Chapter 1: The Abduction

Celeb Beaumont's eyes cracked open to bright sunlight streaming through the frat house window. He blinked, disoriented, then shot upright in his bunk.

Shit.

The other three bunks were empty, blankets thrown back. Billy's boots were gone from beside the door. Jake's hat missing from the bedpost. Even Billy Jr's gear had been cleared out. The room had that hollow silence of a place long abandoned.

Seven-thirty. He should've been up at six.

Celeb swung his legs over the side of the bunk, his bare feet hitting the worn wooden floor. The house was dead quiet—no voices, no boots on floorboards, no screen door banging. Everyone was already out working. Josh would have his ass for sleeping in, but there was nothing to do about it now except move fast.

He grabbed a white undershirt from the pile on the chair and pulled it over his head, then jammed his feet into his work boots without bothering with the laces. Coffee first. Then he'd check whatever work assignment Josh had posted for him and try to make up for lost time.

The hallway was dim and cool as he padded toward the kitchen, still half-asleep, running a hand through his hair. His wallet was still on his dresser. His radio too. He'd grab them after coffee. The kitchen doorway was just ahead, and he could already picture the pot sitting on the burner, hopefully still warm—

Two shapes exploded from the shadows beside the doorframe.

Celeb's instincts fired before his brain caught up. He twisted hard to the right as heavy hands grabbed for his shoulders, and his elbow drove back into something solid. A grunt. But then the second man was on him from the left, arm snaking around his neck, and something pressed over his mouth and nose—

A rag. Sweet chemical smell flooding his airways.

No—

Celeb threw his weight backward, slamming the man behind him into the doorframe. The grip loosened for half a second and he sucked in air to yell, but the rag clamped down harder, the chemical stench choking him. His vision blurred at the edges. He drove an elbow back again, felt it connect, heard another grunt of pain.

"Hold him, goddammit!"

Four hands now, dragging him down. Celeb's boot lashed out and caught something—a shin, maybe—and he wrenched his head to the side, trying to break free of the rag. His lungs were screaming. The room tilted. His arms felt heavy, slow, like moving through water.

He tried to push off the floor, but his legs wouldn't cooperate. The chemical smell was everywhere now, inside him, drowning him from the inside out.

"Finally got a Benson," one of the voices said, distant and echoing. "Get him in the truck and tie him up!"

Celeb's last thought was that they were wrong.

Then the kitchen floor rose up to meet him, and everything went black.

Chapter 2: The Discovery

Billy Jr checked his watch for the third time as he tightened the fence wire. Eight-fifteen. Celeb was over an hour late.

That wasn't like him. Celeb was solid—always showed up, always pulled his weight. They were supposed to be working this section together, and Billy Jr had covered for him the first thirty minutes, figuring maybe he'd overslept. But an hour? Something was off.

"Screw it," Billy Jr muttered, dropping his tools. He jogged back toward the main ranch house, his boots kicking up dust on the dirt path.

The house was quiet when he stepped inside—most everyone was already out working. He headed straight down the hallway to the frat house, their nickname for the cramped bedroom he shared with Uncle Billy, Uncle Jake, and Celeb. Two bunk beds, hidden beer stash under the floorboards, and more dirty laundry than any four guys should accumulate.

The door was open. The bunks were empty.

"Celeb?" Billy Jr called out. Nothing.

His eyes swept the room. Celeb's wallet sat on the dresser beside his radio. Billy Jr's gut twisted. Nobody left without their wallet. Nobody.

He turned and headed for the kitchen, picking up his pace. Maybe Celeb was just—

He stopped cold in the doorway.

Pieces of cut rope lay scattered across the kitchen floor. Black duct tape, torn and discarded. A white rag crumpled near the table.

Billy Jr's hand went to the radio clipped to his belt. His thumb found the button—the red one they'd installed as a joke at first, then made damn sure worked perfectly. Pops had insisted on it. You never know when you'll need it, the old man had said.

Billy Jr hit the button.

A mechanical voice crackled across every radio in the consortium network. "911 Emergency. 911 Emergency. Billy Junior Benson. 911 Emergency."

He raised the radio to his mouth, forcing his voice steady even as his heart hammered. "This is Billy Jr at the main house. I think Celeb's been abducted. His wallet and radio are still in the frat house, but there's cut rope and duct tape all over the kitchen floor. He never showed up for work this morning. Someone took him."

Silence.

Then chaos erupted across the channel.

At the Beaumont Ranch

Caroline Beaumont was washing breakfast dishes when the mechanical voice came through the radio on the counter. Her hands stilled in the soapy water.

"911 Emergency. 911 Emergency. Billy Junior Benson."

Robert appeared in the doorway, his face already tight with concern. They both listened as Billy Jr's voice followed, young and tense.

"I think Celeb's been abducted."

The plate slipped from Caroline's hands and shattered in the sink.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no—"

Robert was already moving, grabbing his keys, his radio, his rifle from the rack by the door. "I'm going to the Benson house. Stay here in case—"

"I'm coming with you." Her voice broke, but her hands were steady as she dried them on a towel. "That's our son, Robert."

At the Nelson Ranch

Sheriff Wade Nelson was halfway through his morning coffee when the alert came through. He set the mug down carefully, his jaw tightening as he listened to Billy Jr's report.

Mary was beside him in an instant, her hand on his arm. "Wade?"

"It's the Beaumont boy." He stood, already moving toward his gun belt hanging by the door. "Someone took him from the Benson house."

His sons—Wilson and Ryan, both deputies—were on the channel immediately.

"Dad, we're five minutes out. We'll meet you there."

Wade keyed his radio. "Billy Jr, this is Sheriff Nelson. Don't touch anything else in that kitchen. We're on our way."

But even as he said it, Wade knew this wasn't going to be a by-the-book investigation. Not with three families involved. Not with one of their own taken.

At the Main Benson Ranch House

Tom Benson came through the back door at a dead run, Sarah right behind him. Pops was already in the kitchen, his weathered face hard as stone as he stared down at the ropes and tape.

"Goddamn sons of bitches," Pops growled, his hand clenching into a fist. "They came into our house."

Josh appeared with Rebecca, both of them pale. Billy and Jake were right behind, their faces mirroring the same cold fury.

Billy Jr stood in the center of it all, still holding his radio. "I should've checked on him sooner. He was late, and I just—"

"You did exactly right," Tom said firmly, gripping his grandson's shoulder. "You found him fast, and you hit the alert. That's what matters now."

The radio crackled again.

"This is Robert Beaumont. We're on our way. Please—" His voice broke. "Please tell me you have something."

