be something.
"We need to call the consortium," he said suddenly. "Hit the emergency network."
Tom looked at him. "Billy—"
"No, he's right," Josh said. "We need everyone on this. Now."
Sarah wiped her tears and straightened up. Her voice was steel. "Then do it. Get everyone here. We're bringing my boys home."
Billy Jr. pulled his sat phone from his belt and pressed the emergency button. His voice came out stronger than he felt:
"911 Emergency, Billy Junior. 911 Emergency, Billy Junior. 911 Emergency, Billy Junior."
The encrypted signal went out on all eighteen satellite phones across the consortium.
Within seconds, responses started flooding in:
"Renzo family, we copy. On our way."
"Mattern here. What do you need?"
"Rodriguez family responding. ETA fifteen minutes."
"Beaumont checking in. Robert and Caroline en route."
Tom was already on his phone to Sheriff Wade. "Wade, get to the ranch. Now. Both my boys have been taken."
Pops stood by the window, staring out at the driveway, his fists clenched. "Hang on, boys," he muttered. "Just hang on."
Billy Jr. looked at the image on his father's phone one more time. The ropes cutting into Billy's arms. The agonized expression on Jake's face. The complete helplessness.
We're coming, he thought. I swear to God, we're coming.
But first, they had to figure out where.
And the clock was already ticking.
Chapter 4: 911 Emergency
The encrypted signal cut through every frequency across Kings County.
Billy Jr. stood on the front porch, sat phone pressed to his ear, repeating the call one more time for anyone who might have missed it:
"911 Emergency, Billy Junior. 911 Emergency, Billy Junior. 911 Emergency, Billy Junior."
His hands were still shaking. He could see the image of Billy and Jake burned into his mind—the ropes, the branches, the terror in their eyes.
The responses came fast.
Billy Renzo's voice crackled first. "Billy Jr., this is Billy Renzo. I copy. What's the situation?"
"Billy and Jake have been taken," Billy Jr. said, his voice cracking. "Ransom photo just came in. We need everyone at the ranch. Now."
"On my way. ETA ten minutes."
Ryan Mattern came through next. "Mattern family responding. My dad's grabbing the rifles. We're rolling."
"Rodriguez family copies," Daniel's voice said. "We're five minutes out."
Inside the house, Tom had Wade on the line. "Wade, I'm sending you the photo now. Check your email."
There was a pause on the other end, then Wade's voice turned hard and cold. "Jesus Christ, Tom. I'm getting the boys. We'll be there in eight minutes."
"No lights, no sirens," Tom said. "The message said they're watching."
"Understood."
Out on the county roads, trucks were already tearing toward the Benson Ranch. Robert Beaumont had his foot to the floor, Caroline gripping the dashboard beside him. "How the hell did this happen?" she whispered.
"Doesn't matter," Robert said through clenched teeth. "We get them back."
At the Renzo ranch, Billy Renzo's father loaded a shotgun and handed it to his son. "You stay close to me, you hear?"
"Yes, sir."
The Mattern family convoy—three trucks—kicked up dust as they barreled down the dirt road. Ryan sat in the passenger seat of his father's F-250, checking the magazine on his hunting rifle.
The Rodriguez family was closer. Daniel's father had the scanner radio on, listening for any chatter. "Nothing on the police bands," he said. "They're keeping it quiet."
"Good," Daniel said. "That means we handle this ourselves."
Back at the Benson Ranch, the command center was coming online. Billy Jr. sprinted up the stairs two at a time, burst into the room next to the frat house, and started flipping switches. Monitors lit up. The satellite network hummed to life. The encrypted radio system activated.
Celab was right behind him. "What do you need?"
"Pull up the property maps. Every abandoned building, every barn, every structure within fifty miles."
"On it."
Celab's cousin grabbed one of the iPads. "I'll start checking traffic cameras, see if we can spot their trucks leaving town this morning."
Pops appeared in the doorway, a bottle of brandy in one hand and a .45 in the other. "You boys find them yet?"
"Working on it, Pops," Billy Jr. said, typing furiously.
Downstairs, Sarah sat at the kitchen table, staring at the photo on Tom's phone. Rebecca had arrived—Wade must have called her first—and she sat beside her mother-in-law, holding her hand.
"They're strong," Rebecca said quietly. "They'll hold on."
"I know," Sarah whispered. "But for how long?"
Josh and Ray were outside, preparing vehicles. They pulled the heavy-duty ranch trucks around front, checking fuel, loading emergency gear—med kits, water, blankets, bolt cutters.
"We might need the winch," Ray said.
"Already on it."
The first of the consortium families arrived. The Rodriguezes came up the drive in a cloud of dust, three trucks strong. Daniel jumped out before his father even parked, running toward the house.
Billy Jr. appeared on the porch. "Command center. Now."
Daniel took the stairs three at a time.
The Matterns arrived next, then the Renzos. Within fifteen minutes, the Benson Ranch looked like a military staging ground. Trucks lined the driveway. Men with rifles stood in clusters, talking in low, urgent voices. The consortium families had come in force.
