Chapter 1
Billy's hands shook as he held the phone, his voice tight with controlled fear. "Dad. Jake and I were ambushed. They took us here and took our phones, radios, wallets and boots. They are now forcing me to show you Jake... hogtied and gagged."
He angled the phone's camera down toward the concrete floor. Jake lay on his side, wrists bound tight behind his back, ankles pulled up and secured to his wrists in a cruel hogtie. Duct tape covered his mouth. His bare feet flexed uselessly against the ropes. His eyes—wild and furious—locked onto the camera.
"Now they are muting the phone," Billy continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And they are going to let you watch them tie me up."
The line went silent, but the video stayed on.
At the Benson Ranch
Tom's face drained of color as he stared at his phone screen. Billy Jr. had appeared at his shoulder, drawn by the urgent tone in his grandfather's voice.
"Grandpa, what—" Jr. started, then stopped cold when he saw Jake on the screen. "Jesus Christ. Is that Jake?"
"Don't look," Tom said reflexively, but he knew it was pointless. The boy was already staring.
On screen, rough hands shoved Billy to the floor. Two masked figures moved into frame—black ski masks, work gloves, no identifying features visible.
"Son of a bitch," Tom breathed. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white.
One kidnapper grabbed Billy's wrists and wrenched them behind his back. Billy grunted—the only sound that came through before they'd muted the audio.
"They're really doing it," Billy Jr. whispered, his voice hollow. "Grandpa, we gotta—"
"I know. Just... watch. Look for anything. Anything we can use."
The second kidnapper fed rope around Billy's ankles with practiced efficiency. Quick, tight loops. These weren't amateurs.
"They know what they're doing," Jr. said, echoing Tom's thoughts. His voice had shifted—steadier now, analytical. The shock was giving way to something else. "Look at those knots. Military? Law enforcement?"
Tom's jaw clenched. "Maybe."
Billy didn't fight. He knew better. But his jaw was clenched, muscles taut across his shoulders as they pulled his bound wrists toward his bound ankles.
"Come on, Billy," Tom muttered under his breath. "Stay calm. Stay smart."
"He is," Jr. said quietly. "He's not giving them a reason."
The hogtie came together quickly—too quickly. Within ninety seconds, Billy lay on the floor beside his brother, bound just as tightly. His bare feet already showing red marks from the rope biting into skin.
"Why'd they take their boots?" Jr. asked.
"So they can't run," Tom said grimly. "And because—"
He stopped. He didn't want to say it.
"Because of the threat," Jr. finished, his voice dark. "They're going to hurt their feet."
The phone was propped up now, showing both brothers side by side on the cold concrete floor. Billy's chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. Jake was still struggling, anger radiating off him even through a phone screen.
Then a text appeared on Tom's screen:
$500K RANSOM OR WE TORTURE THEIR FEET. INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Billy Jr.'s hand shot to his own pocket, reaching for his satellite phone.
Tom's voice came out as a growl. "Hit the button. Now."
Chapter 1
Billy's hands shook as he held the phone, his voice tight with controlled fear. "Dad. Jake and I were ambushed. They took us here and took our phones, radios, wallets and boots. They are now forcing me to show you Jake... hogtied and gagged."
He angled the phone's camera down toward the concrete floor. Jake lay on his side, wrists bound tight behind his back, ankles pulled up and secured to his wrists in a cruel hogtie. Duct tape covered his mouth. His bare feet flexed uselessly against the ropes. His eyes—wild and furious—locked onto the camera.
"Now they are muting the phone," Billy continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And they are going to let you watch them tie me up."
The line went silent, but the video stayed on.
At the Benson Ranch
Tom's face drained of color as he stared at his phone screen. Billy Jr. had appeared at his shoulder, drawn by the urgent tone in his grandfather's voice.
"Grandpa, what—" Jr. started, then stopped cold when he saw Jake on the screen. "Jesus Christ. Is that Jake?"
"Don't look," Tom said reflexively, but he knew it was pointless. The boy was already staring.
On screen, rough hands shoved Billy to the floor. Two masked figures moved into frame—black ski masks, work gloves, no identifying features visible.