Tom lifted his radio, his voice steady and commanding. "Robert, we're going to find him. All of us. You have my word."

Sarah's hand found Tom's, squeezing tight. Around them, the Benson family stood together, silent and grim.

And through the radio, three families waited—listening, ready, and already moving.

Chapter 3: The Mobilization

Billy Jr's fingers were already moving across his phone screen before the families started arriving. Three quick calls.

"Billy Renzo. Get your drones and get here now. Celeb's been taken."

"Ryan Mattern. Bring everything. We need the network up."

"Danny Rodriguez. Drop everything and come. Bring all the equipment."

Each response was the same: "On our way."

He shoved the phone in his pocket and looked up to see his grandfather Tom standing in the kitchen doorway, surveying the scattered ropes and tape with cold fury.

"I called my crew," Billy Jr said. "We can get the drone network operational. If they took him in a vehicle, we might still catch it on camera."

Tom nodded once, sharp and decisive. "Do it. Whatever you need."

The Beaumonts arrived first, Robert's truck skidding to a stop in the gravel drive. Caroline was out before it fully stopped, running for the house. Robert was right behind her, his face ashen.

Anna Beaumont tumbled out of the back seat and spotted Billy Jr through the window. The fifteen-year-old ran straight for her boyfriend, her face pale with fear and tears already streaming down her cheeks.

Billy Jr caught her as she crashed into him, her arms wrapping tight around his waist.

"They took Celeb," Anna sobbed against his chest. "They took my brother—"

"I know." Billy Jr's arms tightened around her, his voice steady even though his heart was hammering. "But we're going to find him. I promise."

She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her eyes red and wet. "What can I do?"

"Stay close," he said quietly. "I might need your help with the tech."

Anna nodded, swiping at her eyes, and stayed at his side.

Sarah Benson met Caroline at the door, pulling her into an embrace as Caroline's composure finally cracked.

"Our boy," Caroline choked out. "Our boy—"

"We'll find him," Sarah said firmly, her hands gripping Caroline's shoulders. "All of us. We will find him."

Robert stood with Tom and Pops in the kitchen, staring down at the evidence. His jaw was tight, his fists clenched.

"They came into your house," Robert said quietly. "Took him from your home."

"They took one of ours," Pops growled, his weathered face hard as granite. "Doesn't matter whose name is on the birth certificate. He's ours, and we're getting him back."

Sheriff Wade Nelson arrived with his sons Wilson and Ryan right behind him. Wade took one look at the kitchen and immediately started cataloging evidence with the trained eye of a lawman—but his hand never went for his phone to call it in.

"We're not calling this in official," Wade said, meeting Tom's eyes. "Not yet."

"Agreed," Tom said.

Mary Nelson had come with them, and she went straight to Caroline, adding her presence to the circle of women gathering strength in the living room. Rebecca—Wade and Mary's daughter, Josh's wife, and Billy Jr's mother—stood with them, her face tight with worry for the boy who'd become like a brother to her own son.

Edna Nelson, Wade and Mary's younger daughter and Billy's girlfriend, arrived moments later. She found Billy pacing in the hallway like a caged animal and went straight to him, her hand finding his.

"We'll get him back," Edna said quietly.

Billy's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, but he nodded once.

Billy Jr's three friends arrived within twenty minutes of his call, trucks pulling up one after another. Billy Renzo with his twin drones. Ryan Mattern with the portable relay equipment. Danny Rodriguez with the iPads and control systems.

They commandeered the dining room table, spreading out equipment and opening laptops. Cables snaked across the floor. iPad screens glowed to life.

Anna stayed at Billy Jr's elbow, handing him cables when he needed them, holding equipment steady as they assembled the network. Her hands shook slightly, but she kept working.

"How far back can we scan?" Billy Jr asked as they worked.

"Depends on when they took him," Billy Renzo said, his fingers flying across a keyboard. "We've got motion-activated recording on all six ranch perimeters. If they drove through any of our coverage zones, we got them."

"He was taken sometime after six this morning," Josh said from the doorway. "That's when everyone else left for work."

"On it," Danny Rodriguez muttered, pulling up timestamp logs.

The adults gathered in the kitchen and living room, their voices low and tense. Jake paced, his fists clenching and unclenching. Billy stood with Edna, equally tense but silent.

Ray, the business manager, had his phone out. "If they want ransom, they'll contact us. Probably within hours."

"Let them," Pops said darkly. "We'll play along. And while we're playing, these boys are going to find them."

In the dining room, the four teenagers and Anna worked with the focused intensity of a surgical team.

"Got something," Ryan Mattern said suddenly. "Renzo ranch, eastern perimeter. Seven-forty-two this morning."

They all crowded around the iPad. The grainy footage showed a dark pickup truck moving fast down the dirt road that bordered the Renzo property—the same road that led away from the Benson ranch.

"Can you get a plate?" Billy Jr asked.

"Enhancing now," Billy Renzo said, his fingers dancing across the screen.

The image sharpened slightly. Texas plates. Partial number visible: TX-4729...

"That's enough," Danny said. "We can work with that."

"Two people in the cab," Ryan Mattern noted. "Can't see the bed from this angle."

Anna's hand found Billy Jr's and squeezed. He squeezed back, his jaw tight.

Billy Jr stood up straight. "Keep working the network. See if any other cameras caught them. I need to tell the adults."

He walked into the kitchen where the families had gathered, Anna following close behind him. Every face turned toward them.

"We got a truck on camera," Billy Jr said. "Dark pickup, Texas plates, partial number. Seven-forty-two this morning heading east from here. We're scanning the other ranch cameras now to track its route."

Tom's hand came down on Billy Jr's shoulder, firm and proud. "Good work."

Robert Beaumont's eyes were wet, but his voice was steady. "Thank you."

Caroline reached for Anna, pulling her daughter close. Anna went, but kept her eyes on Billy Jr.

"We're not done yet," Billy Jr said, already turning back toward the dining room.

The radio on Tom's belt crackled to life. A voice—unfamiliar, rough, distorted slightly as if through a mask or cloth.

"We have your boy. If you want him back, it's going to cost you."

The room went dead silent.

Tom lifted the radio slowly, his face carved from stone. "Who is this?"

"Someone who knows the Bensons are good for the money. One million dollars. We'll send proof within the hour. You try anything stupid, and the boy dies."

The line went dead.

Caroline made a small, broken sound. Sarah's arm tightened around her. Anna pressed her face into her mother's shoulder, trembling.