Wade Nelson pulled up in his personal truck—not the cruiser—with deputies Wilson and Ryan in the bed. All three were in tactical gear, but no uniforms. This wasn't official business. This was family.
Wade strode into the house. Tom met him in the living room and handed him the phone without a word.
Wade looked at the photo. His jaw tightened. Billy was dating his daughter Edna. Jake had been coming to Sunday dinners for years. These weren't just Tom's boys. They were his boys too.
"Who else knows?" Wade asked.
"Just us. The consortium."
"Good. Keep it that way." Wade handed the phone back. "Where's Billy Jr.?"
"Command center."
Wade took the stairs up to the second floor. The command center was packed—Billy Jr., Celab, his cousin, Daniel, Ryan Mattern, Billy Renzo. Six teenagers hunched over laptops and iPads, satellite maps glowing on the screens.
"Talk to me," Wade said.
Billy Jr. looked up. "Granddad—we're mapping every structure within a thirty-mile radius. Cross-referencing with property records to find anything abandoned or foreclosed."
"Good. What else?"
"Checking their last known locations. Billy's phone is off, but it last pinged at 6:47 this morning, right here on the ranch. Jake's phone pinged at the same time."
"So they were taken from here."
"Or just after they left."
Wade nodded. "Keep going. I want every camera, every drone, every piece of tech you've got on this."
"Yes, sir."
Downstairs, the consortium families filled the living room. Robert Beaumont stood with Tom and Josh, studying a paper map spread across the coffee table. The Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez fathers formed a tight circle, weapons at the ready.
Pops stood by the fireplace, cigar back in his mouth, brandy in hand. His eyes were hard as stone. "We're not waiting for these bastards to call back. We're going hunting."
"We don't know where to hunt yet," Tom said.
"Then we split up. Cover every road, every property, every goddamn inch of this county."
"Pops is right," Robert said. "We can't just sit here."
Wade came down the stairs. "Nobody's sitting anywhere. But we do this smart. Billy Jr.'s working the tech angle. We'll have search grids mapped out in twenty minutes. When we move, we move fast and we move together."
Sarah stood up. "Wade, I want my boys back alive."
Wade met her eyes. "Yes, ma'am. That's exactly what we're going to do."
Billy Jr.'s voice crackled over the sat phone network: "I've got something. Billy's phone—it's still on. Location services are disabled, but the phone itself is active."
Everyone froze.
"Can you track it?" Wade called up the stairs.
"Working on it now."
The room held its breath.
And then Billy Jr.'s voice came through again, louder, excited:
"I've got them. I've got their location."
Chapter 5: The Council of War
"Wait—back up," Wade said, already moving toward the stairs. "You found them?"
"Maybe," Billy Jr. said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "Billy's phone is still active. The battery's on, it's just... hidden. Location services are disabled but the phone itself is pinging cell towers."
Wade burst into the command center. The other boys barely looked up, all hunched over their screens.
"Can you triangulate?" Wade asked.
"Working on it." Billy Jr. pulled up another window. "I need at least three tower pings to get a solid location. Daniel, pull up the cell tower map for Kings County."
"On it," Daniel said, his iPad screen glowing.
Downstairs, the living room had become a war room. The consortium families crowded in—standing room only. Tom stood by the fireplace, the ransom photo still displayed on his phone for anyone who hadn't seen it yet.
Robert Beaumont's face was grim. "How much time do we have?"
"Eleven hours, thirty-two minutes," Josh said, checking his watch.
"We can get the money," one of the Mattern fathers said. "Between all our families, half a million—"
"Absolutely not," Pops interrupted, slamming his brandy glass down. "We don't negotiate with kidnappers. We find them and we end this."
"Pops, they have Billy and Jake," Tom said quietly. "We can't risk—"
"Risk what? You think paying these bastards guarantees anything? They get the money and then what? They let the boys go? Send us to another location? Kill them anyway?"
Sarah stood up, her voice shaking. "Those are my sons—"
"And my grandsons!" Pops shot back. "You think I want them hurt? But the second we pay, we lose all leverage. These sons of bitches will know we're soft."
Wade stepped between them. "Everyone calm down. We're not making any decisions until we know where they are."
"And what if Billy Jr. can't find them?" Caroline Beaumont asked. "What if the phone thing doesn't work?"
"Then we pay," Tom said firmly.
"The hell we do," Pops growled.
Josh held up his hands. "Let's think this through. They want five hundred thousand. Wire transfer. That means they need to access the money somehow—bank account, offshore, something. Wade, can we trace that?"
"Maybe," Wade said. "But it takes time. And if they're smart, they're using routing numbers that bounce through three countries."
"So we're back to finding them," Ray said.
Billy Renzo's father spoke up. "My boy says Billy Jr. is the best tech kid in the county. If anyone can crack this, he can."
"Damn right," Pops muttered, taking another swig of brandy.
Rebecca sat beside Sarah, still holding her hand. "Mom, they're going to be okay. Billy and Jake are strong."
