Chapter 1: Last Light
The last fence post went in as the sun dropped behind the ridge. Jake Benson straightened, rolling his shoulders against the burn in his muscles. Nine hours. Nine goddamn hours in the Texas heat fixing a quarter-mile of fence line that should've taken five if the wood hadn't been rotted through.
He pulled the radio from his belt. "Billy, you copy?"
Static, then his brother's voice crackled through. "Yeah, Jake. You done?"
"Finally. Tell Mom to keep a plate warm for me. I'm starving."
"Will do. Drive safe."
Jake clipped the radio back and tossed his tools in the bed of his truck. His shirt was soaked through, clinging to his chest and shoulders. He stripped it off and threw it in the cab, letting the evening air hit his skin. Better. He grabbed a water bottle, drained half of it, and was reaching for his keys when he heard the engine.
Two trucks, coming fast down the access road. No headlights.
Jake's hand went still. Nobody used this road. Not at dusk. Not without lights.
The trucks skidded to a stop twenty feet away, boxing him in. Doors flew open. Three men, faces covered with bandanas, moved toward him.
"The fuck do you want?" Jake said, his voice low and sharp.
"Get in the back of the truck, Benson."
Jake didn't move. His mind ran calculations—three of them, one of him, no weapon in reach. His fists clenched. "You're on Benson land. You need to leave. Now."
One of them laughed. "We said get in the fuckin' back of the truck. I hope you like being tied up, Benson."
"What the fuck are you going to do, tie me up?" Jake growled, stepping forward.
The closest one swung. Jake saw it coming and ducked, but the second man was already behind him, wrenching his arms back. He thrashed, slamming an elbow into ribs, but the third man hit him hard in the gut. The air punched out of his lungs.
"Just shut the fuck up!"
They forced his jacket off his shoulders, exposing his arms and torso. A knotted bandana was shoved between his teeth and tied tight behind his head. He bit down on it, jaw locked, rage flooding his veins. His wrists were yanked behind his back, and he felt the bite of hemp rope cinching tight, then the frapping between them, locking them together. Another bandana went over his eyes.
Helpless. The word screamed in his head, and it made him want to rip their throats out.
They grabbed his upper arms and marched him forward. His boots scraped dirt as they shoved him into the bed of his own truck. He hit the metal face-first, tasting blood where the gag cut into his mouth. More rope around his ankles, then the tarp thrown over him.
The engine started.
Jake lay there in the dark, his chest heaving, his mind spinning. He tested the ropes. Tight. Professional. His wrists were crossed and frapped—whoever tied this knew what they were doing. His shoulders screamed from the angle, but he twisted anyway, feeling for any give in the knots.
Nothing yet.
But there would be.
He memorized every turn, every bump in the road. Counted the minutes in his head. Listened to their voices through the truck bed, muffled and low. He couldn't make out words, but he filed away the cadence, the tone. When he got free—when, not if—he'd remember.
They thought they had him. Bound, gagged, blind.
They had no idea what they'd just started.
Jake's hands curled into fists behind his back, fingernails digging into his palms. His body might be tied, but his mind was already hunting.
He'd get loose. He'd find them.
And he'd make them regret every knot.
Chapter 2: Cold Plate
Billy checked his watch. Seven fifty-two.
Jake was never late for dinner. Especially not when he was this hungry.
He grabbed his radio off the kitchen counter. "Jake, you there? You on your way?"
Static.
"Jake, come on. Answer me."
Nothing.
His mother Sarah turned from the stove, concern crossing her face. "Try again."
"I did. Three times." Billy set the radio down harder than he meant to. "He called an hour ago. Said he was starving. Said to keep his plate warm."
From his chair by the window, Pops tapped ash from his cigar. "Kid probably decided to check the north posts while he was out there. Relax."
"Jake doesn't do extra work when he's hungry," Billy said.
Pops took a sip of brandy. "Then maybe he's taking the long way home. Jesus Christ, Billy, the boy's not a child."
"Frank, language," Sarah said automatically.
Pops waved her off with his cigar.
But Billy was already pulling on his jacket. "I'm going out there."
His father Tom looked up from his phone. "Billy, he probably just—"
"Something's wrong." Billy's voice was flat. Final.
Pops studied him for a moment, then drained his glass and stood. "All right. Let's go get him."
Billy Jr. appeared in the doorway from the living room, already holding his jacket. "I'm coming."
"Junior, you don't need to—" Tom started.
"I know where the fence line is, Grandpa helped me and Jake map it last week." Jr. looked at Pops. "You might need me."
Pops grunted his approval. "Get in the truck."
Rebecca came into the kitchen, drying her hands. "What's going on?"
"Jake's not answering his radio," Sarah said quietly. "They're going to check on him."
Rebecca's eyes went to her son. "Be careful."
"We will, Mom." Jr. was already out the door.
Billy drove fast down the access road, high beams cutting through the darkness. Pops sat beside him, silent. Jr. leaned forward from the back seat, scanning the tree line.
Nobody spoke.
When they rounded the last bend, the clearing opened up ahead of them.
Empty.
Billy hit the brakes. "Where's his truck?"
The fence posts stood fresh in the ground, the work clearly finished. But no truck. No tools. No Jake.
Billy killed the engine and was out before it stopped ticking. "Jake!"
His voice echoed back through the trees.
Pops climbed out slowly, his eyes already working the ground like he was back in the jungle. Reading sign. "Multiple vehicles."
"What?" Billy turned.
Pops pointed at the dirt with his boot. "Jake's tire tread coming in—see the pattern? But going out, there's three different sets. Different trucks."
Billy's pulse hammered in his ears. He spun in a slow circle. "Jake! Jake, answer me!"
Jr. was already moving along the fence line with his flashlight. He stopped, crouched down. "Uncle Billy."
He held up Jake's radio. The screen was shattered, the casing caked in dirt.
Billy crossed the clearing in three strides and grabbed it. He pressed the transmit button. Nothing. Dead.
His hands started shaking.
"Over here," Jr. said, his voice quieter now.
Jake's cowboy hat lay in the mud near the tree line, half-buried like it had been knocked off.
Billy picked it up. Cold. Heavy. He stared at it, and something locked tight in his chest.
Pops knelt by the first fence post, holding something up in the beam of his flashlight. Short pieces of hemp rope. Cut clean at both ends.
"They tied him," Pops said. His voice was flat. Hard. "Then they loaded him up and took him."