"They think they took a Benson," Wade said quietly.

"Celeb lives in this house," Pops said, his voice rough. "He's been a Benson for eight months now. Far as I'm concerned, they got exactly what they came for—one of ours."

Robert's voice was thick. "You don't have to—"

"We do," Tom cut him off firmly. "And we will. All of us."

In the dining room, four teenagers and Anna kept working, their screens glowing in the dim light as they traced the path of a truck carrying Anna's brother and Billy Jr's best friend.

Outside, more vehicles were arriving. The Renzos. The Matterns. The Rodriguezes. Parents coming to support their sons, neighbors coming to help their neighbors.

And in the kitchen, Tom Benson looked around at the faces of his family—blood and chosen both—and knew that whatever came next, they would face it together.

"We're going to find him," Tom said quietly. "And God help anyone who stands in our way."

Chapter 4: The Captive

Celeb's first sensation was pain.

His head throbbed where it had cracked against the kitchen floor. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton—no, not cotton. Cloth. Rags shoved deep enough to trigger his gag reflex. His jaw ached from being forced open, and when he tried to work his tongue against the obstruction, he felt the tight pull of tape wrapped around his head.

He couldn't breathe through his mouth. Only his nose, and even that felt difficult, panicked.

His eyes snapped open.

A bare room. Concrete floor. Single dirty window letting in harsh afternoon light. And the chair—he was tied to a goddamn chair.

Celeb's body went rigid as the full reality crashed into him. His arms were lashed down the sides of the chair, rope biting into his biceps, above and below his elbows, his forearms, his wrists. More rope circled his chest, crushing him back against the wooden slats. His legs were bound at the thighs, knees, and ankles.

And his feet—his ankles were pulled back under the chair, rope running up to wrap around his neck.

The hogtie.

If he struggled too hard, he'd choke himself.

No. No, no, no—

Every instinct screamed at him to move, to fight, to break free. Celeb was strong. He worked a ranch. He could bench press two hundred pounds. He should be able to—

He yanked against the ropes on his right arm. Pain flared instantly as the rope scraped against his skin. The chair didn't budge. He tried again, harder, feeling the rough fibers of the rope dig deeper. His bicep burned. He felt something warm trickle down his arm.

Blood.

The rope around his neck tightened as his body shifted, and Celeb forced himself to go still, gasping through his nose.

Calm down. Think.

But he couldn't think. His heart hammered against his ribs. Sweat soaked through his white undershirt. The rags in his mouth tasted like chemicals and dirt, and the tape around his head felt like it was crushing his skull.

He tried again. Slower this time. Testing each rope, trying to find any give, any weakness. His wrists twisted against the bindings. Nothing. His arms pulled against the chair. The wood creaked but held. He shifted his weight, trying to rock the chair.

The neck rope tightened again, choking him.

Celeb froze, his vision blurring at the edges as he fought for air through his nose. When the pressure eased, he slumped forward as much as the ropes allowed, his chest heaving.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—

A door opened somewhere behind him.

Footsteps. Two sets.

"Well, look who's awake," a voice said. Rough, unfamiliar. "Thought we might've given you too much of that shit."

Celeb's head jerked up, trying to see them. One man moved into view—mid-thirties, unshaven, wearing jeans and a dirty flannel shirt. The second man stayed behind him, just out of Celeb's line of sight.

"You're probably wondering what the hell's going on," the first man said, crouching down to Celeb's eye level. "Here's the deal, kid. Your family's got money. We need money. Simple transaction."

Celeb made a muffled sound behind the gag, shaking his head.

"Oh, don't worry. They'll pay. Bensons always take care of their own, right?" The man grinned. "One million dollars, and you go home. Easy."

They think I'm a Benson.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. They'd grabbed him from the Benson house and assumed—

"Get the camera," the first man said to his partner. "Let's send them proof we got their boy."

The second man appeared with a phone, angling it to capture Celeb in the frame. The flash went off once, twice, three times.

Celeb looked straight at the camera, his eyes wide and furious above the black tape. His white undershirt was already dark with sweat. Blood trickled down both arms where the ropes on his biceps had cut into his skin. His muscles were taut, straining against the bindings even though he forced himself to stay still.

"Perfect," the first man said, reviewing the photos. "That'll get their attention."

He pulled out a radio—the same kind the consortium used—and keyed the mic.

"We have your boy. If you want him back, it's going to cost you."

There was a pause, then a voice Celeb recognized immediately: Tom Benson.

"Who is this?"

"Someone who knows the Bensons are good for the money. One million dollars. We'll send proof within the hour. You try anything stupid, and the boy dies."

The kidnapper cut the transmission and turned back to Celeb with a satisfied smile. "There we go. Now we wait."

They left the room, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Celeb was alone again.

He stared at the dirty window, his mind racing. Tom knew. By now, Billy Jr would've found his wallet. They'd know he was taken. And when they got that photo—

They'll think it's one of them. They'll think it's Billy or Jake.

No. They'd know it was him. They had to know.

But the kidnappers didn't. And if they found out they'd grabbed the wrong person—if they realized Celeb Beaumont wasn't worth a million dollars to anyone—

They'd kill him.

Celeb closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. The ropes bit into his arms. His neck ached from the hogtie. Every muscle in his body screamed to fight, to move, to do something.

But he couldn't.

All he could do was wait, and trust that somewhere out there, the people he'd come to think of as family were coming for him.

His fingers curled into fists against the chair arms, and despite the pain, despite the terror, Celeb started testing the ropes again.

He wasn't going to just sit here.

Even if it killed him.

Chapter 5: The Photo

The photo came through twenty minutes later.

Tom's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, his face already carved from stone, knowing what he was about to see.

The image loaded.

Celeb. Tied to a steel chair in a bare concrete room. His white undershirt soaked dark with sweat. Ropes lashed his arms down the sides of the chair—so tight that blood trickled from under the bindings on his biceps, running down his forearms in dark rivulets. More rope circled his chest, crushing him back against the metal frame. His legs were bound, ankles pulled back under the chair.

Black duct tape wrapped around his head, covering his mouth. His eyes stared directly at the camera—wide, furious, terrified.

Tom's hand tightened on the phone until his knuckles went white.

"Show me," Robert said quietly.

Tom turned the phone.

Robert's face went ashen. He made a sound—low, broken—and his hand shot out to grip the counter for support.

Caroline was there in an instant. "Let me see him. Let me see my son."

Sarah tried to stop her. "Caroline, maybe—"

"Show me!"

Tom held out the phone.

Caroline's scream tore through the house.

