Chapter 1: The Fence Line
"Hey Junior. Break's over. Get off your ass and back to work!"
"How much more fence do we have to wire, Uncle Billy?" Billy Benson Jr. asked his uncle. Still on summer vacation, Jr. was now on the payroll and proving himself a hard worker.
"I'd say a tenth of a mile. Don't forget your gloves, kid."
"I won't, Unk."
The Texas sun beat down on them as they worked the fence line, stretching wire between posts. Jr. moved with practiced efficiency for a fifteen-year-old, his movements mirroring his uncle's. The work was hot, repetitive, but honest. The kind of work that had built the Benson Ranch over generations.
They were halfway through the next section when Billy caught movement in his peripheral vision. Two men, front and back. Guns raised.
"Hands behind your heads!"
Before either of them could react, rough hands grabbed Jr. A knotted bandana was shoved into his mouth. His arms were yanked behind his back, rope biting into his wrists. Beside him, Uncle Billy was getting the same treatment—gagged, hands bound tight.
"So let's see here," one of the kidnappers said, fishing through their wallets. "Well, well. We got the young Benson brother and his kid nephew. Should bring in big bucks!"
A mule quad appeared through the trees, engine growling. Both Billies were hauled up and dumped into the back like cargo. More rope wrapped around their ankles. The quad lurched forward, tearing off deep into the woods next to the Nelson property.
In the noisy bed of the quad, bouncing over rough terrain, Billy looked at his fifteen-year-old nephew. Jr.'s face showed no fear—just the hard defiance of a Benson. The true grit that ran in their blood.
Billy nodded once. Whatever came next, the kid would handle it.
Chapter 2: 911
The mule quad's engine roared as it crashed through the woods, drowning out everything else. Jr. was slammed against the metal bed with each bump, his bound wrists trapped behind him, but his mind was working fast.
The gag. He had to get the gag down.
He worked his jaw, pushing with his tongue, rubbing his face against his shoulder whenever the quad hit a particularly rough patch. The knotted bandana shifted, inch by inch, until finally it slipped below his chin.
His radio. Still clipped to his belt.
Jr. twisted his body, fingers searching blindly behind his back. There—he felt the hard plastic casing. His tied hands fumbled for the button. Once. Twice. Three times.
The mechanical voice cut through the noise: "911. Billy Jr. 911. Billy Jr. 911."
The kidnappers up front didn't hear it over the engine.
Jr. managed to unclip the radio, bringing it around awkwardly with his bound hands. He pressed it to his mouth.
"Uncle Billy and I have been abducted," he said, voice steady despite everything. "We're tied up. Need help."
Uncle Billy's eyes went wide, then approving.
Jr. looked at the radio in his hands, then at the woods flying past. In one motion, he hurled it as far as he could off the side of the quad. It disappeared into the brush.
He pulled the gag back into his mouth with his shoulder, settling it roughly back in place.
Across from him, Uncle Billy was nodding. His eyes said it all: Good job, kid.
Whatever they were going to do to them, the whole consortium now knew they'd been kidnapped. Help was coming.
They just had to survive long enough for it to arrive.
Chapter 3: The Consortium Mobilizes
The mechanical voice echoed through every radio in the consortium network.
"911. Billy Jr. 911. Billy Jr. 911."
Then Jr.'s voice, young but steady: "Uncle Billy and I have been abducted. We're tied up. Need help."
The Benson ranch house exploded into chaos.
"NO!" Rebecca screamed, her nurse practitioner composure shattering instantly. "Not my baby! Not my son!"
Josh was already running for the door, his face white. "Jr.! JUNIOR!"
Jake punched the wall, leaving a dent in the drywall. "I'm gonna kill them. I'm gonna kill every last one of them!"
Sarah collapsed into Tom's arms, sobbing. Tom's jaw was clenched so tight it looked ready to crack.
And Pops—Pops was standing in the middle of the room, his face purple with rage, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"GODDAMMIT! THOSE SONS OF BITCHES! I'LL RIP THEIR FUCKING HEADS OFF!" He grabbed his brandy glass and hurled it across the room where it shattered against the wall. "BILLY! JUNIOR! THOSE BASTARDS TOOK MY BOYS!"
Caleb was already on his phone, calling the Nelsons, calling the Beaumonts, his hands shaking.