"I saw the photo, Rebecca," Sarah whispered. "They're not strong right now. They're tied up and helpless."
The words hit the room like a hammer.
Celab stood by the window, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. He'd barely said a word since the photo came in. Those were his best friends. The guys he bunked with every night. The ones who treated him like a brother.
His cousin spoke quietly beside him. "We're getting them back, right?"
"Yeah," Celab said. "We're getting them back."
Upstairs, Billy Jr. slammed his fist on the desk. "Come on, come on..."
"What is it?" Billy Renzo asked.
"The phone's pinging, but it's intermittent. Like it's in a dead zone or... or inside something metal that's blocking the signal."
"A barn?" Ryan Mattern suggested.
"Maybe. Or a shipping container. Or a building with a metal roof."
Daniel looked up from the cell tower map. "I've got three pings. Northwest sector. About eight to ten miles out."
Billy Jr. pulled up the satellite map and overlaid the triangulation. A red circle appeared on the screen, covering roughly two square miles.
"There," he said, zooming in. "Somewhere in this area."
Wade leaned over his shoulder. "That's mostly farmland. Old Henderson property is in there. Abandoned for years."
"How many structures?" Billy Jr. asked.
"At least a dozen. Barns, sheds, old grain silos."
"We need eyes on all of them."
Wade straightened up. "Drones."
"Already thinking it," Billy Jr. said. "We're sending up all ten. Full grid search pattern."
He turned to the other boys. "Billy, grab the iPads. Distribute them downstairs. Everyone needs to see this."
Billy Renzo moved to the equipment cabinet and started pulling out the iPads—the networked system that Billy and Billy Jr. had set up for the consortium. Sixteen tablets, all connected, all capable of displaying drone feeds simultaneously.
He loaded them onto a tray and headed downstairs.
Wade followed him. "What've you got?"
Billy Renzo set the tray on the coffee table. The consortium families crowded around.
"Okay, listen up," Billy Renzo said, his voice cutting through the murmur. "We've got ten drones launching in about two minutes. Each drone has thermal imaging and night vision. Billy Jr. and the guys upstairs are controlling them from the command center, but all sixteen iPads are synced to the same network."
He started handing out tablets. "Each iPad will show all ten drone feeds at once—grid pattern, like a security monitor. You can tap any feed to enlarge it, or watch all ten simultaneously."
Tom took one. Sarah took another. Robert Beaumont, the Mattern and Rodriguez fathers, Caroline—everyone grabbed an iPad.
"How do we know which drone is which?" one of the Rodriguez fathers asked.
"Top left corner of each feed," Billy Renzo explained. "Drone one through ten, plus GPS coordinates. Thermal imaging shows heat signatures—red and orange are warm bodies, blue and black are cold structures."
"What are we looking for?" Robert asked.
"Two heat signatures," Wade said grimly. "Billy and Jake."
Billy Renzo powered up one of the iPads and showed them the interface. "When we find something, Billy Jr. will highlight it on the main feed. You'll see it flash on all your screens."
"Jesus," Pops muttered. "That's some serious tech."
"Billy and Billy Jr. built the whole system," Billy Renzo said. "Spent months on it."
Sarah stared at the iPad in her hands, watching it sync. "And this will find them?"
"Yes, ma'am," Billy Renzo said. "If they're in that two-mile radius, we'll find them."
Upstairs, Billy Jr.'s voice crackled over the sat phone network: "Drones launching now. All systems green. Coordinating flight paths."
Downstairs, every iPad lit up simultaneously. Ten small video feeds appeared on each screen—a grid of aerial views, each drone climbing into position.
The room went silent.
Everyone stared at their tablets, watching the drones spread out across the search area.
"Switching to thermal in three... two... one..." Billy Jr.'s voice came through.
The feeds shifted. The world turned blue and black, with flickers of orange where cattle grazed and red where buildings held residual heat.
"There," Daniel's voice crackled over the network. "Sector five. Two heat signatures. Stationary. On the ground."
Every iPad in the living room flashed. Drone Five's feed enlarged automatically, centered on the screen.
Two human-shaped forms, lying close together. Not moving much.
Sarah's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."
"Are they...?" Rebecca whispered.
"They're alive," Billy Jr.'s voice came through, steady and sure. "I can see respiration. Shallow, but steady."
Tom gripped his iPad tighter. "Where?"
"Old Henderson barn," Wade said, already pulling up a map on his phone. "Northeast corner of the property. About nine miles out."
"Three more heat signatures," Daniel's voice cut in. "Same structure. Mobile. Walking around."
"The abductors," Pops growled.
On every iPad, Drone Five zoomed in. The barn came into focus—weathered wood, metal roof, one main door visible on the south side.
"Can you get a count?" Wade asked.
"Confirmed," Billy Jr. said. "Three hostiles. Two on the ground—Billy and Jake. Five total heat signatures."
Wade pulled out his phone and texted Wilson and Ryan. "Gear up. Full tactical. We move in fifteen."