It was a mother's scream—raw, primal, the sound of someone watching their child suffer and being powerless to stop it. She collapsed against Robert, her legs giving out, and he caught her, his own face twisted with anguish.

In the living room, Mary Nelson went to them immediately, her arms around Caroline. Sarah was right behind her, and Rebecca. The women formed a circle around Caroline as she sobbed, her hands covering her face.

"My baby," Caroline choked out. "Look what they're doing to my baby—"

In the kitchen, Jake saw the photo over his grandfather's shoulder.

"Those fucking—"

His fist slammed into the wall. Once. Twice. The drywall cracked and crumbled. Billy grabbed his brother's arm before he could throw a third punch, but Jake wrenched free, his face twisted with rage.

"I'm going to kill them," Jake snarled. "I'm going to find them and I'm going to fucking kill them—"

"Goddamn sons of bitches," Pops growled, his weathered face dark with fury. "Look what they did to that boy. Look at his fucking arms. They're torturing him."

Josh stared at the photo, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. Ray stood beside him, pale but focused. Wade Nelson's hand rested on his gun belt, his sheriff's instincts warring with his family loyalty.

"We can't call this in," Wade said quietly. "If we do—if anyone official finds out they grabbed the wrong person—"

"They'll kill him," Tom finished. "So we play along. They think he's a Benson? Fine. He's a Benson."

Robert's voice was thick, broken. "Tom—"

"He lives in our house," Tom said firmly. "He works our ranch. He sleeps in the same room as my grandsons. Far as I'm concerned, he is a Benson. And we're getting him back."

Pops nodded, his hand clenching into a fist. "Damn right we are."

In the dining room, Billy Jr and his friends were still working when Anna's soft gasp made him look up.

She'd seen the photo on someone's phone through the doorway. Her hand flew to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Billy Jr was at her side in an instant, pulling her close. "Don't look. Anna, don't—"

"That's Celeb," she whispered against his chest. "They're hurting him—"

"We're going to find him," Billy Jr said, his voice steady even though his own hands were shaking. "I promise. We're going to bring him home."

Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Danny Rodriguez had all stopped working, their faces grim.

"How long to get the drones airborne?" Billy Jr asked, his jaw set.

"Five minutes," Billy Renzo said. "We're almost ready."

"Then let's move."

The radio on the table crackled to life. Not the consortium frequency—one of the adjacent channels.

"Tom, this is Frank Renzo. Our boys told us what's happening. We want to help."

Tom picked up the radio, glancing at Pops and Wade. They both nodded.

"Frank, this is Tom. We'd be grateful."

"Mike Mattern here. Ryan told me about the drone network. Whatever you need, we're in."

"Carlos Rodriguez. Danny's with your grandson. We're family now, Tom. Let us help."

Tom's throat tightened. He keyed the mic. "You want in on this, you're in. Billy Jr, can you patch them into the scrambled frequency?"

From the dining room: "Already on it, Grandpa!"

One by one, the radios synchronized. Six families. One network.

"This is Frank Renzo. We're mobilized."

"Mike Mattern. Standing by."

"Carlos Rodriguez. Ready when you are."

Tom looked around the kitchen at the faces of the Benson family, the Nelsons, the Beaumonts. Then at the radio, connecting them to three more families ready to fight.

"Then let's find him," Tom said. "Billy Jr, get those drones in the air."

Outside, Billy Jr and his three friends moved with practiced efficiency. The twin drones launched from the Renzo property first, their cameras sweeping the eastern roads. The Mattern drones went up next, covering the northern routes. The Rodriguez drones took the southern perimeter.

Inside the dining room, the iPads lit up with live feeds. Six screens. Six perspectives. All searching for a dark pickup truck with Texas plates.

Anna stood at Billy Jr's shoulder, her hand gripping his arm. Her face was pale, tear-streaked, but her eyes were focused on the screens.

"We're going to find him," she whispered.

Billy Jr's hand covered hers. "Yeah. We are."

The drones climbed higher, their cameras scanning the roads of Kings County.

And somewhere out there, in a bare concrete room, Celeb Beaumont fought against his ropes and waited for rescue.

Chapter 6: The Struggle

Celeb heard the footsteps return before the door opened.

The two kidnappers came back in, and the first one—the one who'd done all the talking—had his phone out, tapping at the screen.

"Your family's real eager to get you back," he said with a satisfied grin. "Bensons don't waste time, do they?"

He held up the phone, and Celeb heard it—Tom Benson's voice, transmitted through some kind of speaker or recording.

"That's my boy. We'll pay whatever you want. Just don't hurt him."

Celeb's heart stopped.

My boy.

Tom knew. He had to know it was Celeb in that photo, not Billy or Jake or Billy Jr. But Tom had called him his boy. Tom was playing along, making the kidnappers think they'd grabbed a Benson.

To keep him alive.

The realization crashed over Celeb like a wave. The Bensons were going to pay a million dollars—for him. Not for their blood. For the kid who'd been sleeping in their house for eight months. The kid who wasn't really theirs.

Except Tom had just claimed him. My boy.

Celeb's eyes burned behind the tape, but he couldn't wipe them. Couldn't do anything except sit there, bound and helpless, while people he'd come to love risked everything to save him.

"See?" the kidnapper said, pocketing his phone. "Told you they'd pay. Now we just wait for the transfer, and you go home. Easy."

They left again, and the door slammed shut.

Celeb was alone.

He had to get out.

The thought consumed him, overwhelming everything else. He couldn't just sit here. Couldn't be dead weight while the Bensons and Beaumonts mobilized to save him. He had to fight. Had to try.

Celeb tested the ropes again, more deliberately this time. His right arm first—pulling, twisting, trying to find any slack in the bindings. The rope around his bicep was so tight it felt like a tourniquet. He pulled harder, feeling the fibers scrape against his already-raw skin.

Pain flared, sharp and hot. More blood trickled down his arm.

He didn't stop.

His left arm next. Same result—the ropes held, biting deeper with every movement. The steel chair didn't give an inch. It was solid, industrial, probably weighing fifty pounds or more. Even if he could break the ropes, he couldn't break the chair.

But he had to try.

Celeb yanked against the chest ropes, throwing his weight forward. The hogtie rope around his neck tightened instantly, cutting off his air. He froze, gasping through his nose, black spots dancing at the edges of his vision.

Breathe. Slow down.

But he couldn't slow down. Every instinct in his body screamed to fight, to move, to do something. Sitting still felt like dying.