Within minutes, trucks were roaring up the driveway. Sheriff Wade Nelson burst through the door first, his wife Mary and daughter Anna right behind him. Deputies Wilson and Ryan Nelson were in full gear. Edna, Billy's girlfriend, ran straight to Sarah.
Anna's face was streaked with tears. "Jr.? Is Jr. okay? What happened?"
The Beaumonts arrived next—Robert, Caroline, and then the whole consortium started flooding in. The living room was packed, everyone talking at once, voices rising in panic and fury.
Then came the sound that cut through everything: three more vehicles pulling up fast.
Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez burst through the door, backpacks loaded with equipment. Jr.'s best friends. His wiz kid brothers.
"We brought everything," Billy Renzo said, breathless. "Laptops, tablets, the tracking software—"
"And all six drones," Daniel added, already pulling gear out.
Ryan was setting up on the dining room table. "We'll find them. We'll find Jr."
Pops was still bellowing. "FUCK! When I get my hands on those cocksuckers—"
"Pops!" Sarah tried.
"DON'T YOU 'POPS' ME! THEY TOOK BILLY AND JUNIOR! MY BOYS!"
Sheriff Wade raised his voice, trying to bring order. "Everyone! We need to—"
A phone chimed.
The room went dead silent.
Josh pulled out his cell phone, his hands trembling. His face went gray as he looked at the screen.
"It's... it's a text. With a photo."
Everyone crowded around him.
The image showed Billy and Jr., sitting in chairs. Billy was shirtless, his torso already showing dark marks. Jr.'s t-shirt was soaked with sweat. Both had their wrists tied behind them, their upper arms lashed tight to the chair backs, rope frapped between biceps and wood. Their legs were bound to the front chair legs. Both were gagged.
Below the photo, the message read:
$1,000,000. Cash. No cops. You have 24 hours. We'll send instructions.
Rebecca's knees buckled. Anna let out a strangled sob.
And Pops, staring at that photo of his grandson and his son tied up and helpless, went absolutely nuclear.
"FUCK THE RANSOM! WE'RE FORMING A GODDAMN MILITIA!"
Chapter 4: The Hunt
The dining room table had become a war room.
Ray Benson, the business manager, stood at the head of the table, his mind already calculating. "We can liquidate assets for a million, but it'll take time. Maybe twelve hours minimum to get that much cash together."
"We don't have twelve hours!" Josh shouted, his fists clenched.
"We'll buy time," Ray said, his voice steady. "I'll negotiate. Tell them we're liquidating, that we need more time. Send them twenty-five thousand as a down payment—show good faith. That gives us time to find them."
Sheriff Wade nodded grimly. "It's a solid play."
"Meanwhile," Ray continued, "we get everyone in position for—"
"For a rescue op," Pops finished, his voice like gravel. He'd stopped shouting, which somehow made him more terrifying. The Vietnam vet had taken over. "Wade, you and your boys know tactics. I know jungle warfare. We combine that, we get our boys back."
At the other end of the table, the three wiz kids were already deep in their screens, fingers flying across keyboards. Each of them had a sidearm holstered at their hip—ranchers and hunters, just like Jr.
"Okay, listen up!" Billy Renzo called out, opening his backpack. "We brought all twelve iPads. We're distributing them now so everyone can see what we're seeing in real-time."
The three boys moved quickly through the room, handing out tablets to Josh, Rebecca, Jake, Tom, Sarah, Pops, Sheriff Wade, the deputies, Robert and Caroline Beaumont, Edna, and Anna.
"They're all synced to our network," Ryan Mattern explained as he showed them the interface. "You'll see our main tracking screen, Jr.'s phone location, and—most importantly—live feeds from all six drones. Each drone gets its own box on your screen."
Daniel Rodriguez pulled up the display on the main laptop. "See? Six boxes, six drone feeds. Thermal imaging, regular video, GPS coordinates. Everyone stays informed."
Anna stared at her iPad, her hands shaking as she held it. On the screen, six smaller windows showed different aerial views of the woods, searching.
"Got it," Billy Renzo said suddenly, his eyes locked on his laptop. "Surveillance camera at the edge of our property caught the mule quad. Gray body, modified suspension, no plates but—hold on—" He zoomed in. "There. Mud splatter pattern. Custom job."
Everyone's iPads updated simultaneously, showing the captured image.