"Son of a bitch," Tom breathed. His grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles went white.
One kidnapper grabbed Billy's wrists and wrenched them behind his back. Billy grunted—the only sound that came through before they'd muted the audio.
"They're really doing it," Billy Jr. whispered, his voice hollow. "Grandpa, we gotta—"
"I know. Just... watch. Look for anything. Anything we can use."
The second kidnapper fed rope around Billy's ankles with practiced efficiency. Quick, tight loops. These weren't amateurs.
"They know what they're doing," Jr. said, echoing Tom's thoughts. His voice had shifted—steadier now, analytical. The shock was giving way to something else. "Look at those knots. Military? Law enforcement?"
Tom's jaw clenched. "Maybe."
Billy didn't fight. He knew better. But his jaw was clenched, muscles taut across his shoulders as they pulled his bound wrists toward his bound ankles.
"Come on, Billy," Tom muttered under his breath. "Stay calm. Stay smart."
"He is," Jr. said quietly. "He's not giving them a reason."
The hogtie came together quickly—too quickly. Within ninety seconds, Billy lay on the floor beside his brother, bound just as tightly. His bare feet already showing red marks from the rope biting into skin.
"Why'd they take their boots?" Jr. asked.
"So they can't run," Tom said grimly. "And because—"
He stopped. He didn't want to say it.
"Because of the threat," Jr. finished, his voice dark. "They're going to hurt their feet."
The phone was propped up now, showing both brothers side by side on the cold concrete floor. Billy's chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. Jake was still struggling, anger radiating off him even through a phone screen.
Then a text appeared on Tom's screen:
$500K RANSOM OR WE TORTURE THEIR FEET. INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then Billy Jr.'s hand shot to his own pocket, reaching for his satellite phone.
Tom's voice came out as a growl. "Hit the button. Now."
Chapter 2
The satellite phone's mechanical voice cut through the evening air across six ranches: "911 Emergency. 911 Emergency. 911 Emergency. Billy Jr."
Jr.'s fingers were already moving. He forwarded the kidnapping video to every consortium member before Tom could even speak. Eighteen satellite phones buzzed simultaneously across Kings County.
The radio network exploded with voices.
"What the hell—" Robert Beaumont's voice crackled through. "Is that Billy and Jake?"
"Hogtied," Sheriff Wade Nelson confirmed, his voice tight. "Both of them. We're rolling now."
"Ransom demand," Tom cut in, his voice like gravel. "Five hundred thousand. They're threatening to torture their feet."
"Jesus Christ," Ray Benson said. "Where are you, Dad?"
"Main house. Jr. hit the button. Get here. Now."
"Ten minutes out," Josh Benson reported. "Rebecca's at the hospital—I'm calling her."
"We're moving," Mr. Renzo said. "Billy's already grabbing gear."
"Matterns rolling," came another voice.
"Rodriguez family en route," Daniel's father confirmed.
"Kids," Tom said sharply. "Jr., Billy, Ryan, Daniel—command center. Get those systems online."
"Already upstairs, Grandpa," Jr. replied, his voice steady despite the fear underneath. "Pulling surveillance now."
"Wade, how long till you're here?" Tom asked.
"Five minutes," the Sheriff said. "Wilson and Ryan are with me. Mary's mobilizing the volunteer deputies."
"Caroline and I are three minutes out," Robert Beaumont added. "Celeb's with you?"
"Right here, Dad," Celeb's voice came through. "In the command center with Jr."
"Good boy. You help those kids find them."
Pops' gravelly voice cut through the chatter: "Whoever did this just fucked with the wrong family."
"Pops—" Sarah Benson started.
"Don't 'Pops' me, Sarah. Those boys are ours. And we're getting them back."
"Amen to that," Wade Nelson said.
By the time the adults started arriving, Billy Jr. had already sent a second message to his three friends: COMMAND CENTER NOW. BILLY AND JAKE KIDNAPPED.
Jr. was taking the stairs three at a time. Celeb was right behind him, his face white but focused.
"What do we got?" Celeb demanded as they burst through the command center door.