He looked around the room. "Who's coming with me?"
Every hand went up.
Chapter 6: The Strike Team
Wade's voice cut through the chaos. "Alright, listen up. We do this right, we do it once, and we bring those boys home alive."
The living room had transformed into a tactical staging area. The consortium fathers stood in a tight circle around the coffee table where Wade had spread out a satellite printout of the Henderson property.
"Tom, Josh, Ray—you're with me in the lead vehicle," Wade said, marking positions with a pen. "Robert, you take the Mattern and Rodriguez fathers in the second truck. We approach from the west, lights off, quarter-mile out."
"What about us?" Billy Jr. asked from the doorway. He stood with Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez—all four sixteen-year-olds armed with Glocks on their hips.
Wade looked at them, then at Tom. Tom nodded slowly.
"You four stay in the third vehicle with Celab and his cousin," Wade said. "You're our eyes. You monitor the drones, keep the thermal feeds live, and you communicate any movement inside that barn. You do not—and I mean do not—leave that truck unless I give the order. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Billy Jr. said.
"Granddad," Billy Jr. added quietly. "We're not sitting this one out."
Wade met his grandson's eyes. "I know. But you're smart before you're brave. That's how we get them back."
Pops appeared from the gun cabinet, a shotgun in one hand and his .45 in the other. "Where do you want me?"
"Pops—" Tom started.
"Don't even try it, son. Those are my grandsons in that barn."
Wade sighed. "You're with Robert's group. But you follow orders. No cowboy shit."
Pops grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Wilson and Ryan Nelson came through the front door in full tactical gear—body armor, rifles, flashlights mounted. They weren't in uniform. This wasn't sheriff's business.
"We're ready," Wilson said.
Wade checked his watch. "Fourteen minutes to full dark. We move in ten."
Sarah stood up from the couch, her iPad still clutched in her hands. "Wade—"
"We'll get them back, Sarah," Wade said firmly. "I promise you."
Rebecca moved to her husband Josh, touching his arm. "Be careful."
"Always am," Josh said, checking the magazine on his rifle.
Mary Nelson appeared from the kitchen with thermoses of coffee. "For the road," she said quietly, handing them to Wade.
Edna Nelson stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself, staring out at the driveway. Billy was out there somewhere, tied up, hurting. Her father was about to go get him.
Anna Nelson stood beside her, equally quiet. Billy Jr. was going too—her boyfriend, about to walk into a firefight.
Caroline Beaumont sat with Sarah, both women watching the iPad screens. The thermal feeds still showed the two forms on the barn floor, barely moving.
"They're holding on," Caroline whispered.
"Barely," Sarah said, her voice breaking.
Billy Renzo's father clapped his son on the shoulder. "You do exactly what Sheriff Wade tells you. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you watch Billy Jr.'s back. He's your brother out there."
"I know, Dad."
The four wiz kids moved to the third truck—a heavy-duty F-350 with tinted windows. Billy Jr. climbed into the driver's seat. Daniel took the passenger side. Ryan Mattern and Billy Renzo climbed in back with Celab and his cousin.
They had their iPads synced, earpieces in, Glocks secured.
"Comms check," Billy Jr. said into his mic.
"Lead vehicle, check," Wade responded. His voice came through every iPad simultaneously—the encrypted network linking all sixteen tablets.
"Second vehicle, check," Robert Beaumont said.
"Third vehicle, check," Billy Jr. confirmed.
"Command, check," Sarah's voice came through from inside the house. "We're watching all feeds. You'll have eyes the entire way."
Wade climbed into the lead truck. Tom was behind the wheel, Josh in the back with Ray. Wilson and Ryan Nelson were in their own truck—fourth in the convoy.
Pops hauled himself into Robert's truck, settling in beside the Mattern and Rodriguez fathers. His shotgun rested across his lap.
"Alright," Wade said over the comms. "Lights off. Quarter-mile intervals. No radio chatter unless it's critical. Billy Jr., you keep those drones on that barn. I want to know if anyone moves."
"Copy that, Granddad."
Tom started the engine. One by one, the trucks rolled down the driveway, headlights off, moving into the darkness.
Inside the house, the women gathered around the iPads. Sarah, Rebecca, Mary, Caroline, Edna, Anna—all watching the feeds.
Ten drone views. Four truck GPS markers moving across the map toward the red circle marking the Henderson barn.
And two heat signatures on the ground, still barely moving.
"Hold on, boys," Sarah whispered to the screen. "Hold on."
The convoy moved in silence through the county roads. No headlights. No talking. Just the hum of engines and the glow of the iPad screens showing the way.
Billy Jr. kept his eyes on the thermal feed. Drone Five still had the best angle on the barn.
"Granddad," he said quietly into his mic. "I've got movement. One hostile just walked outside. He's... looks like he's smoking. Standing by the south entrance."
"Copy that," Wade said. "ETA to staging area: six minutes."
In the second truck, Pops checked his shotgun for the third time. The Mattern father beside him glanced over.
"You good, Pops?"