The words hit Billy like a fist. He looked at the clearing—the torn-up dirt, the overlapping tire tracks, the places where boots had churned gravel.
Jake had fought. He knew his brother. Jake would've fought like hell.
"Who would do this?" Billy's voice cracked. "Who the fuck—"
"Doesn't matter yet." Pops stood, his jaw set. "First we get everyone here. Then we find out."
Jr. already had his radio in his hand. He hit the emergency button three times.
The automated voice cut through the silence: "911. Billy Jr. 911. Billy Jr. 911. Billy Jr."
Jr. pressed the transmit button. His voice shook but held steady. "This is Billy Jr. at the south fence line access road. Jake Benson is missing. His truck is gone. We found his radio and hat. Evidence of abduction. All consortium members report to Benson house immediately."
The radio exploded with voices. Sheriff Wade Nelson, urgent and clipped. Wilson and Ryan talking over each other. Ray demanding details. Robert Beaumont asking for coordinates.
Billy stood in the middle of the clearing, holding Jake's muddy hat, staring at the empty space where his brother should be.
Pops gripped his shoulder hard. "We're gonna find him, boy. You hear me?"
Billy nodded, but he couldn't speak. His throat was locked, his chest full of something between rage and fear.
Jr. walked over, still holding the radio as voices crackled through. "What do we do now?"
Pops looked once more at the tire tracks, then back toward their truck. "We go home. We get everyone together. And then we hunt down every son of a bitch who touched him."
Billy climbed into the driver's seat, Jake's hat still in his hands.
Somewhere out there in the dark, his brother was tied up. Maybe hurt. Maybe worse.
But he knew Jake. Jake wouldn't quit. Jake would fight until he couldn't move.
And Billy would tear apart every square mile of Texas to bring him home.
Chapter 3: Bound
The cabin smelled like rotting wood and animal piss.
Jake lay on his stomach on the dirt floor, his face pressed against the filthy planks. The blindfold was gone now—they'd ripped it off when they dragged him inside—but the gag was still locked between his teeth, digging into the corners of his mouth.
His arms screamed.
They'd shoved a three-inch branch under his shoulders, across his back, and lashed his biceps to it with rope so tight his hands were going numb. Then they'd yanked his wrists up and tied them to the center of the branch. His shoulders felt like they were tearing out of their sockets.
And the hogtie. Fuck, the hogtie.
His ankles were bound together, then roped up to his neck so his head was pulled back, his spine arched. Every breath was a fight. If he relaxed his legs, the rope choked him. If he held his legs up, his muscles burned.
He could hear them moving around him. Boots on the floor. The click of a camera.
"Get a good shot of his face. They need to see he's alive."
Jake's vision blurred with rage. He tried to curse through the gag, but all that came out was a muffled snarl.
A flash went off. Then another.
"That'll do. Let's go."
One of them crouched down next to his head. Jake could smell cigarette smoke on his breath. "You just sit tight, cowboy. We'll be back to check on you. Maybe."
The man laughed and stood.
Jake's mind burned with a single thought: I'm going to kill you.
The door slammed. An engine started outside, then faded into the distance.
Silence.
Jake lay there, breathing hard through his nose, his whole body on fire. He tested the ropes again. The branch didn't budge. His wrists were locked tight to it, and the hogtie kept his legs pulled back so far he couldn't get leverage.
But his mind was already working.
Think. Think, you bastard.
The gag first. If he could get the gag off, he could use his teeth on the ropes. But the knot was tied behind his head, too far back for him to reach anything with his bound hands.
The hogtie then. If he could get his legs free, he could at least move. Maybe stand. Maybe find something sharp to cut the branch free.
He shifted his weight, trying to twist onto his side. Pain ripped through his shoulders and neck. His vision went white for a second, but he kept moving. Inch by inch. His boots scraped against the floor, searching for purchase.
He could hear things outside. Wind through the trees. Something rustling in the brush—coyotes, maybe. Or worse.
His heart pounded.
Billy's looking for you. Pops is looking for you. The whole damn consortium is coming.
But this was deep woods. Miles from anywhere. And he was gagged—even if they got close, he couldn't call out.
He had to get free. On his own.
Jake twisted again, ignoring the scream in his shoulders, and managed to roll onto his side. His cheek hit the dirt. He could see the cabin now—one room, falling apart, gaps in the walls where moonlight bled through. No furniture. No tools.
Just dirt, rotting wood, and him.
He forced himself to breathe slowly. To think.
The hogtie rope ran from his ankles to his neck. If he could stretch it—just a little—he might be able to slip his boots off. His feet were smaller than his boots. If he could work one free...
It would take time. Maybe hours.
But Jake had nothing but time.
And rage.
He thought about the man who'd crouched next to him. The one who laughed. Jake memorized his voice. The way he moved. When he got out of here—when—he'd find that man first.
And he'd make sure the bastard never laughed again.
Jake set his jaw against the gag and started working his right boot, twisting his ankle, pulling against the rope.
One way or another, he was getting out of this cabin.
And then the real hunt would begin.
Chapter 4: Converge
The Benson ranch house was lit up like a funeral home when they pulled in. Trucks lined the driveway and spilled onto the grass—the Nelsons, the Beaumonts, the Renzos, the Matterns, the Rodriguezes. Everyone had come.
Billy walked through the front door with Jake's hat still in his hands. The living room fell silent.
His mother Sarah stood by the fireplace, her face pale. Josh was beside her, his jaw tight. Ray sat at the dining table with his laptop already open. Sheriff Wade Nelson stood in the center of the room in full uniform, his face grim. His wife Mary was on the couch with Edna, Wade's youngest daughter and Billy's girlfriend.
"Where is he?" Sarah's voice broke on the last word.
Billy couldn't answer. He just held up the hat.
Tom moved to his wife's side and put his arm around her. She pressed her face into his chest.
Wade stepped forward. "Tell me everything."
Pops moved past Billy, his voice clipped and controlled. "Three vehicles. Jake's truck and two others. Tire tracks show they boxed him in. We found his radio smashed, his hat in the mud, and cut rope. They tied him up, loaded him, and took him."
"How long ago?" Wade asked.
"Hour and a half, maybe two," Pops said. "He radioed Billy at six-thirty. We got there at eight."
Wade pulled out his phone. "I'm calling it in. State police, FBI if we need them."
"Wait." Robert Beaumont stood near the door with his wife Caroline. "If this is a kidnapping, they'll make contact. Let's see what they want before we bring in the feds and spook them."
