CAST OF CHARACTERS
The Bensons:
Tom and Sarah Benson - Owners of the Benson Ranch with Pops, parents of their four sons
Pops Benson - Tom's father, Vietnam War veteran, ranch co-owner whose great-grandfather started the ranch
Billy Benson, 19 - The youngest son, hard worker
Jake Benson, 20 - Closest with Billy, like twins, but a hothead
Ray Benson, 27 - The business manager
Josh Benson, 31 - The general manager, married to Rebecca Nelson, father of Billy Junior (age 12)
Billy Junior Benson, 12 - Josh's son, now on payroll as a ranch hand
The Nelsons:
Sheriff Wade Nelson - Married to Mary Nelson, father of Rebecca and Edna, Kings County Texas sheriff
Mary Nelson - Sheriff Wade's wife
Rebecca Nelson - Married to Josh Benson, mother of Billy Junior
Edna Nelson, 19 - Billy's girlfriend
Wilson (Horse) Nelson, 23 - Deputy sheriff
Ryan Nelson, 24 - Deputy sheriff
Key Relationships:
Billy and Jake share the same room in the ranch house with bunk beds, thought of as twins
Billy Junior idolizes his uncles Billy and Jake, who taught him to hunt, fish, ride, shoot, and drive
Billy Junior is now officially on the ranch payroll as a working ranch hand
Pops is the patriarch who enjoys brandy, cigars, beer, and has a foul mouth that Billy Jr. likes to imitate
The Bensons and Nelsons are neighboring ranchers with deep family ties
CHAPTER 1
Billy Benson wiped the sweat from his forehead as he finished securing the last gate latch in the northeast barn. The late afternoon Texas heat pressed down on him like a wet blanket, and his shirt clung to his back despite having shed it an hour ago. Tomorrow they'd be moving two of the horses here, and everything had to be perfect.
"Know Jake will have the beer on ice when I get back," he muttered to himself, checking the water trough one final time. The old barn hadn't been used in years, but with their herd expanding, they needed every bit of space they could get.
Billy looked around with satisfaction, his bare chest glistening with sweat in the fading light. All the repairs were done, the stalls were clean, and the feed bins were stocked. Pops would be proud of the work he'd put in today.
A shuffling sound from the far corner of the barn made him pause. "Probably a raccoon," he thought, turning toward the noise. The old barn attracted all kinds of critters, and—
The blow came from behind, catching him across the base of his skull. Billy's vision exploded in white stars as he dropped to his knees, his hands instinctively reaching for his head. Before he could turn around or cry out, another strike sent him crashing face-first into the dirt floor.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
Two hours later, Jake Benson stood in the same spot where his brother had fallen, his hands clenched into fists. Billy's truck was gone. No sign of struggle in the dirt—someone had swept it clean. No blood. No nothing.
Jake pulled out his radio and keyed the mic. "Pops, this is Jake. You copy?"
Static crackled for a moment before Pops' gravelly voice came through. "Copy, Jake. What's your twenty?"
"I'm at the northeast barn. Billy's missing, Pops. His truck's gone, and..." Jake's voice caught. "Something ain't right here."
A long pause. When Pops spoke again, his voice had the steel edge Jake remembered from childhood—the tone that meant serious business.
"Copy that, Jake. I'm hitting the red alert. Get back to the ranch house. Now."
Jake ran for his truck, his heart pounding. In all his twenty years, he'd never heard Pops activate the red alert. That was for emergencies only—the kind that brought everyone running, no questions asked.
As he drove toward the ranch house, Jake tried Billy's cell phone again. Straight to voicemail. Again.
"The radio crackled to life. "All Benson and Nelson units, this is Pops. Red alert is active. All hands to the ranch house immediately. I repeat—all hands to the ranch house. This is not a drill."
Jake pressed harder on the accelerator. Whatever had happened to Billy, they were about to find out together.
CHAPTER 2
Jake's truck kicked up a cloud of dust as he skidded to a halt in front of the ranch house. The porch lights were already on, and he could see shadows moving behind the windows. Pops had wasted no time.
He burst through the front door to find the living room transformed into a command center. Pops stood at the dining table, which was now covered with maps, handheld radios, and what looked like military communication equipment Billy Junior had helped him set up over the past year.
"Jake, good. You made it." Pops looked up, his weathered face grim. "Billy Jr., fire up the scrambler."
Twelve-year-old Billy Junior moved with practiced efficiency around the radio setup, his small fingers working switches and dials like he'd been born to it. Despite everything, Jake felt a flicker of pride watching his nephew work.
"Scrambled network is live, Pops," Billy Jr. announced, his voice steady despite the circumstances.
Car doors were slamming outside. Through the window, Jake could see headlights turning into the drive—first Josh and Rebecca, then Ray pulling up behind them. Sheriff Wade's cruiser came next, followed by Deputy Ryan and Deputy Horse Nelson.
Within minutes, the living room was packed. Tom and Sarah Benson stood near the fireplace, Sarah's face pale with worry. Josh had his arm around Rebecca, while Ray paced near the window. The Nelson men formed a loose semicircle around Pops' makeshift command center.
"Listen up, everyone," Pops commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a man who'd led troops in Vietnam. "Jake found the northeast barn empty. Billy's truck is gone, no signs of struggle, but someone swept the area clean. That ain't normal."
Sheriff Wade stepped forward. "How long has Billy been missing?"
"Jake found the barn empty two hours ago," Pops replied. "Billy was supposed to finish up there by late afternoon. He's been unreachable since."