As soon as the pressure on his neck eased, he tried again. This time he twisted his torso, trying to work the ropes loose around his chest. The chair scraped against the concrete floor—maybe an inch. His arms burned. His wrists twisted against the bindings until the skin felt like it was on fire.

Nothing. The ropes held.

Celeb's breathing came faster, harsher through his nose. Sweat poured down his face, soaking into the tape around his mouth. His white undershirt clung to his body, dark and wet.

He pulled against the arm ropes again, harder this time, ignoring the pain. The rope scraped away another layer of skin. He felt the warm trickle of blood running down both arms now, dripping onto the concrete floor.

The chair didn't move. The ropes didn't loosen.

He was trapped.

Time became meaningless.

Minutes? Hours? Celeb didn't know. All he knew was the pain—constant, burning, everywhere. His arms were raw meat under the ropes. His neck ached from the hogtie, every slight movement a reminder that he was one wrong twist away from choking himself unconscious.

But he kept fighting.

He had to.

Because somewhere out there, Billy Jr was probably tearing apart the ranch looking for clues. Billy and Jake were probably ready to kill someone. Tom and Pops were probably coordinating with Wade Nelson. And his parents—God, his parents must be terrified.

All of them working to save him.

The least he could do was try to save himself.

Celeb yanked against the ropes again. The steel chair scraped another inch across the floor. His vision blurred with pain and exhaustion. He could taste blood in his mouth—he'd bitten his tongue at some point, the metallic tang mixing with the chemical residue from the chloroform-soaked rag.

His muscles trembled with fatigue. His lungs burned from trying to get enough air through his nose. But he didn't stop.

Come on. Come on, you son of a bitch—

The door opened again.

Celeb went still, his chest heaving.

The first kidnapper walked in, took one look at him, and laughed.

"Jesus Christ, kid. Look at you." He gestured at the blood running down Celeb's arms, the scraped-raw skin visible under the ropes. "You're doing our job for us. Those Bensons are gonna see the next photo and empty their bank accounts."

The second man appeared with the phone, snapping more pictures. Celeb glared at the camera, his eyes burning with fury and pain above the tape.

"Keep it up," the first man said, still grinning. "Makes our point real clear—pay up, or he keeps suffering."

They left.

Celeb slumped in the chair, exhausted, bleeding, every part of his body screaming.

But after a few minutes—maybe five, maybe ten—he started testing the ropes again.

He couldn't stop.

Wouldn't stop.

Not until they came for him, or until his body gave out completely.

Hours passed. The light through the dirty window shifted from afternoon to late evening. Celeb's world narrowed to pain and determination.

Pull. Scrape. Bleed. Breathe.

His arms were a mess—blood drying in dark streaks, fresh blood welling up with every movement. His wrists were raw and swollen. His neck was bruised from the hogtie rope.

But somewhere in the back of his mind, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, one thought kept him going:

They're coming. They're coming for me.

Tom had called him his boy.

That meant something.

That meant everything.

So Celeb kept fighting, even as his body begged him to stop.

Because that's what Bensons did.

They didn't quit.Chapter 7: The Convergence

The second photo arrived two hours later.

Tom's phone buzzed, and the sound cut through the tense silence in the kitchen like a gunshot. Every head turned.

He looked at the screen, and his face went harder than stone.

"Jesus Christ," Wade muttered, looking over his shoulder.

The new image was worse. So much worse.

Celeb was still tied to the steel chair, but now the damage was visible. His arms were streaked with blood—dried dark in some places, fresh and wet in others. The ropes around his biceps had cut so deep they'd scraped away skin. His wrists were swollen and raw. Even through the photo, you could see the trembling in his muscles, the exhaustion, the pain.

But his eyes—his eyes were still defiant. Still fighting.

Robert saw it next, and the sound he made was inhuman. Caroline took one look and turned away, burying her face in Sarah's shoulder, her whole body shaking with sobs.

"He's torturing himself," Josh said quietly, his voice tight. "He's fighting the ropes so hard he's—"

"He's a Benson," Pops growled, his weathered face carved with fury and pride. "That boy doesn't know how to quit."

Jake's fist hit the counter. "We need to move. Now. We need to—"

"We got him!"

Billy Jr's shout from the dining room brought everyone running.

The four teenagers were crowded around the main iPad. The drone feed showed a dark pickup truck—the same one from the earlier footage—parked behind what looked like an old warehouse on the eastern edge of Kings County.

"That's it," Billy Renzo said, his fingers flying across the screen. "Same plates. TX-4729. It's been stationary for the last ninety minutes."

"Location?" Tom demanded.

"Old Morrison warehouse," Ryan Mattern said, pulling up a map. "About forty minutes east of here. Abandoned for years."

Danny Rodriguez was already transferring the data. "Sending GPS coordinates to all four iPads now. We can guide you in real-time."

Billy Jr looked up at his grandfather, his face set with determination. "We can do this. One of us in each truck, feeding GPS and drone coverage to everyone on the radio net."

Tom looked at Wade, then at Pops, then at Robert. All three men nodded.

"We take the chance," Tom said. "We go now."

The house erupted into controlled chaos.

Gun safes opened. Rifles came out. Pistols were holstered. Wade and his sons moved with the practiced efficiency of law enforcement, but this wasn't a sheriff's operation—this was family.

Billy Jr and his three friends grabbed their iPads, checking connections, confirming the scrambled radio frequency.

Anna appeared at Billy Jr's side. "I want to come—"

"No." Billy Jr's voice was firm but gentle. He cupped her face with one hand. "I need you here. Safe. I'll bring him home. I promise."

Anna's eyes filled with tears, but she nodded. Caroline pulled her close as Billy Jr turned away.

"Billy Renzo, you're with me," Tom said, already heading for his truck.

"Ryan Mattern, you ride with Josh and Ray," Wade added.

"Danny Rodriguez, you're with Wilson and Ryan," Pops said, checking his rifle.

"Billy Jr," Robert said, his voice rough, "you're with me and Jake and Billy."

Billy Jr nodded, slipping his iPad into his pack.

Four trucks lined up in the Benson driveway. Engines rumbled to life. The radio net crackled with final checks.

"This is Tom. Everyone on frequency?"

"Frank Renzo, standing by with Mike and Carlos. We're mobilizing backup teams if you need us."

"Mike Mattern here. We've got vehicles ready to block any escape routes you identify."

"Carlos Rodriguez. Say the word, Tom, and we move."

"Wade Nelson, we're good to go."

"Robert Beaumont, we're in."

Six families. Four trucks. One mission.

Inside Tom's truck, Billy Renzo had his iPad mounted on the dashboard, the drone feed showing the warehouse and surrounding area.