"Spook them?" Billy's voice was sharp. "They took my brother!"
"And we'll get him back," Robert said calmly. "But if we come in hot with badges and helicopters, they might panic. Let's wait for contact."
Wade's jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Twenty-four hours. If we don't hear anything by then, I'm making the call."
The room settled into tense silence. Sarah sat down, her hands shaking. Edna moved beside her, taking her hand.
The front door opened again, and Jr. came in with Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez—the four of them still in their work clothes, all wearing their Glocks on their hips. The macho boys. They'd clearly come straight from the Renzo place when they heard the 911 call.
Rebecca, Josh's wife and Jr.'s mother, looked at her son. "You okay?"
Jr. nodded, but his face was pale. "We found his hat and radio, Mom. And rope. They tied him up."
Rebecca's hand went to her mouth.
Celeb appeared from the back hallway—the frat house—his face tight with anger. "Where the fuck is he?"
"We don't know yet," Pops said.
"Then what are we doing standing here?" Celeb's voice rose. "We should be out there—"
"And search where?" Ray looked up from his laptop. "We've got five thousand acres between the consortium ranches. If they took him off the property, he could be anywhere in a hundred-mile radius."
Billy's fists clenched. "So we just sit here?"
"We wait for contact," Wade said. "Then we move."
The words felt like a punch. Billy turned away, his chest tight with rage and helplessness.
Then Sarah's phone buzzed on the coffee table.
Everyone froze.
She picked it up with trembling hands. Her face went white. "It's... it's a text. Unknown number."
Wade moved fast. "Don't touch anything else. Just read it."
Sarah's voice shook as she read aloud. "We have Jake Benson. One million dollars. Instructions to follow. See attached proof of life."
She tapped the screen. The photo loaded.
And the room went silent.
Jake lay on a dirt floor, shirtless, on his stomach. A thick branch was lashed across his back, his arms tied to it, wrists pulled up. His ankles were roped back to his neck in a brutal hogtie. A gag was tied tight across his mouth. His face was twisted in rage, eyes burning with fury even through the pain.
Sarah made a sound like she'd been stabbed.
Rebecca covered her mouth. Tom's face went hard as stone. Edna turned away, tears in her eyes.
Billy stared at the screen, and something inside him snapped. "I'm going to kill them."
"Get in line," Pops said quietly. His voice was cold. Deadly.
Celeb stepped forward, his hand on his Glock. "Let me go first."
Wade leaned over Sarah's shoulder, studying the photo. "Can you forward that to me? I need to analyze it—background, metadata, anything that might tell us where he is."
Sarah nodded, her hands shaking so badly she could barely work the phone.
Jr. stepped forward. "Can I see it, Grandpa Wade?"
Wade looked at him, then at Rebecca. She nodded reluctantly.
Jr. took the phone and zoomed in on the photo, his eyes scanning every detail. Billy Renzo, Ryan, and Daniel crowded around him.
"Old cabin," Jr. said. "Gaps in the walls. Dirt floor with rotting wood planks."
"Moonlight coming through," Billy Renzo added. "So it's nighttime."
Ryan pointed. "Look at the wood grain. That's old cedar. Been there for decades."
Daniel zoomed in further. "Middle of nowhere. No signs of power lines or anything modern."
Wade nodded, impressed. "Good eyes. What else?"
Jr. handed the phone back. "He's deep in the woods. But he's alive. And he's pissed."
Ray was already typing. "One million dollars. That's specific. They know about the consortium. This isn't random."
"No shit it's not random," Billy said. "They knew his name. They knew where to find him."
Robert exchanged a glance with Caroline. "Who knew Jake was out there today?"
"Just us," Tom said. "Family. The consortium."
The implication hung in the air.
Wilson Nelson spoke up from near the door. "Wait. If they knew where Jake was, how'd they know? We all use the radio network."
Everyone turned to look at him.
"Fuck," Pops said. "They've been listening."
Wade's face went hard. "They could be monitoring us right now."
Billy grabbed Jr.'s shoulder. "The satellite phones. Now."
Jr. was already moving. "On it. Boys, let's go."
The four wiz kids bolted toward the frat house. Billy and Celeb followed.
In the back room, Jr. yanked open the floorboards and pulled out the cases. Eighteen encrypted satellite phones, still in their packaging from the upgrade two weeks ago.
"Start distributing them," Jr. said, handing units to Billy Renzo and Ryan. "Everyone gets one. No more radio unless it's an emergency."
Daniel pulled out his iPad and started configuring the network. "I'm setting up the scrambled frequency now. Give me two minutes."
Billy looked at Ray, who'd followed them in. "Does Jake's truck have GPS tracking?"
Ray nodded. "Yeah. Through the insurance company. And his phone has location services."
"Can we access it?" Billy asked.
"If it's still on, yeah." Ray was already on his laptop. "Give me five minutes to get into the system."
Jr. turned to his crew. "We need a command center. Portable. We might have to move fast."
Billy Renzo was already pulling equipment out of the cases. "We've got the tablets, the satellite uplink, and the portable power cells. We can run it out of a truck bed if we need to."
Ryan held up two drone cases. "I've got the thermals loaded and ready. We can be airborne in three minutes."
Daniel finished with the network configuration. "Encrypted channel is live. Everyone on the satellite phones can communicate without anyone listening in."
Jr. grabbed a stack of phones and headed back to the living room. The others followed, arms full of equipment.
Wade took a phone and immediately started handing them out. "Everyone switches now. No more radio chatter about Jake unless it's coded."
Pops took his phone, turning it over in his hands. "Fancy shit."
"Fancy shit that works," Jr. said. Then, under his breath, "Goddamn right."
Rebecca shot him a look but said nothing. Now wasn't the time.
Ray looked up from his laptop, his face tight. "Got it. Jake's truck pinged twenty minutes ago. Location is locked."
Everyone moved toward him.
"Where?" Wade demanded.
Ray turned the screen around. A map showed a blinking dot ninety miles northeast, deep in the Piney Woods.
"Middle of nowhere," Wilson said.
"That's almost two hours away," Josh said.
Pops was already grabbing his jacket. "Then we better get moving."
Wade held up a hand. "We do this smart. If they're monitoring, they'll see us coming. We go dark, we go quiet, and we move fast."
Jr. and his crew were already setting up the portable command center on the dining table—tablets synced to the satellite network, drone controllers linked, iPads showing live feeds.