"I'll be good when my boys are out of that barn."
In the lead truck, Tom's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. Josh sat in the back, his rifle across his lap, staring out the window at the dark fields rolling past.
"We're going to get them," Ray said quietly.
Josh didn't answer. He just kept staring.
Billy Jr.'s voice crackled over the comms again. "Hostile is back inside. All three in the main structure now. Billy and Jake haven't moved."
Wade keyed his mic. "Sarah, you still have visual?"
"Yes," Sarah's voice came back, tight and controlled. "We see everything."
"Good. When this goes down, you keep watching. If anything happens to us, you call the state police. You understand?"
"Wade—"
"Do you understand?"
A pause. Then: "Yes."
Tom slowed the truck as they approached the turnoff. A dirt road, barely visible in the moonlight, led toward the old Henderson property.
"Quarter mile," Tom said quietly.
Wade keyed the comms. "All vehicles, this is it. Kill engines at the marker. We go in on foot from here."
One by one, the trucks pulled off the main road and rolled to a stop.
The men climbed out. Rifles up. Glocks drawn. Body armor secured.
Billy Jr. and his three friends stayed in the third truck, iPads glowing, watching the feeds.
"You see anything, you tell me immediately," Wade said, looking through the window at his grandson.
"Yes, sir."
Wade turned to the strike team—fifteen men, armed and ready.
"Henderson barn is three hundred yards due east. We approach from two sides. My team takes the south entrance. Robert's team circles to the north. We go in together on my signal. Shoot to neutralize. Our priority is Billy and Jake. Everyone clear?"
Nods all around.
"Then let's bring them home."
They moved into the darkness, spreading out across the field, weapons ready.
And inside the barn, Billy and Jake lay bound and broken, unaware that their family was coming.
Chapter 7: Suffering
Billy couldn't feel his arms anymore.
The numbness had spread from his fingers up through his forearms. The tree branch across his back pressed into his spine, and the ropes frapping his biceps had long since stopped being sharp pain—now just a dull, endless agony radiating through his shoulders.
How much longer?
Time had lost all meaning.
Across from him, Jake's eyes were half-closed, his breathing shallow and ragged through the bandanna. Sweat soaked his "Texas Hold'em" shirt. Every few minutes he would try to shift, and the hogtie would punish him—the rope yanking his wrists back, the rope around his neck tightening until he forced himself still again.
Billy watched his brother struggle and felt utterly helpless.
He thought about Edna. Sunday dinners. Her laugh. The way she looked at him when they went riding.
Will I ever see her again?
Jake made a sound—a whimper—and tears streamed down his face. Not from giving up. From the sheer physical torment.
One of the abductors walked past, nudging Billy's shoulder with his boot. "Still with us, boys? Good. Wouldn't want you passing out before the fun starts."
Billy squeezed his eyes shut.
Jake tried to curse through his gag, but it came out as muffled noise.
The abductor laughed. "Save your energy. You're gonna need it."
In the silence that followed, Jake's eyes found Billy's.
We're still here, Billy thought. We're still alive.
But his body was breaking. His biceps were being sawed into by the ropes. His shoulders felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. His legs cramped in the hogtie position.
I can't do this much longer.
Then Jake blinked twice. Slowly. Deliberately.
Their childhood signal. I'm here. I've got you.
Billy blinked back twice. I'm here too.
Jake's jaw worked against the gag. Don't give up.
Billy nodded—barely, painfully.
I won't. I promise.
One of the abductors checked his phone. "How much longer?"
"Six hours," another replied. "If they don't pay by then, we start the waterboarding."
Billy's heart hammered.
Six hours.
Jake's eyes went wide with terror.
"I say we don't wait," a third voice said. "Make an example. Show Daddy we're serious."
"Boss said wait. We wait."
Billy closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. He thought about the frat house. Celab's jokes. Billy Jr.'s drones. Jake's arm-wrestling challenges.
I want to go home.
Jake made another sound. Billy forced his eyes open.
His brother was staring at him. Despite everything, Jake's eyes held something Billy recognized.
Fight.
Jake had always been the fighter. And he wasn't backing down now.
Billy felt something shift inside him. A flicker of strength.
Okay. We fight.
Jake blinked twice again.
Billy blinked back.
We're in this together.
And then, faintly—so faintly Billy almost thought he imagined it—he heard something.
A voice. Distant. Coming from his pocket.
His phone was still in his back pocket.
And someone was talking.
Three hundred yards away, Wade's voice crackled through every iPad in the convoy.
"We're in position. Sixty seconds to breach."
Chapter 8: Breach
Wade's hand signals were precise. Sharp. Silent.
His team—Tom, Josh, Ray, Wilson, Ryan—spread out along the south side of the barn. Fifteen feet between each man. Rifles up. Safeties off.
On the north side, Robert Beaumont's team mirrored them. Pops was on the far left, his shotgun ready. The Mattern and Rodriguez fathers flanked Robert, moving like shadows through the tall grass.