"Could he have gone to see Edna?" Sarah asked hopefully.
Edna Nelson shook her head from beside her father. "I haven't heard from him since this morning. He said he'd call after he finished at the barn."
Pops gestured to the table full of radios. "Billy Jr. and I set up this scrambled network for ranch operations. Every one of you gets a handheld. We stay in contact, we coordinate, and we find Billy."
Billy Junior began distributing the radios, explaining the channel settings to each person with surprising confidence for his age. "Channel 3 is our primary. Channel 7 is emergency only. The scrambler rotates every fifteen minutes automatically."
Sheriff Wade picked up his radio, examining it. "This is military-grade equipment, Pops."
"Damn right it is," Pops growled. "Billy Jr. helped me design the whole system. Kid's got a better head for electronics than most of my old Army communication specialists."
"What's the plan?" Josh asked, accepting his radio from Billy Junior.
"Wade, I need you to run Billy's truck through your law enforcement databases," Pops said. "Ryan, Horse—I want you coordinating with other agencies. This could be bigger than just a missing person."
Deputy Ryan keyed his radio. "Copy that. I'll contact state police and put out a BOLO on Billy's truck."
"The rest of us go back to that barn," Pops continued. "We search every inch of it and the surrounding area. Someone took my grandson, and they're going to answer for it."
Jake's radio crackled to life as Billy Junior tested the network. "Radio check, Uncle Jake."
"Copy, Billy Jr. Good and clear."
One by one, each family member checked in on the scrambled channel. Even in the crisis, Jake marveled at how quickly Billy Junior had gotten everyone coordinated.
"Move out," Pops ordered. "And remember—Billy's counting on us. We don't come back without answers."
As they headed for the door, Jake caught Sheriff Wade's eye. The older man's expression was grim.
"Jake," Wade said quietly, "in thirty years of law enforcement, when someone cleans up a scene this thoroughly..." He shook his head. "We need to prepare for the worst."
Jake's jaw tightened. "No sir. Billy's tough. Whatever happened, he's alive, and we're going to find him."
The convoy of vehicles headed back toward the northeast barn, radio chatter filling the night air as the Benson and Nelson families began their desperate search.CHAPTER 3
The northeast barn was lit up like a crime scene, flashlight beams cutting through the darkness as the family spread out in a systematic search. Jake stood near the spot where he'd found Billy missing, coordinating the search over the radio network.
"Ray, you copy? Anything in the south stalls?" Jake keyed his radio.
"Negative. Clean as a whistle back here," Ray's voice crackled back.
"Josh, what about the feed room?"
"Same thing. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."
Jake was about to respond when his cell phone rang. Billy's ringtone. His heart jumped.
"Billy!" Jake answered without looking at the screen.
A low, gravelly voice that wasn't Billy's came through the speaker. "Well, well. You must be Jake."
Jake's blood went cold. "Who is this? Where's my brother?"
"Oh, your brother's right here with me. In fact, let me show you."
Jake's phone buzzed with an incoming picture message. When he opened it, the world stopped.
Billy hung suspended in what looked like an old barn, his bare torso glistening with sweat. His arms were contorted behind his back, bound with rope. A noose around his neck was strung up to a rafter, his body taut with his feet barely touching the ground. A gag covered his mouth, but his eyes—wide with terror and pain—stared directly into the camera.
"You sick bastard," Jake whispered, his voice shaking.
The voice on the phone chuckled. "Oh, Jake, this is just the beginning. See, your little brother is going to be my sixth. I've got such plans for him."
"What do you want? Money? We can pay—"
"I don't want money, boy. I want to hear him scream. First, I'm going to start with his fingers. Cut them off one by one while he watches. Then maybe I'll work on those pretty nipples of his."
Jake's legs nearly gave out. Around him, the search had stopped as family members noticed his stricken expression.
The killer continued, his voice getting more excited. "But the best part, Jake, will be his eyes. I'm going to gouge them out real slow-like. Save them for last so he can see everything I do to him first. Then maybe I'll work my way down to that—"
"Stop!" Jake shouted. "You fucking psychopath, I'll kill you!"
"Jake?" Pops' voice came through the radio. "What's happening?"
The family was converging on him now, seeing Jake's face in the flashlight beams. Sheriff Wade reached him first.
"Now, now, Jake," the killer taunted. "Don't get yourself all worked up. You've got plenty of time to think about what I'm doing to little Billy. He's got such a nice, strong body. It's going to last me a good long while."
"Listen to me, you sick fuck—"
The line went dead.
Jake stared at his phone, his whole body shaking. Sheriff Wade put a hand on his shoulder.
"Jake, who was that? What happened?"
Jake couldn't speak. He just held up his phone, showing the horrific image of Billy suspended and helpless.
Sarah Benson saw it first and let out a strangled scream. Tom caught her as she collapsed against him.
"Jesus Christ," Pops whispered, his face going ashen.
Sheriff Wade took the phone, studying the image with professional detachment even as his jaw clenched. "This changes everything. We're not looking for a missing person anymore."
Josh's voice came over the radio, tight with rage. "Who was it, Jake? What did they want?"
Jake keyed his radio with trembling fingers. "We're not dealing with a kidnapper. It's a goddamn serial killer. He says Billy's going to be his sixth victim."
The radio network erupted in voices—anger, fear, determination.
Pops stepped forward, his military bearing taking over. "All units, listen up. We're now conducting a rescue operation. Wade, I need every law enforcement database you can access. Ryan, Horse—expand that BOLO to include any information about serial killers with multiple victims."