Billy Renzo looked up. "Command center's mobile. We can run it from the back of any truck. Just give us ten seconds to pack it up and we're good."
"Drones?" Wade asked.
"Ready," Ryan said, patting the cases. "Thermal imaging, night vision, and standard cameras. We can scout twenty square miles in an hour."
Daniel held up his iPad. "And we've got live feeds going to everyone's phones. The ladies can watch from here if they want."
Sarah looked at the screen, then at her sons. "Bring him home."
Billy met her eyes. "We will."
Pops moved toward the door, his voice hard. "Let's go get that boy."
The room erupted into motion. People grabbed gear, phones, weapons. The wiz kids packed up their command center in a rolling case, ready to deploy from a truck bed at a moment's notice.
Billy stood in the middle of it all, staring at Jake's photo one more time on the satellite phone screen.
Hold on, brother. We're coming.
And somewhere out in the dark, in a rotting cabin ninety miles away, Jake twisted against his ropes and thought the exact same thing.
I'm getting out. And I'm coming for you.
Chapter 5: Signal
The convoy formed in the driveway like a military operation.
Wade's sheriff SUV took point. Wilson and Ryan Nelson followed in their patrol trucks. Pops climbed into his own pickup, a Remington 870 shotgun racked behind the seat. Billy took the Benson F-350 with Celeb riding shotgun, both of them armed with Pops' spare Glocks from his gun safe. Tom and Josh each took their own trucks. Ray drove his pickup with his laptop secured in the passenger seat. Robert Beaumont got in his truck, checking the .45 Pops had handed him ten minutes ago.
The Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez fathers each drove their own vehicles, forming the back of the convoy. Pops had made sure every man who didn't have a weapon got one from his collection—handguns, rifles, shotguns. Whatever they needed.
The wiz kids had the portable command center loaded in the bed of Billy's truck—three ruggedized tablets mounted on a folding frame, the satellite uplink dish strapped down, power cells secured. Jr. sat in the back seat with the main tablet. Billy Renzo and Ryan Mattern rode with their fathers, drone cases and equipment stacked in their truck beds. Daniel Rodriguez did the same, his iPad already showing the GPS coordinates of Jake's truck, a red dot blinking ninety miles northeast.
Inside the house, the women gathered in the living room. Sarah sat on the couch with Mary Nelson and Edna on either side. Caroline Beaumont stood by the window with the Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez mothers, all of them watching the convoy prepare to leave.
Rebecca was on her phone in the kitchen, her voice calm and professional. "Yes, this is Rebecca Benson, RN. We have a potential medical emergency. Family member was abducted, condition unknown. I need a trauma kit sent to our address—Benson Ranch, 4700 County Road 12. Yes, full kit. IV fluids, bandages, antibiotics, pain management. We may need medevac on standby... Yes, I understand. Thank you."
She hung up and walked back into the living room. Sarah looked up at her.
"They're sending supplies," Rebecca said quietly. "Should be here in forty minutes."
Sarah nodded, her hands clasped tight in her lap. "Thank you."
Outside, Jr.'s voice came through the satellite phones. "Everyone on the network?"
A chorus of confirmations crackled back from each truck.
"Good. Radio silence unless it's an emergency. They could still be monitoring the old frequency."
Wade's voice came through, calm and authoritative. "We move in formation. No speeding, no lights unless necessary. When we're ten miles out, we go dark and regroup. Command center stays mobile in Billy's truck. Jr., you coordinate the drones once we're in range."
"Copy that, Grandpa."
Sarah stood and walked to the porch. The men looked back at her—Billy, Josh, Tom, Pops. She nodded once, her face set with fierce determination.
They nodded back.
"Let's roll," Pops said into his phone.
The convoy pulled out, a line of headlights cutting through the night. Twelve trucks, all heading northeast into the darkness.
They drove hard for ninety minutes, the miles disappearing beneath them. Billy's hands were locked on the wheel, his jaw tight. Celeb sat beside him, checking and rechecking the Glock. In the back seat, Jr. tracked Jake's truck on the tablet.
"Still stationary," Jr. said. "Same location for the last two hours."
Wade's voice came through the satellite network. "That's either good or very bad. Stay sharp, everyone."
At the eighty-mile mark, Wade called for the convoy to pull over and go dark. Twelve trucks rolled onto a dirt access road and killed their lights.
Jr. and the wiz kids deployed fast. The command center unfolded in Billy's truck bed. Billy Renzo and Ryan Mattern had the drones airborne in under three minutes.
The feeds came to life on the monitors—night vision and thermal imaging sweeping over the dense forest.
"There," Daniel said, pointing at the thermal feed. "Single vehicle. Engine's cold. Been sitting for a while."
The drone zoomed in. Jake's truck sat in a small clearing, doors closed, empty.
"No heat signatures around it," Jr. said. "Nobody's there."
Billy stared at the screen, his chest tight. "Where the fuck is Jake?"
Ray's voice came through from his truck. "Jake's phone is still offline. Either destroyed or powered off."
Pops' voice cut through, hard and cold. "They dumped the truck. Probably drove it here to throw us off. Jake could be twenty miles in any direction."
Wade's voice was grim. "We secure the truck first. Look for evidence."
The convoy rolled forward slowly, lights off. When they reached the clearing, Wade, Wilson, and Ryan Nelson moved in first, weapons drawn. The others fanned out, securing the perimeter.
Jake's truck was empty. Keys in the ignition. No signs of a struggle here—this was just where they'd left it.
"Bastards used it as a decoy," Pops said, spitting into the dirt.
Jr.'s voice crackled through the network, urgent. "Wait. I'm picking up something. Thermal's showing multiple heat signatures. One mile west. Looks like a structure."
Billy Renzo's voice followed. "I've got it on visual. Small cabin. Three... no, four heat signatures inside. And there's two vehicles parked outside."
Wade moved to the monitor in Billy's truck. The thermal feed showed four bodies inside a small building, moving around. One of them raised something to his mouth—a bottle, maybe.
"They're drinking," Celeb said, his voice tight with rage. "Those sons of bitches are celebrating."
"Then let's go crash their party," Pops said, chambering a round in the Remington.
Wade looked at Wilson and Ryan. "We go in hard and fast. No warning. I want them alive."
The convoy moved like a ghost through the woods, headlights off, guided by GPS and the drone feeds. One mile became half a mile became a quarter.