"We've got eyes in the sky," Billy Renzo said into his radio. "All trucks, I'm feeding you the route now."

The four iPads lit up simultaneously, GPS routes overlaying the screens. Billy Jr's voice came through clear and steady.

"Grandpa, you're lead truck. Take County Road 7 east. We'll confirm turns as you go."

"Roger that," Tom said, putting his truck in gear.

The convoy rolled out.

Behind them, the women gathered on the porch—Sarah, Caroline, Mary, Rebecca, Anna, and Edna. Watching. Waiting. Praying.

Inside Robert's truck, Billy Jr had his iPad on his lap, Anna's brother bleeding and bound somewhere ahead of them. Jake sat in the back, his rifle across his knees, his jaw clenched so tight it looked painful. Billy was beside him, equally tense.

"Turn coming up in two miles," Billy Jr said into the radio. "Left on Farm Road 12."

"Copy," came Tom's voice.

"We see it," Wade confirmed.

"Frank Renzo here. Drones are tracking your position. You're clear on all routes."

The four trucks moved in formation, their headlights cutting through the gathering dusk. The drone feeds showed them approaching from the west, the warehouse growing larger on the screens.

"I've got movement," Ryan Mattern said suddenly. "Two figures outside the building. Looks like our guys."

"Thermal confirms two inside as well," Danny Rodriguez added. "Probably with Celeb."

"Mike Mattern checking in. We've positioned vehicles on Highway 9. They won't get past us if they run."

"Carlos Rodriguez adding—we've got the southern routes covered. They're boxed in."

Billy Jr glanced at Robert, whose knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"We're coming, son," Robert whispered. "Hold on."

The warehouse appeared on the horizon—a squat, ugly building with broken windows and rusted siding. The kidnappers' truck was parked behind it, just like the drone footage showed.

"All trucks, slow approach," Tom's voice came through. "We don't want to spook them."

"Copy."

"Roger."

"Confirmed."

The four trucks slowed, their headlights dimming. The boys guided them to positions surrounding the warehouse, their iPads showing the building layout, the heat signatures, the exits.

"Two men outside, eastern side," Billy Renzo reported. "They're armed. Looks like rifles."

"Two inside," Ryan Mattern confirmed. "One stationary—that's probably Celeb. One mobile."

Pops' voice came through, rough and ready. "So we got four targets. Two outside, two inside, and our boy in the middle."

"We go in hard," Wade said. "Fast and loud. No time for them to think."

"Frank Renzo here. You want us to move in as backup?"

"Negative," Tom said. "Hold your positions. Block the roads. We've got this."

"Understood. Good hunting."

Tom's truck pulled to a stop, the other three forming a loose perimeter. Doors opened. Men stepped out, armed and grim-faced.

The four teenagers stayed in the trucks with their iPads, eyes on the screens, feeding real-time intel.

"Targets outside are moving toward the front entrance," Billy Jr said. "They heard the trucks."

"Then let's not keep them waiting," Jake growled, chambering a round.

The men advanced on the warehouse, weapons ready, six families united.

Inside the trucks, on four glowing iPad screens, a heat signature sat motionless in the center of the building.

Celeb.

They were coming.

Chapter 8: The Rescue

The flash bangs went in first.

Two through the front windows. One through the side door.

The explosions were deafening—brilliant white light and concussive force designed to disorient and disable. Inside the warehouse, the kidnappers had maybe half a second to register what was happening before their world became nothing but noise and blindness.

Celeb heard it coming—the crash of breaking glass, the distinctive metallic clatter. His eyes squeezed shut on instinct, but even through his eyelids the light was blinding. The sound hit him like a physical blow, his ears ringing, his already-fuzzy head spinning.

But he knew that sound.

They're here.

The door crashed open. Boots pounded on concrete. Shouting—familiar voices, overlapping, commanding.

"DOWN! GET DOWN NOW!"

"HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"

"DON'T FUCKING MOVE!"

Celeb's eyes were still squeezed shut, the afterimages of the flash bangs dancing behind his eyelids. His whole body trembled with exhaustion and adrenaline. He tried to yell through the gag but all that came out was a muffled sound.

More boots. Closer now. The sounds of a struggle—bodies hitting the floor, the metallic click of handcuffs, cursing.

"Clear left!"

"Clear right!"

"We got both of them. They're down."

Then Billy Jr's voice, right beside him. "Celeb! It's us, man. We got you."

Celeb's eyes snapped open—or tried to. Everything was still white and blurry from the flash bangs. He blinked hard, trying to clear his vision, and saw Billy Jr in front of him, backlit and hazy.

Billy Jr's hands went immediately to the tape around Celeb's head. "Hold still. This is gonna hurt."

He wasn't gentle—there was no time for gentle. Billy Jr grabbed the edge of the black duct tape and ripped.

The tape came away in one brutal pull, taking some of Celeb's hair with it. Billy Jr immediately started pulling the rags out of Celeb's mouth—one, two, three wadded pieces of cloth that had been shoved so deep Celeb gagged as they came out.

The first breath of air through his mouth felt like heaven and agony all at once. Celeb coughed, gagged again, then sucked in a huge breath.

"What the fuck took you so long?" he rasped, his voice raw and rough.

Billy Jr let out a shaky laugh, somewhere between relief and hysteria. "Had to find your ass first, you idiot."

"Move," Jake growled, shouldering past with a knife already out. Billy was right behind him, pulling out his own blade.

"Hold still," Billy said, crouching beside the chair. "We're cutting you loose."

Jake started on the chest ropes while Billy worked on the arms. The knives sawed through the thick rope, each strand snapping with a dull pop. Celeb felt the pressure ease on his torso first, then his left arm, then his right.

"Jesus Christ, look at his arms," Billy muttered. The ropes had cut so deep that blood had soaked through, the skin scraped raw in places, angry red welts everywhere the rope had bitten.

"Just get me out," Celeb said through gritted teeth.

Jake moved to the leg ropes while Billy worked on the hogtie connecting Celeb's ankles to his neck. That rope came free last, and Celeb's head dropped forward as the tension released.

"Easy," Billy Jr said, gripping Celeb's shoulder. "You've been tied up for hours. Don't try to stand yet."

But Celeb was already pushing himself up, his legs shaking, his arms screaming in pain as blood rushed back into compressed muscles. Billy and Jake caught him as he stumbled, one on each side.

"I'm good," Celeb said, even though he clearly wasn't. His vision was still swimming. His legs felt like rubber. But fury was burning through the exhaustion now, hot and sharp.