Billy Jr.'s voice came through the earpieces, barely a whisper: "Three hostiles confirmed. Two still on the ground. South entrance has one guard just inside. North entrance clear."
Wade keyed his mic once. Acknowledged.
In the third truck, three hundred yards back, Billy Jr. watched the thermal feeds on his iPad. His hands were shaking. Daniel and Ryan Mattern leaned over his shoulders, watching the heat signatures move inside the barn.
"Come on, Granddad," Billy Jr. whispered. "Get them out."
Back at the ranch, Sarah stared at her iPad, her knuckles white. Rebecca sat beside her, one hand over her mouth. Mary, Caroline, Edna, and Anna crowded around them, all watching the same feeds.
Ten drone views. Five heat signatures in the barn. Fifteen men surrounding it.
"Please," Sarah whispered. "Please bring them home."
Wade counted down on his fingers. Five. Four. Three.
On two, he heard the muffled sound of boots on wood—Robert's team positioning at the north door.
One.
Wade kicked the south door open.
"DOWN! EVERYONE DOWN!"
Chaos erupted.
The guard by the door spun, reaching for his weapon. Wilson's rifle cracked once. The man dropped.
Inside, the other two abductors dove for cover. One behind a stack of hay bales. The other scrambling toward the far wall where rifles leaned against the wood.
The north door exploded inward. Robert and Pops charged through, weapons raised.
"HANDS UP! NOW!"
The abductor behind the hay bales opened fire. Wild. Panicked. Bullets splintered wood above Wade's head.
Josh returned fire, three controlled bursts. The abductor jerked backward and went still.
The third man—the one with the deep voice—made it to the rifles. He grabbed one, spinning toward Robert's team.
Pops didn't hesitate. The shotgun roared. The abductor flew backward into the wall and slumped to the floor.
Silence.
Smoke hung in the air. The smell of gunpowder filled the barn.
"CLEAR!" Wade shouted.
"CLEAR!" Robert echoed from the other side.
Wilson and Ryan moved quickly, checking the bodies. "All three down. No pulse."
Wade keyed his mic. "Scene is clear. Hostiles down. We have Billy and Jake."
In the truck, Billy Jr. was already moving. "Come on!"
He threw open the door and bolted toward the barn. Billy Renzo, Daniel, and Ryan Mattern were right behind him, their boots pounding across the field.
They burst through the south door and stopped.
Billy Jr.'s legs went weak. The scene before him—
Billy and Jake lay face-down on the hay-covered floor. Tree branches across their backs. Arms bound impossibly behind them. Ankles hogtied. Ropes around their necks. Red bandannas stuffed in their mouths.
"Oh my God," Billy Jr. whispered.
His hands started shaking. Then his whole body.
Daniel grabbed his shoulder. "Hey. They're alive. They're breathing."
"I know, I just—" Billy Jr. couldn't finish.
Ryan Mattern steadied him from the other side. "We got them, man. We found them."
Billy Renzo moved past them toward the center of the barn where Tom was already kneeling beside Billy.
"BILLY! JAKE!" Tom's voice cracked. "Oh God—"
Josh was right behind him, his hands shaking as he reached for Billy. "They're breathing. They're still breathing."
Wade keyed his mic. "Sarah, we have them. They're alive. Get Rebecca ready."
Sarah's sob came through every speaker. "Thank God. Oh thank God."
Pops appeared beside Tom, pulling a knife from his belt. "Hold still, boys. We're getting you out."
He started cutting the rope around Billy's neck first. The moment the pressure released, Billy gasped—a horrible, choking sound through the gag.
"Easy, son. Easy. We got you."
Billy Jr. forced himself to move forward, Daniel and Ryan still holding his arms. He couldn't take his eyes off his uncle.
Ray worked on Jake's neck rope while Josh carefully removed Billy's gag. The moment the bandanna came free, Billy sucked in a ragged breath and coughed violently.
"Dad—" His voice was barely a whisper. "Dad—"
"I'm here. I'm right here."
Tom's hands moved to the ropes binding Billy's wrists to the branch. His fingers fumbled. The knots were tight, cinched deep.
"Wilson, get me a knife. Now."
Wilson handed him a tactical blade. Tom sawed through the rope connecting Billy's wrists to his ankles, releasing the hogtie. Billy's legs dropped to the floor and he groaned.
"Almost there, son. Almost there."
On the other side, Robert and the Mattern father were working on Jake. His gag came off and he immediately started sobbing.
"It's okay, Jake. We got you. You're safe."
Celab and his cousin had followed the wiz kids in. Celab stood frozen, staring at his roommates—his best friends—bound and broken on the floor.
"Jesus," he breathed.
Pops cut the ropes frapping Billy's right bicep to the branch. The moment the pressure released, Billy screamed.
"AHHH—God—"
Billy Jr. flinched. Daniel's grip tightened on his shoulder.
"I know, I know. One more. Just one more," Pops said.
The left side came free. Tom carefully lifted the branch off Billy's back and tossed it aside.
Billy collapsed completely, his arms still bound behind him but no longer attached to the branch. He was shaking, his whole body trembling.