Then they saw it—a run-down cabin, dim light spilling through the windows. Two pickup trucks parked outside.
Wade's voice came through, barely a whisper. "Everyone hold position. Wilson, Ryan, with me. Pops, Billy, Celeb, cover the back. Everyone else, block the exits. On my mark."
The families moved into position, silent and fast.
"Mark."
Wade kicked in the front door. "Sheriff's department! Nobody move!"
Four men scrambled to their feet, beer bottles crashing to the floor. Wilson and Ryan had their weapons up, shouting commands. Pops came through the back door with the Remington leveled.
It was over in seconds. The kidnappers were on the floor, hands zip-tied behind their backs, faces pressed into the dirt.
Wade stood over them, his face like stone. "Where is Jake Benson?"
Silence.
"I asked you a question."
One of them—the one who'd been laughing earlier in the cabin where Jake was tied—smirked. "Lawyer."
Billy stepped forward, his hands shaking with rage. "Where is my brother?"
"Fuck you."
Celeb moved fast, but Wade grabbed his arm. "Stand down."
"They know where he is!" Billy shouted.
"And we'll get it out of them," Wade said. "Legally."
He turned to Wilson and Ryan. "Get them loaded up. We'll transport them to the station and—"
"Like hell we will," Pops said quietly.
Wade looked at him. "Frank—"
"My grandson is out there somewhere, tied up, maybe dying. And you want to waste time with lawyers and paperwork?"
Wade's jaw tightened. He looked at the kidnappers, then at Pops, then at Wilson and Ryan.
"Wilson, Ryan," Wade said slowly. "We need to... secure the perimeter. Make sure there's no one else out here."
Wilson caught on immediately. "Yes, sir. We'll do a full sweep. Might take... twenty minutes."
"At least," Ryan added.
Wade turned to the other families. "Tom, Josh, Robert—help them search the area. Make sure it's clear."
The men filed out, leaving Billy, Celeb, and Pops alone with the four kidnappers.
Wade paused at the door and looked back. "I didn't see anything. You understand?"
Then he walked out and closed the door behind him.
The cabin went very quiet.
Pops set the Remington against the wall and cracked his knuckles. "Now then. Let's try this again. Where is Jake Benson?"
The smirking one spat. "Go to hell, old man."
Pops smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Son, I've been to hell. Spent a year in the jungle watching my friends die. You don't scare me. But I'm about to scare the shit out of you."
Billy stepped forward, his Glock in his hand. "Last chance. Where. Is. My. Brother."
The man's smirk faltered.
Celeb picked up a chair and smashed it against the wall. "Start talking or I start breaking bones."
"You can't—" one of the others started.
Pops grabbed him by the hair and yanked his head back. "Boy, the sheriff just walked out of here. Far as anyone knows, you tried to escape and got hurt in the process. Now talk."
Five minutes later, Pops walked out of the cabin and keyed his satellite phone. "Wade. We got it. They took him to an old hunting cabin twenty miles south of here. Deep woods. They left him tied up."
Wade's voice came back. "Is he alive?"
"They say yeah. But they left him hours ago."
"Then we move. Now."
Inside the cabin, the four kidnappers lay on the floor, bloodied and groaning. Billy stood over them, his chest heaving.
"If he's dead," Billy said quietly, "I'm coming back for you."
Then he walked out into the night, and the hunt began again.
Chapter 6: Escape
Jake's right boot finally slipped free.
It took two hours of twisting, pulling, ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulders and the rope that choked his neck every time he moved wrong. The hogtie rope ran from his neck down to his boots, pulling his head back in a brutal arch. But his feet were smaller than his boots. If he could work them free...
The boot slid off and hit the dirt.
Immediately, the pressure on his neck eased. Not gone, but better. He could breathe without fighting for it.
Now the left boot.
He twisted his foot, feeling the rope loosen around the leather. His ankle cramped, his leg muscles burning from being held in that position for hours. But he kept working it.
The left boot came free.
The hogtie rope fell away from his neck completely.
Jake gasped, sucking in air through his nose. His neck burned where the rope had cut into his skin, but he could move his head now. He could lower his legs.
He wasn't free—not even close. His arms were still lashed to the three-inch branch across his back, his biceps tied tight to it, his wrists bound and pulled up to the center. The branch kept his shoulders wrenched back, useless.
But he could move his legs. And that was enough.
Jake rolled onto his side, then forced himself up to his knees. The branch shifted on his back, heavy and awkward. He had to lean forward to keep his balance, his bound arms sticking out behind him.
The gag was still locked between his teeth, but he'd deal with that next.
First, he needed to get this goddamn branch off.
He looked around the cabin. Gaps in the walls where moonlight bled through. Dirt floor. Rotting wood planks. And there—near the corner—a piece of old metal sticking up from the floor. Part of a rusted hinge or bracket, the edge sharp and jagged.
Jake crawled toward it, his bare feet pushing through the dirt, his knees finding purchase. Every movement sent fire through his shoulders. The branch scraped against the low ceiling.
He reached the metal and turned his back to it. The rope binding his wrists to the center of the branch—if he could get it against that sharp edge...
He positioned himself and started sawing.
The rope was thick hemp. The metal was dull and rusted. But it was something.
Jake worked it back and forth, his shoulders screaming, his wrists numb. He could feel the fibers starting to fray. Just a little more.
Outside, something howled. Close.
Coyotes.
Jake's jaw clenched around the gag. He sawed faster.
The fibers snapped.
His wrists were still tied together behind him, but they were free from the branch. He twisted his shoulders, shrugging hard, and the branch slid off his back and clattered to the floor.
Jake collapsed forward onto his hands and knees, gasping through the gag. His wrists were still bound behind him, but the branch was off. The ropes that had lashed his biceps to it hung loose now, leaving angry welts and rope burns on his arms.
He forced himself to his feet, legs shaking. His vision swam, but he stayed upright.
The gag first. He bent forward, pressing his face against the wall, searching for something to catch the knot. There—a rusted nail. He hooked the gag on it and pulled his head back. The knot loosened. Another pull, and the gag slid down around his neck.
Jake spat blood and dirt and sucked in a full breath. His mouth tasted like copper, his lips cracked and bleeding.
Now his wrists.
They were still tied behind his back, crossed and bound tight. But Jake had wrestled since he was a kid. He knew how to move.
He sat down hard on the dirt floor, tucked his knees to his chest, and rolled backward. His bound wrists slid under his ass, then under his feet as he pulled his knees tight. His shoulders screamed in protest, but he kept moving.