Ryan Mattern was pulling up maps on his tablet. "Cross-referencing with the direction they were headed from the fence line. They went northeast into the woods between our properties and the Hendersons' abandoned place."
Daniel Rodriguez had three screens going at once. "Launching drone network now. I'm programming a search grid starting from their last known position." His fingers never stopped moving. "Wait—guys, look at this."
Everyone's iPad screens shifted, showing a new data point.
"Jr.'s phone," Daniel said, his voice rising with excitement. "It's still pinging. They didn't check his back pockets. He's still got his phone on him!"
Anna gasped, staring at the blinking dot on her screen. "You can find him?"
"We can track him," Billy Renzo confirmed. "Signal's weak—probably in a building with poor reception—but it's there."
Ryan was already overlaying the ping location on his map. All twelve iPads updated. "Got a radius. Maybe half a mile. There are three structures in that zone—two old barns and what looks like a hunting cabin."
Pops moved to stand behind the boys, studying their screens while glancing at the iPad in his hand. "You boys are goddamn geniuses."
"Great-great-grandsons," Billy Renzo said with a slight smile, even through his fear.
Pops squeezed his shoulder. "Damn right."
Caleb was pacing, his jaw tight, watching the drone feeds on his iPad. "How long until we know exactly where they are?"
"Drones are in the air," Daniel said. "Thermal imaging should pick up heat signatures. Give us twenty minutes, maybe thirty."
Jake slammed his hand on the table, his eyes fixed on his iPad screen showing six drones searching in a grid pattern. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's gear up."
"Not yet," Sheriff Wade said firmly, studying his own iPad. "We go in half-cocked, we get them killed. We wait for confirmation, then we move smart and fast."
Ray was already typing out a text message. "I'm sending the response now. Telling them we need time to liquidate, that we're sending the down payment to the drop location they'll specify."
He hit send.
The room held its breath.
Then Ray's phone buzzed. Instructions for the drop. A location fifteen miles south.
"Smart," Wade muttered. "Sending us in the opposite direction."
"Doesn't matter," Ryan said, eyes locked on his screen. "We've got Jr.'s phone signal. We're not following their breadcrumbs."
Pops turned to Wade, Wilson, and Ryan Nelson. "You three, Caleb, Jake, Josh, Tom, and me. That's eight armed." He looked at Robert Beaumont. "Robert, you in?"
"Hell yes," Robert said immediately, gripping his iPad.
Pops nodded, then looked at the three wiz kids. "And you three. You're coming—we need your eyes on those drones and that phone signal in real-time."
Billy Renzo touched the sidearm at his hip. "We're ready."
"That's twelve of us then," Pops said. "Ray, you handle the money drop. Keep them thinking we're playing along."
Ray nodded. "Consider it done."
Rebecca was standing with her arms wrapped around herself, tears streaming down her face, her iPad clutched to her chest. "Please. Please bring my son home."
Josh crossed to her, pulling her close. "We will. I promise."
Sarah put her arm around Rebecca. "We'll stay here. Keep watching the feeds. You bring our boys back."
Anna was crying, holding her iPad tight. "Jr...."
"We're getting him," Billy Renzo said firmly. "I promise."
At the table, Ryan Mattern suddenly sat up straight. "Guys. Drone Two just picked up something."
Every iPad in the room updated simultaneously. One of the six drone feed boxes flashed red.
"Thermal signatures. Two prone, two moving. Old hunting cabin, northeast quadrant."
Everyone stared at their screens. Anna let out a sob as she saw the heat signatures—four human shapes in the small structure.
Daniel zoomed the image. "That's them. Has to be."
Pops leaned over the laptop, watching his iPad update with the zoomed view, his war-hardened eyes reading the layout instantly. "Single structure. One door, two windows. Trees for cover on the west side."
Sheriff Wade was already pulling up a satellite image on his iPad. "I know that cabin. Belonged to the Hendersons before they moved. Been abandoned for three years."
"Not anymore," Jake growled, staring at the thermal images on his screen.
Pops straightened. "Alright. We've got eyes on target. Ray makes the drop, buys us goodwill. Meanwhile, we move into position. Quiet. Surround the cabin. Wait for my signal."
He looked around the room at the twelve men—and three fifteen-year-old boys—who would be going in.
"Ladies, you'll see everything we see on those iPads. You'll know exactly what's happening, moment by moment."