Tom worked on the wrist bindings next, cutting through layer after layer of rope. When they finally came free, Billy's arms dropped uselessly to his sides. He couldn't move them. Couldn't feel them.
"My arms—Dad, I can't—"
"Circulation's coming back. Just breathe. You're okay."
Across the barn, Jake's bindings came free. He immediately curled into a ball, sobbing into the hay.
"Jake, look at me," Robert said firmly. "You're safe. It's over."
Billy Jr. pulled away from his friends and dropped to his knees beside his uncle. "Uncle Billy—"
Billy turned his head slightly. His face was streaked with sweat and tears. He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. "Hey, kid."
"We found you. We found you." Billy Jr.'s voice cracked.
"Yeah. You did." Billy's eyes filled with fresh tears. "Thank you."
Billy Jr. reached out, then stopped, afraid to hurt him. Billy Renzo appeared beside him with blankets.
"Here," Billy Renzo said quietly, handing one to Tom.
Tom wrapped it around Billy carefully, mindful of the deep rope burns on his arms—angry red welts where the hemp had cut into muscle.
Robert did the same with Jake.
"Can you stand?" Tom asked.
Billy tried. His legs wouldn't cooperate. "I don't... I don't think so."
"Then we carry you."
Tom and Josh lifted Billy between them, his arms draped over their shoulders. He hissed in pain as feeling started to return to his limbs.
Robert and Ray did the same with Jake, lifting him carefully.
Billy Jr. stood up, still shaking. Daniel and Ryan flanked him again.
"You good?" Daniel asked quietly.
"Yeah," Billy Jr. said, his voice thick. "Yeah, I'm good."
"Let's go home," Wade said.
They moved toward the door. Pops led the way, his shotgun still ready. The wiz kids followed close behind, Billy Jr. keeping his eyes on his uncle's back.
As they stepped out into the night air, the women's voices came through the comms—all of them talking at once, crying, thanking God.
"We see you," Sarah said. "We see them. Bring them home."
The convoy of trucks appeared in the distance, headlights on now, racing toward them.
Billy looked up at the stars, feeling the cool night air on his face.
I'm alive, he thought. We're alive.
Jake's voice came from beside him, weak but steady: "We made it, Billy."
"Yeah," Billy whispered. "We made it."
And for the first time in hours, he believed it.
Chapter 9: Coming Home
The convoy pulled into the Benson Ranch just after 10 PM. Every light in the house was on.
Sarah was out the door before the trucks even stopped, running toward the lead vehicle. Rebecca was right behind her with her medical bag.
Tom and Josh carefully lifted Billy out of the truck. He was wrapped in the blanket, his arms hanging limply at his sides. Sarah's hand flew to her mouth when she saw his face—pale, drawn, exhausted.
"My baby," she whispered, reaching for him.
"He's okay, Mom," Tom said. "He's gonna be okay."
They carried Billy into the house. Robert and Ray brought Jake in right behind him, his face buried against Robert's shoulder.
"Living room," Rebecca said, already in nurse mode. "Lay them on the couches."
They settled Billy on one couch, Jake on the other. Sarah knelt beside Billy, touching his face gently. "You're home. You're safe now."
Billy's eyes filled with tears. "Mom—"
"Shh. I know. I know."
Mary Nelson was at Jake's side, smoothing his hair back. "It's over, sweetheart. It's over."
Rebecca started her assessment, checking Billy's vitals first. "Pulse is elevated but steady. Breathing's shallow but improving." She carefully examined his arms, wincing at the deep rope burns that circled his biceps. "These are going to need cleaning and wrapping."
"How bad?" Tom asked quietly.
"Bad enough. But they'll heal." Rebecca looked up. "Another few hours in those restraints though..."
She didn't finish. She didn't need to.
Billy Jr. stood in the doorway with his three friends, watching. His hands had finally stopped shaking.
"You boys did good," Wade said, clapping his grandson on the shoulder. "Real good."
Before Rebecca could start treatment, the sound of another truck pulled up outside. Heavy boots on the porch. The door opened.
"Where are they?" A gruff voice called out.
"Doc!" Pops shouted from the kitchen. "Get your ass in here!"
Doc Peterson appeared in the doorway—a man in his seventies with a weathered face, white hair, and sharp eyes. He carried an old military medical bag that looked like it had seen three wars.
"Jesus Christ, Tom," Doc said, moving quickly to the couches. "What the hell happened?"
"Abduction. Ransom. We got them back."
Doc knelt beside Billy first, his experienced hands moving quickly—checking pupils, pulse, breathing. He examined the rope burns with a practiced eye.
"Son, can you feel your fingers?"
Billy tried to move them. They twitched slightly. "A little. Starting to."
"Good. Nerve damage is minimal then. You're lucky." Doc moved to Jake. Same assessment. Same questions.
He stood up and looked at Rebecca. "You got IV fluids?"
"In my bag."
"Good. Both of them. They're dehydrated as hell." He turned to Sarah. "You got any soup? Broth? Something light?"