He looked across the room.

The two kidnappers were on their knees, hands cuffed behind their backs. Tom and Pops stood over one. Wade and his sons had the other. Robert Beaumont stood between them, his rifle still raised, his face carved from stone.

Celeb shook off Billy and Jake's hands and stumbled toward them.

"Celeb, wait—" Billy Jr started.

But Celeb kept moving, his steps getting steadier with each one, driven by pure rage. He stopped directly in front of the first kidnapper—the one who'd done all the talking, the one who'd grinned while taking pictures.

The man looked up at him, dazed and bleeding from where he'd been tackled, and Celeb saw the moment of confusion cross his face.

"My name," Celeb said, his voice low and venomous, "is Celeb Beaumont."

The kidnapper blinked. "What?"

"CELEB BEAUMONT!" Celeb roared, his voice cracking with rage and exhaustion. "You stupid motherfuckers! You had the WRONG GUY!"

The color drained from the kidnapper's face.

"That's right," Celeb snarled, leaning down so they were eye to eye. "I'm not a Benson. Never was. You grabbed me from their house and thought—what? That I was Billy? Jake?" He laughed, bitter and harsh. "You tortured me for HOURS for nothing. There was never going to be a million-dollar ransom for me."

The second kidnapper was staring now too, his face going pale as the realization hit.

"Oh God," the first one whispered. "Oh Jesus Christ, we—"

"You fucked up," Pops finished, his voice like gravel. "Big time."

Jake stepped up beside Celeb, his hand on his shoulder—steadying him or holding him back, Celeb wasn't sure which.

"And you know what the best part is?" Billy added, moving to Celeb's other side. "We got you anyway. All of us. Six families mobilized to get him back. Because he IS one of ours."

"The money transfer you thought you got?" Ray spoke up from the doorway, holding up his phone. "Reversed. Every penny."

Wade Nelson crouched down in front of the kidnappers, his badge visible now, his voice deadly calm. "You're under arrest for kidnapping, assault, and extortion. And since you crossed state lines—" he smiled without humor "—the FBI's gonna want a word too."

Celeb swayed on his feet, the adrenaline starting to fade, the exhaustion and pain rushing back in. Billy Jr was there immediately, catching him.

"Okay, tough guy. You made your point. Let's get you out of here."

Robert appeared at Celeb's side, his hand gripping his son's shoulder, his eyes wet. "Let's go home, son."

Celeb nodded, letting Billy Jr and his father support him as they turned toward the door.

Behind them, the kidnappers sat in stunned, horrified silence, handcuffed and surrounded, realizing too late just how badly they'd miscalculated.

They'd grabbed the wrong guy.

But they'd gotten the right families.

aCast of Characters

The Bensons:

Tom and Sarah Owners of the Benson Ranch with Pops, Parents of their 4 Sons

Pops, Tom’s Father, Viet-Name war vet, also owner, his great grandfather started the Ranch

Billy, 20, the youngest, hard worker

Jake, 21, Closest with Billy. Like Twins

Ray 28, The Business Manager

Josh 32, The General Manager Married to Rebecca Nelson and Father of Billy Junior, age 15 And old enough to be on the payroll as a ranch hand. Jr. has a girlfriend, Anna Nelson age 15.

The Nelsons

Next door Ranchers to the Benson

Sherrif Wade Nelson married to Mary Nelson, parents of Rebecca and Kings County Texas sheriff

Edna Nelson, Age 20, Billy’s girlfriend

Wison (Horse) Nelson, age 24, Deputy Sherif

Ryan Nelson, age 25, Deputy Sherrif

The new Neighbors

Robert & Caroline Beaumont, who have become close friends quickly with the Bensons and Nelsons and the three families formed a ranch consortium.

Celab (20) who quickly became buddies with Billy & Jake. Now he moved in with Billy and Jake and Billy Jr in the same room (The frat house”) two bunk beds in a room that only had had one and hidden beers in under the floorboards.

Billy and Jake are as close as two brothers can be since they were toddlers. They still have the same room in the ranch house, bunk beds. Jake is a hothead. Billy and jake like to compete and banter. They are thought of as twins. Celeb has been now in the house as of 8 months as they began the consortium. And Jr, who has Anna as a girlfriend it now muscled out from ranch work when no school, an expert hunter, marksman, rider etc. who has an off road license for all ranch travel, and has become best friends with Billy Benzo, Ryan Mattern and Daniel Rodriquez in each other houses and are welcomes by the Bensons, even by the elders to hang out in the frat house. And all four boys, ranchers, hunters, etc. are electronic whiz kids.

Pops is a Viet Name war vet, the patriarch, who likes his brandy, cigars, beer and has a foul mouth that drives the lady’s crazy, and Billy Jr and his buddies love to hang out with him and like to imitate especially in his curse words. And pops considers all of them his great great grandsons

Billy and Pops have made a radio network between the consortium, so if a Button is hit, a machinal voice says 911 Emergency and enables the Bensons, Beaumont and Nelsons all get on the same frequency and all can speak to one another and can be scrambled. The 15-year-olds also have their own systems, in case of a tornado, etc. but can link into the consortium network.

Celeb and Jake and Billy hang out a lot together, help each other ranch work, and now are doing everything together

All the families have known each other for years except the Beaumont’s who have been for 8 months and are welcomed by the all.Chapter 9: The Homecoming

"Hospital," Wade said as they loaded Celeb into Robert's truck. "Those arms need—"

"No hospital," Celeb said, his voice hoarse but firm. "Rebecca can handle it."

Robert looked at Wade, who nodded slowly. "Rebecca's a nurse practitioner. She's got everything he needs at the house."

"Then let's go," Tom said.

The convoy headed back, four trucks rolling through the darkness, their headlights cutting through the night. In Robert's truck, Celeb sat between Billy Jr and Jake, his bandaged arms resting carefully on his lap. Billy drove, his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds to check on his friend.

"You good?" Jake asked quietly.

"Been better," Celeb muttered. "Been worse too."

Billy Jr snorted. "When the hell have you been worse?"

"That time Pops made us muck out the entire barn in July. No water breaks."

Despite everything, Jake laughed. "Yeah, okay. That was pretty bad."

Rebecca had the living room converted into a makeshift medical station by the time they arrived. Her friend from town—another nurse—had brought supplies: IV bags, antibiotics, pain medication, bandages, antiseptic.

Caroline rushed to Celeb the moment he came through the door, her hands hovering over him like she was afraid he'd break. "Baby—"

"I'm okay, Mom," Celeb said, letting her pull him into a careful embrace. "I'm okay."