Rebecca nodded, tears streaming. Sarah held Edna and Anna close. Caroline Beaumont squeezed her husband's hand. Mary Nelson kissed Sheriff Wade.
Billy Renzo reached out and squeezed Anna's hand one more time. "We're bringing him home. Both of them."
Pops grabbed his rifle, his sidearm already holstered. When he spoke, his voice was cold and certain.
"Gear up. We're going to war."
Chapter 5: Jr.'s Move
Inside the hunting cabin, Jr. had been working his wrists for the past hour.
The kidnappers had tied them tight, but not tight enough. Jr. had learned rope work since he was ten—every rancher did. He knew where the weak points were, how to create slack by flexing and relaxing his muscles, how to twist just right.
Uncle Billy watched him from across the small room, still lashed to his chair. His face was a mess—blood dried on his split lip, bruises darkening across his cheekbones. His bare chest was mottled red and purple from the beating they'd given him for the photos.
The two kidnappers were outside, smoking and arguing about something. Jr. could hear their voices through the thin cabin walls.
His right hand slipped free.
Jr. froze, his heart pounding. He glanced at Uncle Billy, whose eyes went wide. Billy gave a tiny shake of his head. Don't.
But Jr. was fifteen, and he was a Benson, and two men had beaten his uncle bloody and tied them both up like animals.
He wasn't going to just sit here.
Moving carefully, Jr. worked his left hand free, then bent forward to untie the ropes around his ankles. His fingers moved fast, pulling knots loose. Within a minute, he was free.
He stood slowly, legs stiff from being bound. His eyes swept the cabin—and landed on a stack of old lumber in the corner. A 2x4, about three feet long.
Perfect.
Jr. grabbed it, testing the weight. Solid. Heavy enough to do damage.
Uncle Billy was shaking his head violently now, his eyes pleading. The gag muffled whatever he was trying to say, but the message was clear: Don't do this, kid.
But Jr. was already moving toward the door, the 2x4 raised.
He'd take out the first one who came through. Then the second. He'd free Uncle Billy, and they'd be gone before—
The door burst open.
Jr. swung the 2x4 hard.
But the kidnapper was faster. He ducked, and Jr.'s swing went wide. Before Jr. could recover, rough hands grabbed him, slamming him face-first into the wall.
"You little shit!"
The 2x4 was ripped from his hands. Jr. struggled, but the second kidnapper was on him now, both of them pinning him down.
"Thought you'd be a hero, huh?" one of them snarled.
They dragged Jr. to the center of the cabin and threw him down on his stomach. His arms were wrenched behind his back—harder this time, crueler. Rope bit into his wrists, then more rope, pulling them up toward his shoulder blades.
"No—wait—" Jr. gasped.
They weren't stopping. They were pulling his elbows together, forcing them closer and closer until Jr. cried out. The rope cinched tight, binding his elbows nearly touching. His shoulders screamed in protest.
Then they tied his ankles together and bent his legs back, connecting his ankles to his bound elbows. Hogtied. Completely immobilized.
"Let's make sure the family knows what happens when they don't cooperate."
The first kick hit Jr. in the ribs. He grunted, trying to curl up, but the hogtie wouldn't let him move. Another kick, this one to his stomach. Then his back.
"Stop! He's just a kid!" Uncle Billy's muffled shout through the gag was desperate, furious.
They ignored him.
Jr. took the beating, each impact sending fresh waves of pain through his body. His face pressed against the dirty floor, tears squeezing from his eyes—not from fear, but from the sheer agony of his shoulders being wrenched back and the blows raining down.
Finally, they stopped.
Jr. lay on the floor, gasping, every breath painful. His shoulders felt like they were being pulled from their sockets. Blood trickled from his nose.
One of the kidnappers pulled out his phone. "Smile for the camera, kid."
The flash went off. Then another. And another.
"This ought to speed things up," the kidnapper said with a cold laugh.
They walked out, slamming the door behind them.
Uncle Billy was making desperate sounds through his gag, straining against his bonds, trying to get to Jr.
Jr. turned his head just enough to see his uncle. Despite everything—the pain, the hopelessness of being hogtied on a filthy cabin floor—Jr. managed something that looked almost like a smile.
He'd tried. That was what Bensons did.
Even if it didn't work.
Back at the Benson ranch, Josh's phone chimed.