"On it," came Ryan's voice through the radio.
Sheriff Wade was already on his own radio, calling for backup and contacting state agencies. "This is Sheriff Nelson requesting immediate assistance. We have a confirmed kidnapping by a suspected serial killer."
Jake stared at Billy's image on his phone, his brother's terrified eyes burning into his memory.
"Hold on, Billy," he whispered. "We're coming."
CHAPTER 3
Billy stared directly into the wild, gray eyes of his captor, both of them breathing hard from the struggle it had taken to get him strung up. His shoulders screamed in agony, twisted behind his back at an unnatural angle. The rope around his neck was tight enough to be a constant reminder of its presence, but his feet remained flat on the dirt floor. Sweat poured down his bare torso despite the cool air in the old barn.
The man stood just three feet away, studying Billy like a scientist examining a specimen. He was smaller than Billy had expected—maybe 5'8" and wiry, with wild gray hair and clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed in weeks. In his hand, he held a hunting knife that caught the dim light filtering through the barn's broken boards.
"There we go," the man said softly, his voice almost conversational, which somehow made it more terrifying. "Now you're exactly where I want you, Billy. Awake, aware, and completely helpless."
Billy tried to speak, but the gag in his mouth reduced his words to muffled sounds.
"Oh, you want to talk? How precious." The man circled him slowly, like a predator studying its prey. "You know what I love about young ranch boys like you? All that muscle, all that strength, and now you're as helpless as a newborn calf."
The knife traced the air inches from Billy's chest, never quite touching but close enough that he could feel its presence. Billy fought to control his breathing, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"I bet you're wondering who I am," the man continued. "Name's Marcus Kettle. And you, Billy Benson, are going to be my sixth. The other five... well, let's just say they started out just as pretty as you."
Billy's eyes widened. Six. This maniac had done this five times before.
"Oh, that got your attention, didn't it?" Marcus chuckled, pressing the flat of the blade against Billy's stomach. "Each one thought his family would save him too. Each one begged and pleaded and promised me money. But you know what, Billy? None of that matters when you're strung up like a piece of meat."
Marcus set down the knife and approached Billy's face. "I'm going to give you some water now and let you talk for exactly two minutes. You can beg, you can cry, you can ask me questions—whatever you want. But when those two minutes are up, the gag goes back in, and we start the real education."
Billy felt the rough fabric of the gag being pulled from his mouth. He gasped, his throat raw and dry.
"Water," Billy croaked.
Marcus held a dirty plastic bottle to Billy's lips, allowing him to drink. The warm water tasted like heaven despite its staleness.
"There you go. Now you've got about ninety seconds left. Use them wisely."
Billy's mind raced. He had to try something, anything. "Why are you doing this? I never hurt anyone."
"Hurt anyone?" Marcus laughed, a sound that made Billy's skin crawl. "Oh, Billy, you're going to hurt plenty before we're done. See, I've been locked up for five long years, dreaming about this moment. Dreaming about having a strong young man all to myself again."
"My family—they'll pay you anything. Just let me go and—"
"Your family?" Marcus interrupted, his eyes lighting up with cruel amusement. "You mean that brother of yours, Jake? I already called him. Sent him a nice picture of you hanging here. You should have heard him scream when I told him I was going to cut off your fingers one by one. Then your toes. Then I'm going to carve my initials into that pretty chest of yours before I gouge out those blue eyes."
Billy's stomach lurched. Jake had seen him like this. His whole family knew.
"But here's the beautiful part," Marcus continued, running his finger along the rope around Billy's neck. "They think I headed for Mexico. While they're searching three hundred miles south, I'm going to take my sweet time with you. Days, maybe even a week if you're tough enough."
"Please," Billy whispered, hating himself for the word. "Please don't do this."
"Time's up," Marcus said, reaching for the gag. "And Billy? That's exactly what I wanted to hear."
"Wait!" Billy gasped. "You said I was the sixth. What happened to the others?"
Marcus smiled as he forced the gag back into Billy's mouth. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough. I'm going to do to you everything I did to them, only slower. Much, much slower."
Marcus picked up the knife again, holding it inches from Billy's face. "Now, let's start your education. I'm going to trace this blade all over that strong body of yours. Every muscle, every inch of skin. And you're going to feel the cold steel and know that soon—very soon—it's going to bite much deeper."
The knife's point touched Billy's throat, just below the rope. Billy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think of Jake, of Pops, of everyone back at the ranch. They would come for him.
They had to.
Marcus began tracing the blade downward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "By the time I'm finished with you, Billy Benson, you're going to beg me to end it. And maybe, if you're very good, I will."CHAPTER 4
Back at the ranch house, the living room had become a war room. Sheriff Wade hunched over his laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard as he accessed law enforcement databases. The scrambled radio network crackled with constant chatter as search teams spread across the property.
"Billy Jr., can you pull up that GPS tracking app on your tablet?" Deputy Ray asked, setting up his own equipment beside Pops' military radios. "If Billy's phone is still active, we might be able to ping it."
The twelve-year-old's fingers moved with practiced efficiency across the tablet screen. "Uncle Ray, I've got Billy's phone in the system, but..." He frowned. "Last ping was at 4:47 PM, right at the northeast barn. Then nothing."
"Bastard probably turned it off after he made that call," Jake muttered, pacing behind them.