His wrists came up in front of him.
Jake sat up, breathing hard, staring at his bound hands. The rope was tight, the knot complex, but it was in front of him now.
He brought his wrists to his mouth and bit down on the knot. The hemp tasted like dirt and sweat and blood. He pulled at it with his teeth, working the fibers loose, spitting out strands.
It took five minutes. Five agonizing minutes of gnawing and pulling and cursing through gritted teeth.
Then the knot gave way.
The rope fell from his wrists.
Jake was free.
He sat there for a moment, staring at his hands. His wrists were raw, rope burns circling them like bracelets. His biceps were covered in welts where the branch had dug in. His neck was rubbed raw from the hogtie. But he could move. He could fight.
He was free.
Jake grabbed his boots and pulled them on, lacing them tight. His feet were cut and bruised, but the boots would protect them now.
He stood and walked to the door. It was old, hanging crooked on rusted hinges. He kicked it once. The wood splintered. He kicked it again, and it crashed open.
Cold night air hit his face.
Jake stumbled out into the clearing, shirtless, his body covered in rope burns and bruises, his hands finally free.
The forest stretched out in every direction, dark and endless. No lights. No roads. Just trees and stars and the distant howl of coyotes.
Jake looked up at the sky, orienting himself by the North Star. South. The road had to be south.
Billy's coming. Pops is coming.
But Jake wasn't waiting.
He started walking, his boots crunching on dirt and dead leaves, his fists clenched, his jaw set.
He was going to find his family.
And then he was going to find the bastards who did this.
And God help them when he did.
Chapter 7: Grid
The convoy regrouped in the clearing outside the kidnappers' cabin. Wade stood by his SUV, studying a map on his tablet while Jr. and the wiz kids worked the command center in Billy's truck bed.
"They said twenty miles south," Pops said, walking over. His knuckles were bruised. "Old hunting cabin in a ravine. No roads in, just deer trails."
Wade looked up. "That's a lot of ground to cover."
"Then we better get started," Billy said. His voice was tight, controlled rage barely held in check.
Jr. tapped his screen. "I'm pulling up satellite imagery now. Twenty miles south puts us..." He zoomed in. "Here. Dense forest. Lots of ravines and creek beds. Maybe fifteen, twenty square miles total."
Daniel Rodriguez looked over his shoulder. "That's a lot of area to search on foot."
"We're not searching on foot," Billy Renzo said, already unpacking more drone cases. "We've got four drones. We can cover that in two hours with thermal imaging."
Ryan Mattern powered up the controllers. "I'll take the northwest quadrant. Billy, you take northeast."
"I've got southwest," Daniel said.
Jr. nodded. "I'll coordinate from here and cover southeast. Everyone else spreads out in vehicles along the perimeter. When we find something, we converge."
Wade looked at the four teenagers, impressed despite the circumstances. "You boys sure about this?"
"Yes, sir," Jr. said. "We've run search grids before. This is what we trained for."
Pops chambered a round in the Remington. "Then let's stop talking and start looking."
The convoy split up, each truck taking a position along the rough perimeter of the search area. Wade coordinated positions over the satellite network while the wiz kids launched the drones.
Four quadcopters rose into the night sky, their rotors humming, thermal cameras sweeping the dark forest below.
Billy sat in his truck, watching the feeds on Jr.'s tablet. The screen was divided into four sections, each showing a different drone's thermal view. Trees. Creek beds. Wildlife—deer, rabbits, a fox.
But no Jake.
"Come on, brother," Billy muttered. "Where are you?"
Celeb sat beside him, silent, his Glock resting on his thigh.
Jr. was in the back seat, coordinating with the other wiz kids over the satellite network. "Billy Renzo, sweep northeast another half mile. Ryan, you've got that ravine coming up—go low and slow."
Back at the ranch house, the women watched the feeds on their phones. Sarah sat on the couch, Rebecca beside her, both of them staring at the screens. Mary Nelson and Edna flanked them. Caroline Beaumont stood at the window with the other mothers, all of them watching, waiting.
"Anything?" Sarah whispered.
Rebecca shook her head. "Not yet."
On the screen, the thermal feeds showed nothing but forest.
Twenty minutes into the search, Ryan Mattern's voice crackled through the network. "I've got a structure. Southwest quadrant. Looks like an old cabin."
Everyone's attention snapped to Ryan's feed.
The thermal image showed a small building in a ravine, partially hidden by trees. Heat signatures near it, but dispersed.
"Is that him?" Billy's voice was sharp.
Jr. zoomed in. "The signature's too spread out. Could be residual heat."
Wade's voice came through. "Ryan, take the drone lower. Get a visual."
The drone descended. The night vision camera switched on, showing the cabin in grainy green detail.
The door was hanging open. Broken. Kicked in.
Jr.'s voice was tense. "Door's been forced. Recently."
Billy Renzo maneuvered his drone closer. "I'm seeing footprints leading away. Heading south."
"That's him," Billy said, already starting his truck. "That's Jake. He got out."
"Wait," Jr. said, staring at his screen. "I've got movement. Heat signature. Southeast, about a mile from the cabin."
Daniel's voice came through. "I see it too. Single person. Moving steady."
"How steady?" Pops asked.
"Like he's on a mission," Daniel said. "That's no injured man stumbling around. He's walking with purpose."
Billy Renzo zoomed his drone in on the heat signature. "Switching to night vision."
The feed changed to grainy green. A shirtless figure walking through the trees, moving south at a steady pace. Boots on. Fists clenched. Head up.
"That's Jake," Billy said, relief flooding through him. "Son of a bitch is walking out."
Jr. grinned. "Told you. Toughest Benson."
Suddenly, on the feed, Jake stopped and looked up. Straight at the drone.
Then he raised his hand and waved.
Jr. burst out laughing. "He sees us!"
"Cocky bastard," Pops said, but there was pride in his voice.
"I'm bringing mine down," Jr. said, working the controls. "Let's say hello."
The drone descended, landing in the clearing about ten feet from Jake. The rotors powered down.
On the feed from the other drones, they watched Jake walk over, crouch down, and pick up the drone. He held it up to his face, and his voice came through the built-in speaker, raspy but strong.
"Hello."
The truck erupted.
"Jake!" Billy shouted into the satellite phone. "You crazy son of a bitch!"