Robert's hand gripped Celeb's shoulder, his eyes wet. Sarah and Mary were right there, and Anna hovered nearby, her face tear-streaked but relieved.

"Sit," Rebecca ordered, pointing to the chair she'd set up. "Let me see those arms."

Celeb sat. Rebecca carefully unwrapped the makeshift bandages Billy and Jake had applied in the truck, and her face went tight when she saw the damage underneath.

"Jesus," she muttered. "Celeb, you need pain medication. This is going to—"

"No pain meds," Celeb said firmly. "Just clean it and wrap it."

"Celeb—"

"No pain meds."

Rebecca looked at Josh, who shrugged. "Kid's stubborn."

"Fine," Rebecca said, reaching for the antiseptic. "But you're getting antibiotics. Those cuts are deep and you've been sitting in a dirty warehouse for hours."

"I'll take the antibiotics," Celeb said, "after I've had at least four beers."

Tom barked out a laugh from the doorway. "That's a Benson if I ever heard one."

"Pops," Tom called out. "Break out your stash."

Pops grinned, already heading for his hidden cabinet. "Now we're talking."

Within minutes, the kitchen table was loaded. Beer. Jack Daniels. Pops' private reserve brandy that he only brought out for special occasions. The women were heating up leftovers—casseroles, roasted chicken, cornbread—enough food to feed an army.

Rebecca finished cleaning and bandaging Celeb's arms, then set up the IV for fluids and antibiotics. Celeb downed his first beer before she even got the needle in.

"Slow down," Rebecca warned.

"Four beers," Celeb reminded her, already reaching for his second. "That was the deal."

By the time the IV was running, Celeb had finished his fourth beer and was working on a plate of food that Caroline had insisted he eat. The living room and kitchen were packed—three families plus Billy Jr's three friends and their fathers who'd stayed to make sure everything was okay.

Pops poured shots of Jack Daniels, passing them around to the adults. Even the ladies took one, though Sarah made a face at the burn.

"To Celeb," Tom said, raising his glass. "Toughest damn kid I know."

"To family," Wade added.

Everyone drank.

Billy Jr, Anna, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Danny Rodriguez stood in the corner, watching the adults celebrate. Pops noticed and grabbed five beers from the cooler.

"One each," he said, handing them out. "Don't tell your mothers."

Billy Jr grinned, twisting off the cap. Anna took a careful sip, wrinkling her nose at the taste. The other three boys downed theirs like they'd done it a hundred times before.

As the night wore on, the exhaustion started to set in. The adrenaline faded. The relief settled into something quieter, deeper.

"We're staying the night," Frank Renzo said, clapping Tom on the shoulder. "Boys too. Nobody's driving home tonight."

"Frat house," Billy Jr said immediately, looking at his friends. "All of us."

Jake grinned. "Seven guys in one room. This is gonna be tight."

"We'll make it work," Billy said.

Celeb was already standing, carefully unhooking himself from the IV now that the bag was empty. Rebecca gave him a look but didn't stop him.

"You're sleeping sitting up," she warned. "Those arms need to stay elevated."

"Yes, ma'am," Celeb said.

The seven of them—Celeb, Jake, Billy, Billy Jr, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Danny Rodriguez—headed down the hallway to the frat house. The room that normally held four now had to fit seven, but nobody cared.

Billy Jr went straight for the loose floorboard, prying it up to reveal the hidden stash. More beer. A bottle of whiskey they'd "borrowed" from Pops months ago.

"Now we're talking," Jake said, grabbing two beers.

They sprawled out across the bunks and the floor, passing bottles around, the banter starting almost immediately.

"So Celeb," Ryan Mattern said with a grin. "How does it feel to be worth a million dollars?"

"Feels like bullshit," Celeb muttered, but he was smiling. "They didn't even get the right guy."

"That's what makes it funny," Danny Rodriguez said. "They thought they were so smart."

"And we found you in two hours," Billy Renzo added. "Drones for the win."

Billy Jr raised his beer. "To the tech nerds."

"To the tech nerds," everyone echoed.

Anna poked her head in the doorway. "Room for one more?"

"Hell yeah," Billy Jr said, making space beside him on his bunk.

Anna squeezed in, leaning against her boyfriend, and for a while they just sat there—seven teenagers and one fifteen-year-old girl, drinking contraband beer and talking about everything and nothing.

"You really told them off," Jake said to Celeb. "That 'wrong guy' speech was legendary."

"I was pissed," Celeb said simply.

"You earned it," Billy said. "Those assholes tortured you for hours."

"And you fought the whole time," Billy Jr added quietly. "We could see it in the photos. You never stopped."

Celeb was quiet for a moment, then looked around at all of them—his family, blood and chosen both.

"Couldn't just sit there," he said finally. "Not while you guys were coming for me."

"Damn right we were," Jake said, clinking his beer against Celeb's.

They stayed up until past midnight, the banter and the beer flowing freely, until one by one they started to drift off—some on bunks, some on the floor, some propped against the wall.

And in the morning, they'd wake up to the smell of breakfast and the sound of three more families asking to join the consortium.

But for now, they were just seven guys in a cramped room, safe and together, exactly where they belonged.

Morning came with the smell of bacon and coffee.

The seven of them stumbled out of the frat house one by one, bleary-eyed and rumpled. The women were already in the kitchen, and Sarah had called the general store to order a massive breakfast—eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, biscuits, enough to feed everyone.

The three families—Bensons, Nelsons, Beaumonts—were gathered around the kitchen table along with Frank Renzo, Mike Mattern, and Carlos Rodriguez.

"Hell of a night," Frank said, accepting a cup of coffee from Mary.

"Hell of an operation," Mike added. "Those boys of ours—that drone network was something else."

"Couldn't have done it without them," Tom said.

Carlos leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "Tom, we've been talking. The three of us." He gestured to Frank and Mike. "What you've got here—this consortium, the buying and selling arrangement—it works. We've seen it. And after last night..." He paused. "We want in. If you'll have us."

Tom looked at Pops, then at Wade and Robert. All three nodded.

"You stood with us last night," Tom said. "Far as I'm concerned, you're already family. The business side? That's just paperwork."

Frank grinned. "Then let's make it official."

"Six families," Pops said, raising his coffee mug. "One consortium."

"One family," Wade corrected.

They drank to that.

And in the doorway, seven teenagers watched and smiled, knowing they'd helped build something bigger than any of them.

Something that would last.Chapter 9: The Homecoming