Sheriff Wade looked up from his laptop. "I've got something. NCIC shows an escaped mental patient from Huntsville State Hospital. Marcus Eugene Kettle, 34, diagnosed with antisocial personality disorder. Escaped three days ago during a work detail."
"What was he in for?" Pops asked, leaning over Wade's shoulder.
"Multiple homicides. Says here he was suspected in six murders across East Texas before they caught him five years ago. Young men, all between 18 and 25." Wade's face darkened. "Torture was his signature."
Sarah Benson, who had been sitting silently in the corner, let out a soft whimper. Tom put his arm around her.
"Six murders," Ray said grimly. "And he told Jake that Billy would be his sixth."
Billy Junior looked up from his tablet. "Pops, I'm not getting any GPS signal from Billy's truck either. But I've got an idea." He pulled up another screen. "Remember when we installed those motion sensors around the property boundaries? I can check the logs, see if any vehicles passed the perimeter sensors around the time Billy went missing."
"Smart thinking, kid," Sheriff Wade said. "What do you see?"
Billy Jr. scrolled through data streams. "Here—sensor 7 on the north fence line triggered at 6:23 PM. Vehicle weight consistent with Billy's truck, but..." He paused. "It was heading away from the ranch, toward County Road 1948."
Jake stopped pacing. "County Road 1948? That leads toward the old Hartley place."
"Hartley place has been abandoned for years," Pops said. "Nothing out there but old barns and falling-down houses."
Deputy Horse's voice came through the radio. "Sheriff, this is Horse. I'm at the main road junction. Found tire tracks heading north toward the county line. Fresh tracks, consistent with Billy's truck tires."
"Copy that, Horse. Mark the location and follow the trail, but don't engage if you spot anything. We don't know what this psycho is capable of."
Ray tapped Billy Jr. on the shoulder. "Can you overlay a map showing all the abandoned properties along that county road? If this Kettle character is looking for isolated places to... do what he does, he'd want somewhere remote."
"Already on it," Billy Jr. replied, pulling up satellite imagery. "I count at least twelve abandoned structures within a five-mile radius of where the truck tracks were heading."
Pops keyed his radio. "All units, this is base command. We've got a trail heading north on County Road 1948. Suspect is Marcus Eugene Kettle, escaped mental patient, multiple homicide suspect. Billy Jr. has identified twelve potential locations where the suspect might have taken Billy."
Josh's voice crackled back. "Pops, how do we cover that much ground? Even with all of us, that's a lot of territory."
Before Pops could answer, Sheriff Wade's phone rang. He answered quickly. "Nelson here."
Jake watched Wade's expression grow darker as he listened.
"That was the Texas Rangers," Wade said after hanging up. "They're convinced Kettle made it to the Mexican border. They're focusing their search south of here, near Laredo."
"Those idiots," Jake snarled. "Billy's somewhere north of here, and they're looking three hundred miles in the wrong direction!"
"Which means we're on our own," Pops said grimly. "At least for now."
Billy Jr. looked up from his tablet. "Pops, I've got an idea. What if we call in the neighbors? The Johnsons, the Hartmans, the Kowalskis—they all know this area better than the Rangers do."
Sheriff Wade nodded slowly. "That's not a bad idea. More eyes, more local knowledge. And we need all the help we can get."
"I'll make the calls," Tom Benson said, speaking for the first time since seeing the photo. "These families have known us for generations. They'll come."
As Tom reached for the phone, Jake stared at the map on Billy Jr.'s screen, studying the scattered red dots marking abandoned buildings.
"Hold on, Billy," he whispered. "We're going to find you."
The radio crackled with Ryan's voice. "All units, be advised. Just received word that Kettle's known to use abandoned structures as hunting grounds. Previous victims were found in old barns and warehouses. Repeat—focus search on abandoned barns and warehouses."
Jake's jaw tightened. Somewhere in one of those red dots on the map, his brother was fighting for his life.
CHAPTER 5
The sound of approaching vehicles cut through the night air as headlights swept across the ranch house yard. Tom Benson had made three phone calls, and within thirty minutes, the cavalry was arriving.
The first truck to pull up belonged to the Johnsons. Bill Johnson, a weathered man in his sixties, climbed out of the driver's seat followed by his twin sons, Marcus and Matt, both seniors at Kings County High School. Behind them came the Kowalskis—Pete Kowalski and his teenage son Danny, with old Walter Kowalski riding shotgun. Walter had to be pushing eighty, but his eyes were sharp as ever.
The third vehicle was Roy Hartman's pickup, loaded with people. Roy himself was in his fifties, but he'd brought his father Earl—another old-timer who'd known this country since the 1940s. In the truck bed sat three more high school boys: the Chen brothers, Kevin and Kyle, plus Tommy Reeves.
"Jesus, Tom," Bill Johnson said as he approached the porch, "what's this about Billy being taken by some psycho?"
"It's bad, Bill," Tom replied, shaking hands with each man as they gathered. "Real bad."
The teenagers hung back slightly, their usual swagger replaced by obvious concern. These boys had grown up with Billy and Jake, played football together, raised hell together. The idea that one of their own had been taken by a serial killer was hitting them hard.
Pops emerged from the house, his military bearing evident as he sized up the new arrivals. "Gentlemen, appreciate you coming out. We've got a situation that requires all hands."
Walter Kowalski stepped forward, leaning heavily on his walking stick. "Pops, I've known you since you came back from Vietnam. If you need help, we're here."
Earl Hartman nodded beside him. "Damn right. That boy Billy helped me fix my fence last spring when I threw out my back. What do you need?"