"I'll make some," Sarah said, already moving toward the kitchen.
Doc pulled out supplies from his bag—antiseptic, gauze, medical tape. He and Rebecca worked in tandem, cleaning and wrapping the rope burns on both brothers' arms.
Billy hissed when the antiseptic hit his raw skin.
"I know it stings," Doc said. "But infection's worse. Trust me."
Pops appeared with a bottle of Jack Daniels and two glasses. "Here's the real medicine."
"Pops—" Rebecca started.
"Don't 'Pops' me. These boys need it more than anyone." He poured two generous shots and handed them to Billy and Jake. "Doctor's orders."
Doc Peterson snorted. "He's not wrong."
Billy took the glass with shaking hands and downed it in one gulp. The whiskey burned all the way down, but the warmth that followed was exactly what he needed.
Jake did the same, coughing slightly. "God, that's good."
"Damn right it is," Pops said, pouring them each another.
The front door opened again. Josh came in with Ray, both carrying bags from Rosie's Diner.
"Rosie heard what happened," Josh said. "She and the whole kitchen staff packed up everything they had. Said it's on the house."
The smell of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, and gravy filled the room.
"Oh my God," Billy breathed. "Is that food?"
"You hungry?" Tom asked.
"Starving."
Sarah appeared from the kitchen with bowls of chicken soup. "Start with this first. Your stomachs can't handle heavy food yet."
Billy and Jake didn't argue. They ate the soup like they'd never eaten before, barely pausing between spoonfuls.
After the soup, Doc Peterson nodded. "Okay, now you can have the real food. Small portions."
Josh started unpacking the bags. Fried chicken, green beans, cornbread, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes. The entire consortium had gathered in the living room now, watching the brothers eat.
Billy took a bite of fried chicken and nearly cried. "This is the best thing I've ever tasted."
"That's the adrenaline wearing off," Doc said. "You'll be sore as hell tomorrow."
"Don't care," Jake mumbled through a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "Worth it."
Pops handed them each their third shot of Jack. Billy Jr. watched from the doorway, a small smile finally appearing on his face.
"Uncle Billy?"
Billy looked up. "Yeah, kid?"
"We really thought... I mean..." Billy Jr.'s voice cracked.
"I know. Come here."
Billy Jr. moved to the couch and sat carefully beside his uncle. Billy draped his arm—still weak but functioning—around his nephew's shoulders.
"You saved us," Billy said quietly. "You and your friends. That phone trick, the drones, the whole system you built. That's what found us."
"We all did it," Billy Jr. said.
"No. You did it." Billy squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you."
Celab appeared with his cousin, both looking relieved. "Room for two more?"
"Always," Jake said from the other couch.
The frat house crew gathered around—Billy Jr., Celab, his cousin, and now Billy and Jake. Like nothing had changed. Like they'd just come back from a long day on the ranch.
Except everything had changed.
Pops raised his glass. "To the wiz kids. Smartest damn teenagers in Texas."
"Hear, hear," Tom said.
Everyone raised their glasses—even Rebecca and Doc Peterson, who'd poured themselves small shots.
Billy looked around the room. His parents. His brothers. His nephew. The consortium families. Pops with his Jack Daniels. The smell of fried chicken and the warmth of home.
Jake caught his eye from the other couch. They didn't need words. Just a look.
We made it.
Yeah. We did.
Billy took another sip of Jack and another bite of chicken. His arms hurt. His whole body hurt. But he was home.
And that was all that mattered.
Hours later, after most of the consortium had gone home, after Doc Peterson had given final instructions and left with promises to check on them tomorrow, after the food was put away and the house had quieted—
Billy and Jake lay in their bunk beds in the frat house. Billy Jr. was in the bunk above Celab. Celab's cousin was on his mattress between them.
The room was dark except for the moonlight coming through the window.
"You guys awake?" Billy Jr. whispered.
"Yeah," Billy said.
"Me too," Jake added.
"Can't sleep," Celab said.
They lay in silence for a moment.
"Hey, Billy?" Jake said.
"Yeah?"
"We're never talking about what we said in that barn. The torture ideas and all that shit."
Billy laughed—quietly, painfully. "Agreed."
"What'd you say?" Billy Jr. asked.
"None of your business," Jake said.
"We were scared," Billy said simply. "That's all that matters."
More silence.
"Uncle Billy?" Billy Jr. said.
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're okay."
"Me too, kid. Me too."
Outside, Pops sat on the porch with his cigar and his Jack, staring out at the dark fields. Tom joined him, settling into the chair beside his father.
"They're gonna be alright," Pops said.
"I know."
"Those wiz kids saved them."
"I know."
Pops took a long drag from his cigar. "Remind me to buy them all new rifles for Christmas."
Tom smiled. "Will do."
They sat in comfortable silence, father and son, watching over their family.
Inside, Billy finally closed his eyes and let sleep take him.
He was home.
He was safe.
And tomorrow, they'd start healing.
Together.
THE END