Everyone's heads snapped toward him.
He opened the message. His face went white.
"Oh God. Oh God, no."
The photos appeared on all twelve iPads simultaneously.
Jr., hogtied on the floor, his elbows forced together, his face bloody, his body showing fresh bruises and marks. The message below read:
The boy tried to escape. This is what happens. You have 18 hours left. No more delays.
Rebecca's scream shattered the silence.
Anna dropped her iPad, collapsing into Sarah's arms, sobbing uncontrollably.
Jake punched the wall again, leaving another hole. "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL THEM!"
Billy Renzo stared at the photo of his best friend—his brother—broken and hogtied on the floor. His jaw set hard. He looked at Ryan and Daniel. Both of them had the same expression.
Cold fury.
"We're getting him out," Billy Renzo said quietly. "Now."
Pops stood, his face like stone. The Vietnam vet had seen worse. But never to his own blood.
"Vehicles. Now. We're not waiting anymore."
Sheriff Wade didn't argue. "Let's move."
The twelve men and boys headed for the door, weapons ready, iPads in hand.
They were going to war.
And God help the men who had hurt that boy.
Chapter 6: The Rescue
Two hours after the kidnapping began, twelve armed men and boys moved through the woods like ghosts.
They'd stopped at the sheriff's armory first. Wade had unlocked the weapons locker and handed out high-powered sniper rifles with laser sights—serious firepower for a serious threat.
Now Pops led the way through the trees, his Vietnam training taking over. Hand signals only. No talking. Sheriff Wade and his deputies flanked the sides, each carrying one of the rifles. Josh, Jake, Tom, Caleb, and Robert spread out in formation, also armed with the precision weapons. The three wiz kids—Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez—stayed toward the back, their iPads showing live drone feeds and Jr.'s phone ping, still active in that cabin.
Through the trees, the old Henderson hunting cabin came into view.
Pops raised his fist. Everyone stopped.
Billy Renzo's voice came through the radio headset, barely a whisper. "Thermal's showing four tangos. Two inside, two outside—one on the south corner, one on the east side. Hostages still on the floor, north side of cabin."
Four kidnappers. This was going to be precise.
Pops signaled: Wade and Wilson Nelson would take the sniper position on the ridge, thirty yards out—they'd handle the two outside guards. Ryan Nelson and Tom to the left side. Jake, Caleb, and Robert covering the back. Josh would breach the front with Pops. The three wiz kids would hold position, maintaining eyes on everything.
Silent nods all around.
Wade and Wilson moved into position on higher ground, settling behind cover. Wade's laser sight found the first outside guard at the south corner, a red dot appearing on the man's chest. Wilson's laser tracked to the second guard on the east side.
"In position," Wade whispered through the headset.
Pops acknowledged with a hand signal. He looked at the rest of his team, all in position. Then at Josh beside him. The father's face was carved from granite, his rifle ready. Josh had never been in combat, but right now, seeing what they'd done to his son, he looked capable of anything.
Pops counted down on his fingers. Three. Two. One.
Wade and Wilson fired simultaneously.
The two outside guards dropped without a sound, dead before they hit the ground.
Pops kicked the door in with one brutal strike. It slammed open, and he was through, rifle up.
"GET DOWN!"
The third kidnapper inside spun, reaching for his gun on the table.
Pops didn't hesitate. Two shots, center mass. The man dropped.
The fourth kidnapper—the one who'd beaten Jr.—got his weapon halfway up before Sheriff Wade came through the window on the right, having moved down from his sniper position. His rifle barked three times. The kidnapper crumpled against the wall.
Jake and Caleb burst through the back door, weapons sweeping the corners.
"Clear!" Jake shouted.
"CLEAR!" Wade confirmed.
It was over in less than fifteen seconds.
Pops lowered his rifle, his face hard. Four kidnappers. All dead.
Good.
"JUNIOR!" Josh was already across the cabin, dropping to his knees beside his son.
Jr. was still hogtied, his face pressed against the floor, his body showing fresh bruises and blood. His eyes were open—conscious, aware.
"I got you, son. I got you." Josh's hands were shaking as he pulled out his knife and started cutting the ropes. "You're okay. You're okay now."
The rope around Jr.'s elbows fell away first. Jr. gasped as his arms were finally released from that agonizing position. Josh cut the rope connecting his ankles to his wrists, then the bindings on his legs.