Billy Junior appeared in the doorway, tablet in hand. "Pops, I've got the search grid mapped out. With this many people, we can cover twice the area."
The high school boys gathered around Billy Jr., drawn by the technology and the chance to feel useful. Marcus Johnson spoke for the group. "Billy Jr., what can we do? Billy and Jake are like... they're our friends, man."
Jake emerged from the house, radio in hand, his face etched with worry and determination. "We think the bastard took Billy north, toward the old abandoned properties along County Road 1948."
At the mention of County Road 1948, both Walter and Earl exchanged glances.
"That old road..." Earl said slowly. "Haven't thought about some of those places in decades."
Walter nodded. "That's where the Henderson place used to be. And the old Morrison farm. Most of those families cleared out in the '50s when the drought hit."
Pops stepped closer. "You two remember who lived where back then?"
"Hell yes," Walter said. "Earl and I both worked some of those spreads as young men. We know every barn, every farmhouse, every abandoned well from here to the county line."
Sheriff Wade emerged from the house, having overheard the conversation. "That could be exactly what we need. Local knowledge the databases can't provide."
Billy Jr. looked up from his tablet. "I can mark every structure on the map, but if you guys know which ones had the best barns, the most isolated locations..."
"The old Morrison place," Earl said immediately. "Big barn, set way back from the road. If someone wanted privacy for... for bad things, that'd be the spot."
Roy Hartman stepped forward. "Dad, what about the Kellerman place? That old dairy barn?"
Earl shook his head. "Roof caved in years ago. But there's the old cotton gin on the Fletcher property. Building's still solid."
The teenagers were listening intently. Tommy Reeves spoke up. "Mr. Hartman, we've been exploring those old places since we were kids. Me and the Chen brothers know ways to get to some of them without being seen from the road."
Marcus Johnson nodded. "Yeah, we could scout ahead, make sure we don't spook this guy if he's there."
Deputy Ray appeared from the house carrying a stack of iPads. "Sheriff, I've got four tablets loaded with the search grid. We can coordinate teams through the network."
Sheriff Wade looked around at the assembled group, his expression serious. He was quiet for a long moment, then stepped forward.
"Listen up, everyone," Wade said, his voice carrying the authority of his office. "What we're about to do is dangerous. We're dealing with a man who has killed at least five people. But Billy Benson is out there, and every minute counts."
He paused, scanning the faces in front of him.
"Billy Jr., you'll coordinate with me on the radio network. Ray, distribute those iPads to the team leaders." Wade's voice grew more formal. "Now, all of you—family, neighbors, everyone here tonight—I need you to understand something. You're about to participate in an official law enforcement operation."
The group fell silent, sensing the gravity in Wade's tone.
"All of you," Wade continued, looking each person in the eye, "including you, Billy Jr.—raise your right hands."
Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd, but hands went up—from Pops and Jake to the high school boys to the old-timers.
"By the authority vested in me as Sheriff of Kings County, Texas, I hereby deputize each and every one of you as special deputies of Kings County. You now have the legal authority to act in this rescue operation."
Billy Junior's eyes went wide. At twelve years old, he'd just become the youngest deputy in Texas history.
"This isn't honorary," Wade said firmly. "This is real. You're now part of law enforcement for this operation. That means you follow orders, you stay disciplined, and you watch each other's backs."
Pops stepped forward and spoke for the group. "Sheriff, we won't let you down."
Wade nodded. "All right, people. We've got our target areas and our legal authority. Let's go find our boy."
As the newly deputized search teams began organizing around the maps and iPads, Jake felt a surge of hope. His brother was out there somewhere, but Billy wasn't just counting on family anymore—he had an entire community of sworn deputies coming for him.
CHAPTER 6
The pain in Billy's shoulders had moved beyond agony into something that felt like white-hot iron rods driven through his joints. The rope binding his arms behind his back cut deeper with every slight movement, and his hands had gone numb twenty minutes ago. He focused on his breathing—slow, controlled, fighting the panic that clawed at the edges of his mind.
Marcus Kettle had been gone for almost an hour, leaving Billy alone with his thoughts and the constant reminder of the noose around his neck. Every few minutes, Billy would test the rope, searching for any give, any weakness. Nothing. The killer knew his knots.
Think, Billy. Think.
Through the gaps in the barn walls, he could see patches of night sky. No moon visible, which meant it was either clouded over or he was facing the wrong direction. The air carried the scent of old hay and something else—motor oil, maybe. An old tractor or farm equipment stored somewhere nearby.
His stomach cramped with hunger, but worse was the thirst. The small amount of water Kettle had given him felt like hours ago. Billy tried to work up saliva, but his mouth was dry as cotton.
The sound of footsteps on gravel made his heart race. Kettle was coming back.
"Miss me, pretty boy?" Marcus called out as he entered the barn, carrying what looked like a toolbox. "I've been thinking about our next lesson."
Billy forced himself to meet Kettle's eyes, refusing to look away. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.
"You know what I love about this setup?" Marcus said, setting the toolbox down within Billy's view. "Your arms are going to start cramping soon. Really cramping. The kind of pain that makes grown men sob like babies. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."
As if on cue, Billy felt a sharp spasm run through his left shoulder. He bit down on the gag, determined not to make a sound.
"Oh, there it is," Marcus chuckled, seeing Billy's face contort. "That's just the beginning. In another hour, those shoulders are going to feel like they're being pulled apart. Your hands will swell up like balloons. And you'll beg me—through that gag—to just cut your arms off to make it stop."