Jake's face filled the camera. Covered in dirt, rope burns on his neck and wrists visible even in the night vision. But he was grinning. "Took you long enough. I've been walking for twenty minutes."
"We've been looking for your ass for hours!" Billy shot back.
"Well, you found me. Now come pick me up. I'm hungry and I need a beer."
Jr. was laughing so hard he could barely work the controls. "Uncle Jake, you okay?"
"I'm fine, Junior. Nice work with the drones. You track me from the cabin?"
"Yes, sir. Thermal imaging."
"Smart kid." Jake looked directly into the camera. "Celeb, you there?"
Celeb leaned over from the passenger seat. "Yeah, man. You good?"
"Never better. Those assholes tie you up with a three-inch branch and see how you feel."
"Jesus Christ," Celeb said. "You got out of that?"
"Of course I got out of it. Who the hell do you think I am?" Jake's grin widened. "Now get down here before I walk all the way home myself."
Billy was already driving, the truck tearing down the dirt path toward Jake's location. "Stay put, we're two minutes out."
"I'll be the shirtless guy holding a drone," Jake said dryly.
Billy Renzo's voice came through the network. "Uncle Jake, you want me to keep the other drones up for security?"
"Yeah, good idea. Make sure nobody else is out here." Jake paused. "Wait, did you guys get them? The kidnappers?"
"All four," Pops said through the network. "Caught them drinking beer in their cabin like idiots."
"Good. Save them for me."
"You'll have to fight Billy and Celeb for them," Pops said.
"I'll fight anybody right now," Jake said. "I'm feeling motivated."
Jr. was still laughing. "Grandma's watching the feed, Uncle Jake. You want to say hi?"
Jake looked into the camera again. "Hi, Mom. I'm fine. I'll be home soon."
Sarah's voice came through, shaky with emotion and relief. "Thank God. Thank God you're okay."
"I'm okay, Mom. See you soon."
Billy's truck skidded into the clearing. He jumped out and ran to Jake, who was still holding the drone.
Billy grabbed him in a bear hug. Jake winced but hugged back with one arm, still holding the drone in the other.
"You scared the shit out of me," Billy said.
"Good. Builds character." Jake handed him the drone. "Here. Your kid's toy."
"That toy found your ass in the middle of nowhere."
"Fair point."
Pops pulled up, followed by the rest of the convoy. Everyone piled out—Celeb, Wade, Wilson, Ryan, Tom, Josh, Ray, Robert. They surrounded Jake, a mix of relief and amazement on their faces.
Wade looked him over. "You walked a mile through the woods after escaping a hogtie?"
"Had my boots," Jake said, lifting one foot. "Got them back on after I untied myself."
"How the hell did you get out of that?" Celeb asked.
"Took my boots off. Hogtie came loose. Then I sawed the branch rope on some old metal, did a backflip to get my wrists in front, and chewed through the knot." Jake said it like he was describing a grocery run.
Everyone stared at him.
Jr. shook his head. "You're insane."
"Goddamn right," Jake said. Then he looked at Pops. "Where are they?"
"Back at their cabin. Zip-tied and waiting."
Jake's jaw tightened. "Good."
Billy grabbed his shoulder. "Come on. Get in the truck. Let's go home."
Jake climbed into the passenger seat. Billy got behind the wheel. Celeb jumped in the back with Jr., who was grinning ear to ear.
"That was the coolest thing I've ever seen," Jr. said.
"What, me holding a drone?"
"No, you waving at it. Like you were just out for a stroll."
Jake almost smiled. "I saw the rotors. Figured it was you guys."
"How'd you know we'd be looking?"
Jake looked at Billy. "Because I know my brother. And I know this family. You don't leave people behind."
Billy's throat tightened. "Damn right we don't."
The convoy formed up again, heading back. Jake sat in silence for a moment, looking out at the dark forest.
Then he turned to Jr. "Those drones got cameras, right?"
"Yeah. Night vision and thermal."
"Can you record?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Jake's smile was cold. "Just curious."
Celeb laughed from the back seat. "Man, they fucked with the wrong rancher."
"Yeah," Jake said quietly. "They did."
The convoy rolled through the night, heading home.
Jake was free. Jake was safe.
But the night wasn't over yet.
Chapter 8: Home
The porch lights of the Benson ranch house blazed like a beacon in the darkness when the convoy rolled in. Every window was lit up, and the women were already pouring out the front door before the trucks stopped.
Sarah was first, running toward Billy's F-350 before Jake even had the door open. He climbed out, and she grabbed him, her hands on his face, his shoulders, checking him over like he was five years old again.
"I'm okay, Mom," Jake said quietly.
"You're not okay. Look at you." Her voice broke as she took in the rope burns on his wrists and neck, the welts on his biceps, the dirt and blood covering his chest. "Oh, Jake..."
"I'm fine. Really."
Tom pulled her back gently and gripped Jake's shoulder, his jaw tight with emotion. "Good to have you home, son."
"Good to be home."
Rebecca was already moving in with her trauma kit, her nurse's demeanor taking over. "Inside. Now. I need to clean those wounds and check for—"
"Rebecca, I'm fine," Jake started.
"You're not fine. You were tied up for hours in God knows what conditions. Inside. Sit down. Don't argue with me."
Jake looked at Pops, who just shrugged. "Boy, when a woman says move, you move. Especially that one."
The convoy families filed into the house—Nelsons, Beaumonts, Renzos, Matterns, Rodriguezes. The living room was packed. Edna grabbed Billy's hand, tears in her eyes. Mary Nelson hugged Wade. Caroline Beaumont stood with her hand over her mouth, looking at Jake like she couldn't believe he was really there.
Pops stood in the center of the living room and clapped his hands once. "All right, listen up. Rebecca, you get Jake patched up. Tom, Josh, Robert—get the grills fired up. Ray, you're on propane duty. Ladies, raid the kitchen and get those steaks defrosting. We're feeding everyone tonight."
Everyone moved.
Rebecca pointed at the dining table. "Sit."
Jake sat.
She opened the trauma kit—the one the hospital had sent over—and pulled on latex gloves. "Jr., get me warm water and clean towels. Billy Renzo, I need the first aid supplies from the second case."
The boys moved fast. Jr. came back with a basin of water. Billy Renzo brought bandages, antiseptic, gauze.
Rebecca started cleaning the rope burns on Jake's wrists, her touch gentle but efficient. "These are deep. Second-degree burns in places. You're lucky they didn't cut off circulation completely."