"Dad..." Jr.'s voice was hoarse.
"Don't talk. Just breathe. You're safe now."
Across the cabin, Tom and Caleb were untying Uncle Billy from the chair. Billy's face was a mess, his torso covered in bruises, but his eyes were clear and fierce.
"Jr.?" Billy rasped as soon as his gag was removed.
"He's okay," Tom said quickly. "Josh has him."
Billy tried to stand, but his legs gave out. Caleb caught him. "Easy, man. You've been tied up for two hours."
Sheriff Wade was checking the bodies—two inside, Wilson confirming the two outside. Dead. All four of them.
He looked at Pops. The old Vietnam vet's expression was completely calm.
"Self-defense," Wade said simply. "They were armed and presented an immediate deadly threat to the hostages and to our team."
Pops nodded once. That was exactly what had happened.
Jake stared down at the two dead men inside the cabin, his fists still clenched. "Good. They deserved worse."
Outside, the three wiz kids heard the all-clear over the radio and came running.
Billy Renzo burst through the door first and saw Jr. sitting up now, his father's arms around him.
"JR.!"
He dropped to his knees beside his best friend. Ryan and Daniel were right behind him.
"You okay? Are you okay?" Billy Renzo's voice cracked.
Jr. looked at his three brothers, blood on his face, his body aching, but alive. "I'm okay. I'm... I'm okay."
Daniel was crying. Ryan gripped Jr.'s shoulder hard.
Uncle Billy, now standing with Caleb's help, limped over to his nephew. He crouched down, wincing at his own injuries, and looked Jr. straight in the eye.
"You did good, kid," Billy said quietly. "That distress call saved us. You kept your head. You're a Benson."
Jr. managed a small smile through the pain. "So are you, Unk."
Billy ruffled his nephew's hair, then pulled him into a careful hug.
Pops stood in the doorway, looking at his two boys—both alive, both safe. His grandson and his youngest son.
He turned and looked at the four dead kidnappers—two inside, two outside.
"Should've known better than to take a Benson," he muttered.
Sheriff Wade holstered his weapon. "Let's get them home. I'll call this in once we're back. Crime scene unit can handle the rest."
Josh helped Jr. to his feet. The boy was shaky but standing. Billy was leaning on Caleb but upright.
The consortium militia moved out of the cabin, the three wiz kids flanking Jr. protectively. Wilson and Ryan Nelson retrieved the sniper rifles, and the team moved back through the woods.
They were going home.
Back at the ranch, the iPads had gone silent for those terrifying fifteen seconds during the breach.
Then Sheriff Wade's voice came through: "We have them. Both Billys secured. Four hostiles down. We're coming home."
Rebecca collapsed in Sarah's arms, sobbing with relief.
Anna was crying, clutching her iPad. "He's alive. He's alive."
Edna was weeping. Mary Nelson held her daughters close.
Ray Benson allowed himself one long breath. Then he picked up his phone to cancel the ransom drop.
They didn't need it anymore.
The boys were coming home.
Chapter 7: The Frat House
The convoy of trucks rolled up to the Benson ranch like a victorious army returning from battle.
Before the engines even shut off, Rebecca was running out of the house, followed by Sarah, Anna, Edna, Mary, and Caroline. The women who had watched every second of the rescue on their iPads, hearts in their throats.
Josh helped Jr. out of the truck. The boy's face was bruised and bloodied, his movements stiff and painful.
"My baby!" Rebecca reached him first, her hands hovering over him, afraid to hurt him but desperate to hold him.
"I'm okay, Mom," Jr. said, his voice rough. "I'm okay."
She pulled him into a gentle embrace, tears streaming down her face. "Thank God. Thank God."
Anna was there a second later, crying so hard she could barely breathe. Jr. wrapped one arm around his girlfriend, wincing at the movement but holding her close anyway.
"I'm alright, Anna. I promise."
From the other truck, Uncle Billy climbed out slowly, supported by Caleb. His shirtless torso was a canvas of bruises—blacks, purples, deep reds across his ribs and chest. His face was swollen, blood dried on his split lip.
Edna gasped when she saw him. "Billy..."
"Just a few bumps, darlin'," Billy said with a crooked smile that probably hurt like hell.