Billy closed his eyes, trying to block out the voice. He thought about Jake, probably going out of his mind with worry right now. Pops would have the whole family organized by now, radios crackling, search teams spreading out. They'd find him. They had to.
"But here's the beautiful thing," Marcus continued, opening the toolbox. "I'm not going to cut your arms off. Because then you couldn't feel what I'm planning to do to your chest. And your stomach. And those strong legs of yours."
The toolbox contained knives of different sizes, pliers, wire cutters, and other tools Billy didn't want to identify. Marcus selected a small, thin blade and held it up to catch the light.
"This little beauty is for detail work," he said. "Perfect for making shallow cuts that hurt like hell but don't do any real damage. Yet."
Billy felt another spasm, this one stronger, radiating down his entire left arm. The rope around his wrists felt tighter, cutting off circulation. His fingers tingled with pins and needles.
Stay strong. They're looking for you. Every minute you hold on is another minute for them to find you.
Marcus noticed Billy's struggle with the spasms. "Getting uncomfortable? Good. That means your body is starting to understand what helpless really means."
He approached Billy with the thin knife, holding it inches from his face.
"I'm going to start with just little scratches. Nothing that would kill you—can't have you bleeding out before the real fun begins. Just enough to let you feel the blade, to know what's coming."
The knife touched Billy's chest, just below his collarbone. Not cutting, just resting against his sweat-slicked skin.
"Your brother Jake sounded so tough on the phone," Marcus whispered. "Wonder how tough he'll sound when he finds what's left of you."
Billy's eyes blazed with fury. Jake's name in this monster's mouth made him want to fight, even bound and helpless as he was.
Marcus saw the fire in Billy's eyes and smiled. "There's that spirit. I was worried you'd break too easy. Don't worry—by the time I'm done, you'll have plenty of chances to show me how tough you really are."
The blade pressed slightly deeper, just breaking the skin. A thin line of blood appeared on Billy's chest.
Billy squeezed his eyes shut and thought of home—the ranch house kitchen, Sunday dinners, Jake arguing with him about who got the last piece of pie. He held onto those images like a lifeline as the blade traced another shallow cut across his skin.
Hold on. Just hold on.
Somewhere out there, his family was coming for him. He just had to survive long enough for them to find him.
CHAPTER 7
Deputy Horse's voice crackled through the radio network at 11:47 PM. "Base command, this is Horse. I've got eyes on Billy's truck. Abandoned logging road about three miles north of County Road 1948."
Jake grabbed his radio so fast he nearly dropped it. "Horse, this is Jake. Any sign of Billy?"
"Negative. Truck's empty, doors unlocked. But there's something else. Footprints leading north into the woods. Two sets of boot prints—one large, one smaller. Looks like someone was walking behind the other."
Pops keyed his radio from the ranch house command center. "All units, converge on Horse's position. Billy Jr., what's north of that location?"
Billy Junior's fingers flew across his tablet screen. "Pulling up satellite imagery now. There's... wait." His voice grew excited. "There's an old structure about a mile and a half north of where Horse found the truck. Looks like a barn."
"That's got to be it," Jake said, already running toward his truck.
Sheriff Wade's voice cut through the chatter. "All units, maintain radio discipline. We don't know if this suspect has a scanner. Team leaders, switch to your iPads for coordination."
Walter Kowalski's weathered voice came through clearly. "Sheriff, Earl and I are with Team 3 near the old Morrison place. If that barn Billy Jr. found is where I think it is, we know that property."
"What can you tell us?" Wade asked.
Earl Hartman's voice joined in. "That's the old Fletcher place. Cotton gin operation back in the day. Big barn, solid construction. Been abandoned since the '60s."
"More importantly," Walter added, "I remember that barn had an old license plate nailed up inside. From 1948. Owner was proud of it because that was the year he bought his first new truck after the war."
Billy Jr. looked up from his tablet. "If the killer saw that plate, he might think it would throw off anyone trying to track the property ownership."
"Smart thinking," Pops said. "All teams, we have a target location. Billy Jr. is transmitting coordinates to your iPads now."
Jake's team—consisting of himself, Josh, and the Johnson twins—reached Horse's position first. The abandoned truck sat at the end of an overgrown logging road, driver's door hanging open like a mouth.
"Jesus," Marcus Johnson whispered, shining his flashlight on the ground. "You can see the boot prints clear as day."
Josh knelt beside the clearest footprint. "That's Billy's size 12 boots. But look here—" He pointed to a smaller print beside it. "These other boots are maybe size 8. The bastard's not that big."
Horse emerged from the tree line. "Trail heads northeast. It's faint, but I can follow it."
Jake's radio buzzed with an encrypted message from Billy Jr.'s iPad: "Team 1, satellite shows structure 1.2 miles NE of your position. Old access road from the south, but overgrown. Approach from the east for better cover."
"Copy that, Billy Jr.," Jake replied. "We're moving."
Team 2, led by Ray and including Earl and Roy Hartman, approached from the west. Earl's knowledge of the old property lines proved invaluable as he guided them through paths that hadn't been used in decades.
"There," Earl whispered, pointing through the trees. "That's the Fletcher barn. See that rusty tin roof?"
Ray raised his binoculars. "I see a light inside. Faint, but it's there."
Team 3, with Sheriff Wade, Pops, and the Chen brothers, positioned themselves on the southern approach. Wade coordinated with the other teams through their iPads, maintaining radio silence as they closed in.