"They tried," Jake said. "I got out before that happened."
"By chewing through rope with your teeth." Rebecca moved to his neck, dabbing at the raw skin. "And flipping yourself around with your shoulders nearly dislocated—"
"They weren't dislocated."
"—or close to it." She looked him in the eye. "You're insane. You know that, right?"
"So I've been told."
Rebecca worked in silence for a moment, cleaning the welts on his biceps where the branch had dug in. Then she checked his pupils, his pulse, his breathing.
"Any dizziness? Nausea? Blurred vision?"
"No."
"Chest pain? Trouble breathing?"
"No."
"Numbness in your hands or feet?"
"Not anymore."
She sat back, studying him. "You're dehydrated and you've got soft tissue damage. You need rest, fluids, and you need to keep these wounds clean."
Jake looked over at Pops. "Fluids? Pops, I need fluids!"
Pops grinned. "I got you covered, boy." He disappeared toward his storage room and came back a minute later with a case of twenty-four cold beers and two bottles of Jack Daniels. He set them on the table with a thud. "There's your fluids. Medical grade."
Rebecca put her hands on her hips. "Frank, that is not what I meant—"
"Best medicine there is," Pops said, cracking open a beer and handing it to Jake. He grabbed more beers and started passing them out. "Billy. Celeb. Jr. Boys—you all earned these tonight. Billy Renzo, Ryan, Daniel—grab one."
He handed beers to all of them without hesitation.
Sarah and Rebecca exchanged a glance but said nothing. Tonight was different. Tonight was special.
Pops positioned himself at the dining table with the Jack Daniels and started pouring shots. "Wade. Tom. Josh. Robert. Ray. You all drink up. Doctor's orders."
They took their shots.
Sarah brought over a plate piled high with cold chicken, bread, and fruit. "Eat, Jake."
Jake took a long pull from his beer, then grabbed a piece of chicken. "This is exactly what I needed."
Meanwhile, Pops orchestrated the operation like a general. "Tom, get those steaks defrosting in hot water. Josh, both grills need to be fired up. Robert, you're on quality control—don't let them burn. Ray, check the propane tanks. Wade, you and your boys set up tables on the patio."
Everyone moved without question. Pops ran the show.
The women raided the kitchen under Sarah's coordination. Caroline Beaumont found potatoes. Mary Nelson grabbed butter and sour cream. The Mattern and Rodriguez mothers pulled out vegetables for salad.
Pops kept the Jack flowing, pouring shots and refilling glasses. The living room and kitchen buzzed with controlled chaos, everyone working, talking, drinking.
Jake finished his first beer and Pops handed him another, along with a shot of Jack. "For medicinal purposes."
Jake downed the shot and chased it with the beer. Color was coming back to his face.
Jr. and his crew stood nearby with their beers, watching the operation, helping where they could.
"Uncle Jake," Jr. said. "When you waved at the drone—that was legendary."
"I saw the rotors," Jake said. "Figured it was you guys."
"Still," Billy Renzo said. "Walking out of the woods like that. That's badass."
"Goddamn right," Jake said.
Pops heard it and grinned. "That's my boy. Toughest Benson there is."
The back door opened and Ray called in. "Steaks are going on! Twenty minutes!"
The house buzzed louder. Pops directed traffic—plates, silverware, more bread, more butter. Everything had to be perfect.
Finally, he tapped his glass with a spoon. The room quieted.
"Jake. Tell us how you got out."
Jake swallowed his bite of chicken and leaned back. "Took my boots off. The hogtie was tied around them, so when the boots came off, my neck was free. Then I crawled to a piece of metal and sawed through the rope holding my wrists to the branch. Got the branch off. Did a backflip to get my wrists in front. Chewed through the knot. Put my boots back on. Kicked the door down. Started walking."
Everyone stared.
Jr. took a sip of his beer. "That's the most badass thing I've ever heard."
"Goddamn right," Celeb said.
Pops nodded with pride. "That's Benson blood right there. Your great-grandfather would be proud."
Ray looked up from his laptop. "The kidnappers. What happens to them?"
Wade took another shot that Pops had poured. "They're in custody. Wilson and Ryan are transporting them to county jail. They'll be charged with kidnapping, assault, extortion—"
"That's it?" Billy's voice was sharp.
Pops poured himself another shot. "They laid hands on my grandson. Tied him up like an animal. Left him to die. And you want to give them lawyers?"
"Legal justice," Wade said carefully. "That's how it works."
"We already gave them some justice," Celeb muttered into his beer.
Wade ignored that. "Jake, tomorrow you give a statement. We'll need photos of your injuries for evidence."
Jake nodded. "Tomorrow."
"Tonight," Pops said, raising his shot glass, "we celebrate. Jake, make a toast."
Jake stood with his beer. "To the consortium. For coming to get my ass."
Everyone raised their drinks—beer, whiskey, water, wine, whatever they had.
"To family," Pops said.
They drank.
"Steaks are ready!" Ray called from outside.
Under Pops' direction, everyone moved to the patio. Plates were loaded with ribeyes and T-bones, baked potatoes, salad, bread. The families spread out across the patio and lawn.
Pops moved through the crowd with the Jack Daniels, topping off glasses, checking on everyone, making sure they were fed and happy. He was in his element—commanding, organizing, taking care of his people.
Jake sat with Billy and Celeb, working through a massive ribeye. Jr. and his crew sat nearby with their steaks and beers.
An hour later, the families started to leave. Trucks pulled out one by one.
Wade stopped by Jake. "Tomorrow. Statement. First thing."
"I'll be there," Jake said.
"Good. I'm glad you're okay, Jake."
"Thanks, Sheriff."
When the last truck was gone, the house was quiet. Pops sat in his chair with his cigar and brandy, satisfied. Tom and Sarah cleaned up. Josh and Rebecca gathered plates.
Billy, Jake, Celeb, and Jr. headed back to the frat house.
Jake climbed into his bunk. Billy and Celeb did the same. Jr. was in the top bunk across from them.
"Hell of a night," Celeb said.
"Yeah," Billy agreed.
Jake stared at the ceiling, the Jack Daniels and beer making everything soft.
He was home. He was safe.
"Goodnight, assholes," Jake said.
"Goodnight, dumbass," Billy said back.
"Goodnight, crazy bastard," Celeb added.
"Goodnight, Uncle Jake," Jr. said.
And for the first time since the sun went down behind that ridge, Jake Benson let himself rest.