Sarah was already ushering them toward the house. "Inside. Now. Rebecca, get your kit."
"Already on it," Rebecca said, her nurse practitioner training kicking in despite her tears.
"We should take them to the hospital," Mary Nelson said, her voice concerned.
"No hospital," Billy said firmly.
"Uncle Billy—" Rebecca started.
"No. Hospital," Jr. echoed, just as stubborn.
Josh looked at his wife. "They're Bensons."
Rebecca sighed. "Fine. But you're both getting full examinations. Kitchen table. Now."
"And food," Jr. said suddenly. "I'm starving."
"Me too," Billy added. "Haven't eaten since breakfast."
Sarah's face softened. "Of course. Let me make you both something."
"Beef sandwiches?" Jr. asked hopefully.
"Coming right up."
The next hour was a flurry of activity. Rebecca worked methodically at the kitchen table, checking Jr. for broken ribs (bruised, not broken—lucky), examining his shoulders (strained but functional), cleaning the blood from his face, bandaging cuts. Then she moved to Billy, documenting every injury, making sure nothing was internal.
While she worked, Sarah made thick beef sandwiches—leftover roast from dinner, piled high with cheese and mustard on fresh bread. She set plates in front of both Billys, and they ate like they hadn't seen food in days.
"Slow down," Rebecca said, not looking up from wrapping Billy's ribs. "You'll make yourself sick."
Neither of them slowed down.
Pops sat at the kitchen table the whole time, sipping his brandy, watching his boys get patched up and fed. He didn't say much. Didn't need to. His presence said everything.
Sheriff Wade stayed long enough to take initial statements, then headed back to process the crime scene. The consortium families gradually dispersed, exhausted and relieved, promising to check in tomorrow.
By the time the sun set, the house had finally quieted down.
Jr. stood in the hallway outside the "frat house"—the bedroom he shared with Uncle Billy, Uncle Jake, Caleb, and sometimes his three best friends when they stayed over.
Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez were already inside, waiting.
Jr. pushed open the door.
The room looked exactly the same as it had that morning—two bunk beds, clothes scattered on the floor, posters on the walls, the smell of teenage boy and ranch work. But everything felt different now.
Uncle Billy was already stretched out on the bottom bunk, shirtless, his torso wrapped in bandages. Jake sat on the top bunk above him, and Caleb was sprawled in the desk chair.
Jr.'s three best friends were standing awkwardly near the other bunk.
Billy Renzo cleared his throat. "Hey, um... would it be alright if we stayed over tonight? I mean, if it's okay with everyone."
Ryan nodded. "We don't want to be in the way or anything."
Daniel added, "We can head home if you guys need space."
Jr. looked at them like they'd lost their minds. "Are you kidding? Of course you're staying."
"Damn right they're staying," Uncle Billy said from his bunk. "You boys helped save our asses today. You're family."
Jake leaned over from the top bunk, grinning. "Plus, we got plenty of clothes for you. Between all of us, we've got like a hundred t-shirts and jeans in here. You'll find something that fits."
"Seriously," Caleb added. "Half the clothes in here probably belong to you guys anyway."
Billy Renzo looked at Ryan and Daniel, relief washing over their faces. They all grinned.
"Thanks," Billy Renzo said. "Really. We just... we wanted to make sure."
"You're always welcome here," Jr. said firmly. "Always."
"Good," Jake said. "Now that that's settled, somebody break out the emergency stash."
Billy Renzo reached under the floorboards near his bunk and pulled up the loose panel. His eyes widened. "Whoa. Two full six-packs."
"Hell yes," Jake said. "Toss me one."
Bottles were passed around—plenty for everyone. Jr. took his and sat down on the floor between his three friends.
For a moment, nobody spoke. They just sat there, drinking beer they technically shouldn't have, in a room that smelled like sweat and freedom.
Then the door opened.
Everyone froze.
Pops stood in the doorway, his brandy glass in one hand, a cigar in the other. His eyes swept the room, taking in the seven boys, the open beer bottles, the guilty looks.
"Relax," Pops said gruffly. "You think I don't know about the stash? Who the hell do you think refills it every morning?"
Jake's jaw dropped. "Wait—you refill it?"
"Course I do," Pops said, walking into the room. "You boys think beer just magically appears under those floorboards?"
Jr. stared. "All this time..."