Team 4, the backup team led by Deputy Ryan with Walter, Pete Kowalski, and Tommy Reeves, positioned themselves on the main road to cut off any escape routes.
As the teams converged, Jake found himself two hundred yards from the old barn, his heart pounding. Somewhere inside that structure, his brother was fighting for his life.
Billy Jr.'s voice came through the earpieces they'd all been given. "All teams, thermal imaging from my tablet shows two heat signatures in the barn. One stationary, one moving around."
Jake's jaw tightened. Billy was in there, and they were running out time.
Pops' voice whispered through the earpieces: "All teams in position. On my mark, we move. Remember—Billy's life depends on how we handle the next few minutes."
Jake stared at the barn, seeing faint light leaking through the gaps in the old boards. After hours of searching, they'd found him.
Now came the hard part.CHAPTER 8
Inside the barn, Marcus Kettle stood behind Billy, one arm around his throat, yanking upward on the noose. Billy's feet lifted off the ground, his face turning red as he fought for air. In Kettle's other hand, the hunting knife hovered inches from Billy's left eye.
"This is it, pretty boy," Kettle whispered. "Time to say goodbye to those blue eyes."
Billy's vision started to blur, dark spots dancing at the edges. His bound arms screamed in agony as his body weight pulled against the ropes. Through the haze, he could hear something—voices outside, movement.
They found me.
"Shut up!" Kettle snarled, though Billy hadn't made a sound. The killer had heard it too.
The barn door exploded inward. Jake burst through first, shotgun raised, followed by Josh and Sheriff Wade. From the other side, Ray and the Johnson twins crashed through a side entrance.
"Let him go!" Jake roared, his weapon trained on Kettle.
Marcus pulled Billy higher, using him as a shield. The noose cut deeper into Billy's neck as his feet dangled helplessly.
"Back off or I finish him right now!" Kettle pressed the knife point against Billy's eyelid. A drop of blood appeared.
"Don't do anything stupid," Sheriff Wade called out, moving slowly to the right. "We can work this out."
"There's nothing to work out!" Kettle screamed. "He's mine! I've waited five years for this!"
Billy's consciousness wavered. Black spots expanded across his vision. In desperation, he managed to kick backward with his heel, catching Kettle in the shin.
Kettle cursed and loosened his grip for just a second. It was enough.
Jake didn't hesitate. The shotgun roared in the confined space. Kettle spun backward, the knife flying from his hand as he crashed into the barn wall and slid to the ground.
Billy collapsed, the noose still tight around his neck but his feet back on solid ground. He gasped desperately through the gag, his chest heaving.
Jake threw down the shotgun and rushed to his brother. "I've got you, Billy. I've got you."
His hands shook as he pulled the gag from Billy's mouth first, then carefully loosened the noose. Billy sucked in huge gulps of air, coughing and gagging.
"Easy, easy," Jake whispered, supporting Billy's weight as his legs gave out. "You're safe now."
Pops and Billy Junior rushed in from behind the other teams. While Jake held Billy upright, Pops worked on the ropes binding his arms with his old military knife.
"Jesus Christ," Pops muttered as he cut through the bindings. "Look what that bastard did to you."
Billy's arms fell forward, completely numb. He couldn't feel his hands at all. Billy Jr. gently helped massage circulation back into his uncle's wrists while tears streamed down the boy's face.
"Does anything feel broken?" Sheriff Wade asked, kneeling beside them.
Billy shook his head weakly, still struggling to breathe properly. His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "Arms... can't feel my arms."
"We need to get you to a hospital," Wade said. "Get you checked out properly."
Billy's eyes flashed with something approaching his old fire. "No." His voice was stronger now. "Get me the fuck home."
Jake looked at Sheriff Wade, then back at his brother. "Billy, you need medical attention. Your shoulders, your neck—"
"Home," Billy repeated firmly, trying to struggle to his feet with Jake's help. "I want to go home."
Pops stood up, his face grim as he looked at Marcus Kettle's motionless body. "The boy's been through enough. We'll have Doc Morrison meet us at the ranch."
Jake helped Billy toward the barn door, supporting most of his weight. Billy Junior walked on the other side, staying close to his uncle.
As they stepped out into the cool night air, Billy took his first free breath in hours. The entire search party was waiting—the Johnson family, the Hartmans, the Kowalskis, all the teenage boys, Deputies Ryan and Horse, everyone who had dropped everything to find him.
A cheer went up from the crowd. Someone started clapping, and soon everyone was applauding, tears streaming down faces in the flashlight beams.
Old Walter Kowalski stepped forward first, his weathered hand gentle on Billy's shoulder. "Good to have you back, son."
Earl Hartman was next, followed by the high school boys who had grown up with Billy and Jake. Each one offered a quiet word, a pat on the back, careful not to overwhelm him but needing to show they cared.
Tom and Sarah Benson pushed through the crowd. Sarah wrapped her arms around her youngest son, sobbing with relief. "My baby, my baby," she whispered.
Billy leaned into his mother's embrace, finally letting himself feel safe. The stars had never looked so bright, and he had never felt so loved.
"Thank you," he whispered to Jake.
"Always, brother," Jake replied. "Always."
FINAL CHAPTER - THE HUNT
Three weeks after the rescue, Billy stood on the ranch house porch, watching pickup trucks and SUVs rolling up the drive. The Johnsons, the Hartmans, the Kowalskis, the Chen brothers, Tommy Reeves—everyone who had answered the call that terrible night was back, but this time for celebration.
"Billy!" Marcus Johnson called out, jumping from his dad's truck. "You ready to get your ass kicked in the woods?"
Billy grinned, flexing his shoulders. The physical therapy had worked wonders, though his wrists still bore faint rope marks that would never completely fade. "Big talk from someone who missed a ten-point at fifty yards last season."
The laughter and good-natured ribbing filled the morning air as the group gathered around the dining room table, now covered with hunting maps instead of military radios and search grids.
Pops cleared his throat, and the room fell quiet. "Before we head out, we got something for Billy."
Tom Benson stepped forward with a long gun case, his face serious but his eyes bright. "This is from all of us, son. Your brothers, me, Pops..." He paused, looking at Billy Junior. "And Billy Jr. here insisted on contributing his first paycheck."
Billy's eyes widened as Jake and Josh flanked him, grinning like kids on Christmas morning.
"Open it," Ray said, unable to contain his excitement.
Billy's hands shook slightly as he unlatched the case. Inside, nestled in custom foam, lay the most beautiful rifle he'd ever seen. The carbon fiber-wrapped barrel gleamed under the dining room lights, and the sleek stock seemed to flow like water.
"Holy shit," Billy breathed, then caught Sarah's sharp look. "I mean... damn. This is..."
"Christensen Arms Ridgeline," Billy Junior announced proudly, stepping forward like a gun store salesman. "Carbon fiber barrel, sub-MOA guarantee, adjustable trigger, threaded muzzle for suppressors, McMillan stock. Chambered in .300 Winchester Magnum. MSRP twenty-four hundred dollars."
Billy lifted the rifle from the case, and it felt perfect in his hands—balanced, solid, but surprisingly light.
"Billy Jr.," Pops said, his voice warm with pride, "tell your uncle how much you contributed to this twenty-four hundred dollar rifle."
The twelve-year-old puffed out his chest and declared with complete seriousness, "My entire first paycheck from working as an official ranch hand. Seventy-five dollars and fifty cents—after those shitty taxes took their cut."
The room exploded in roaring laughter. Even Sheriff Wade was wiping tears from his eyes.
"Language, Junior!" Sarah scolded, but she was laughing too hard to sound stern.
"Seventy-five fifty!" Earl Hartman wheezed. "Kid, you bought yourself a real nice piece of the trigger guard!"
"Hey!" Billy Jr. protested, his face reddening. "That's a lot of money for a twelve-year-old! Do you know how many hours I had to muck stalls to earn that?"
Billy had to sit down. He pulled his nephew into a bear hug, his voice thick with emotion even as he chuckled. "Junior, that seventy-five fifty means more to me than the other twenty-three twenty-five combined. You gave everything you had."
"Don't go getting all weepy on us," Jake said, but his own eyes were suspiciously bright. "We got hunting to do."
Old Walter Kowalski stepped forward, running his weathered fingers along the rifle's stock. "That's a fine weapon, son. And Billy Jr., that's a man's contribution right there. Your great-great-grandfather would be proud."
"Speaking of which," Earl Hartman announced, "we got ourselves a competition. Most points on a buck wins. Antler points, not just biggest rack."
"What's the stakes?" Tommy Reeves called out.
Pops grinned wickedly. "Losers clean all the deer. Winners get first pick of the roasted pig and all the cold beer they can drink."
"You're on, old man," Marcus Johnson laughed.
"Hold up," Sheriff Wade said. "We're not going anywhere until everyone takes a practice shot with Billy's new rifle. Got to make sure it's sighted in proper."
They moved out to the back pasture, where Ray had set up a target at a hundred yards. Billy went first, naturally. The rifle spoke with authority, and the bullet punched a hole dead center.
"Show off," Jake muttered, but he was grinning.
One by one, each hunter took a shot. Billy Jr. needed help holding the big rifle steady, but managed to keep it on the paper. Even the old-timers—Walter and Earl—took their turns, with Earl's shot landing impressively close to Billy's.
"Damn fine rifle," Earl declared. "Shoots where you point it. Worth every penny of that seventy-five fifty!"
More laughter rippled through the group as Billy Jr. rolled his eyes.
As the hunters loaded up their trucks, the sound of laughter and diesel engines filled the morning air. Through the kitchen window, Billy could see his mother, Rebecca, Mary Nelson, and the other women already busy with preparations. The pig had been on the spit since dawn, and the aroma was making everyone hungry.
"Y'all better bring back some meat," Sarah called from the porch. "This pig's gonna need company on the table!"
Billy climbed into Jake's truck, cradling his new rifle. In the rearview mirror, he could see Billy Junior riding with Ray, no doubt still defending his seventy-five dollar and fifty cent contribution.
"You know," Jake said as they headed toward the hunting lease, "three weeks ago, I thought I might never see you again."
Billy was quiet for a moment. "Three weeks ago, I learned what family really means. Not just blood family—all of them." He gestured toward the convoy of trucks following them. "Every single one of those people dropped everything to find me."
"And now they're all here to celebrate with you," Jake pointed out. "Hell of a thing."
As they turned onto the hunting lease road, Billy rolled down the window and breathed in the cool morning air. Somewhere out there was a buck with his name on it, and back at the ranch, a whole community was waiting to celebrate their return.
Life was good. Life was very, very good.
"Jake," Billy said, settling the Christensen Arms across his lap, "I got a feeling this is going to be one hell of a hunt."
Behind them, the radio crackled with good-natured trash talk as the convoy of trucks headed deeper into the Texas countryside, carrying a group of hunters bound together by something stronger than friendship—they were bound by the night they all became heroes.
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