"All this time," Pops confirmed. He looked at the six-pack. "Now hand me one. I'm drinking with my boys tonight."
Billy Renzo passed him a beer. Pops twisted off the cap and took a long drink, then settled himself on the edge of Caleb's desk.
"So," Pops said, looking at Jr. and Billy. "You two gave us all one hell of a scare today."
"Sorry, Pops," Jr. said quietly.
"Don't apologize. Wasn't your fault." Pops took another drink. "But that distress call? That was smart thinking, Junior. Real smart."
"Learned from the best," Jr. said.
Pops grunted, but there was pride in his eyes. He looked at Billy. "And you. Took one hell of a beating protecting the kid."
Billy shrugged, wincing at the movement. "He's family."
"Damn right he is." Pops raised his beer. "To family. And to getting our boys back."
Everyone raised their bottles.
"To family," they echoed.
They drank.
"So," Ryan Mattern finally said, "you really tried to take them out with a 2x4?"
Jr. took a swig of beer. "Yeah."
"That was stupid," Daniel Rodriguez said.
"I know."
"Also kind of badass," Daniel added.
Pops snorted. "Kid went full Rambo. His uncle's shaking his head 'no,' and Jr. just grabs a board like he's gonna take down four armed men."
Jake laughed from his top bunk. "Benson blood. Can't help it."
"They caught me," Jr. said quietly.
"Course they did," Billy said from his bunk. "You're fifteen. They're grown men with guns. But you tried. That's what matters."
"They hogtied you," Billy Renzo said. His voice was different now—not joking. "We saw the pictures."
The room went quiet.
Jr. stared at his beer. "Yeah. That... that sucked."
"Your elbows," Ryan said. "They forced them together. That had to—"
"It hurt," Jr. said simply. "A lot. But I'm okay now."
Pops took a long drink of his beer, his jaw tight. He'd seen the photos. Every brutal detail. "Those sons of bitches got what they deserved."
"Yes, they did," Uncle Billy said quietly.
Uncle Billy shifted on his bunk, looking at his nephew. "You kept your head, kid. Even when it got bad. That's true grit."
"Like a Benson," Jake added, raising his beer.
"Like a Benson," Caleb echoed.
Jr.'s three friends raised their bottles too.
"Like a Benson," they said together.
Pops raised his beer. "Like a goddamn Benson."
Jr. felt something tight in his chest loosen. He was home. He was with his brothers—blood and chosen. And Pops, the old war vet who'd led the charge to save them.
They drank their beers, traded stories about the rescue—how the wiz kids had tracked the quad and Jr.'s phone, how Pops had led the assault like he was back in Vietnam, how the sniper rifles had taken out the outside guards before anyone even knew what was happening.
"Four shots, four kills," Jake said with satisfaction. "No hesitation."
"Damn right," Pops said. "Those bastards didn't know what hit them."
"Good," Jr. said quietly.
Nobody argued.
Pops finished his beer and stood, stretching. "Alright. You boys get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day—statements, paperwork, all that bullshit."
He paused at the door, looking back at Jr. and Billy. "You did good today. Both of you. Real good."
"Thanks, Pops," they said together.
Pops nodded once, then left, closing the door behind him.
Eventually, exhaustion started to creep in. The adrenaline of the day was wearing off, replaced by bone-deep tiredness.
Billy Renzo, Ryan, and Daniel pulled out clothes from the communal pile—a Benson Ranch t-shirt for Billy Renzo, one of Jake's old flannels for Ryan, and a pair of Caleb's sweatpants for Daniel. They changed, settling in for the night.
The three wiz kids claimed spots on the floor with spare blankets and pillows Sarah had brought in earlier.
Jr. climbed up to his top bunk—across from Jake's. Below him, Uncle Billy was already half-asleep, his breathing slow and steady despite the pain he had to be in.
"Hey, Jr.?" Jake said from across the room.
"Yeah?"
"You did good today."
Jr. smiled in the darkness. "Thanks, Uncle Jake."
From the floor, Billy Renzo, Ryan, and Daniel were already half-asleep, the day's events finally catching up to them.
Jr. closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of home—Uncle Billy's steady breathing, Jake shifting on his bunk, Caleb humming something under his breath, his three best friends safe on the floor beside his bunk.
They'd been kidnapped. Beaten. Tied up and threatened.
But they were Bensons.
And Bensons always came home.
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