"Pulling it up now," Jr. said, his fingers already flying across the keyboard. Three monitors flickered to life on the wall. Billy Renzo, Ryan, and Daniel came crashing through the door thirty seconds later, breathless.
"Holy shit," Billy Renzo breathed. "Is this real?"
"Shut up and help," Jr. snapped. "Daniel, get the drone network online. Ryan, I need you on comms—monitor every frequency. Billy, pull up the ranch surveillance grid. All cameras, last six hours."
They moved like a machine. No hesitation. This was what they'd trained for—what they'd built the whole system for.
Through the open door, they could hear trucks roaring up the driveway. Doors slamming. Voices shouting. The entire consortium was converging on the Benson Ranch.
"Got something," Billy Renzo called out. "Southeast camera, 14:47 hours."
The footage appeared on the center monitor. Billy and Jake on horseback, riding the fence line near the southeast boundary. Then—movement in the brush. Three figures, masked, emerging fast.
"There," Celeb said, pointing. "They were waiting."
The ambush happened in seconds. Billy and Jake were pulled from their horses. A brief struggle. Then they were down, rough hands wrenching their arms behind their backs. Rope wound tight around their wrists.
"Fast," Jr. muttered. "Too fast. They knew exactly where they'd be."
"Keep watching," Daniel said quietly.
With their hands bound, the brothers couldn't resist as the kidnappers went through their pockets and saddlebags. Satellite phones—gone, tossed in the dirt. Radios—stripped away. Wallets—taken.
Then the boots. The kidnappers yanked off their boots, then their socks, leaving both brothers barefoot.
"They're taking everything," Ryan said quietly. "No way to communicate, no way to run."
The kidnappers hauled the brothers to their feet—hands still bound behind their backs, but not hogtied yet. They were shoved toward the dark pickup truck and pushed into the bed.
"They can still talk to each other," Celeb noted. "Look—Billy's saying something to Jake."
On the grainy footage, Billy's mouth was moving. Jake nodded, his face grim.
"They're just tied at the wrists for transport," Jr. said. "The hogtying happened later. At wherever they took them."
"There's our vehicle," Ryan said, zooming in as the truck pulled away. "Ford F-250, dark blue or black. Plate's covered in mud."
"Follow it through the cameras," Jr. ordered.
They tracked the truck across three different camera angles as it left Benson land. Then it disappeared.
"Lost visual at the county road," Billy Renzo reported.
"Switch to satellite," Jr. ordered.
Celeb pulled up the satellite tracking interface—one of their newest additions, piggybacking on a commercial service Tom had paid through the nose for. The system wasn't real-time, but it was close.
"There," Celeb said, tracing a route on the map. "Heading northeast. They stayed on back roads. Avoiding traffic."
Jr. measured the distance with his mouse. "Thirty-five miles out. That's where we lose them. Too many turnoffs after that point."
"Wait," Ryan said. He'd been working on a separate terminal. "The phone. The one they used to text Tom. I've got a ping."
"How?" Daniel asked.
"They're amateurs," Ryan said with a tight smile. "Left the location services on. I triangulated off the cell towers."
A new marker appeared on the map—five miles beyond where they'd lost the truck.
"Forty miles northeast," Jr. said. "That's our search radius."
The door burst open. Tom, Pops, Sheriff Wade Nelson, and the other adults crowded into the room.
"What do you have?" Tom demanded.
"Forty miles northeast, Grandpa," Jr. said, not looking away from the screens. "We tracked them through surveillance and the phone they used. But that's as far as we can go without tipping them off."
"Tipping them off how?" Wade Nelson asked.
"If we ping the phone again, they might notice," Ryan explained. "If we send patrol cars, they'll see the dust clouds. These guys are pros. They'll know we're looking."
"So what do we do?" Tom's voice was strained.
Jr. turned to face his grandfather. His face was set, determined—older than his sixteen years.
"We send the drones."
Celeb was already moving to the equipment rack. "We've got six birds. Thermal imaging, night vision, encrypted feed. They won't hear them, won't see them."
"We grid search the area," Daniel added. "Systematic. Every structure, every vehicle within that forty-mile radius."
Pops stepped forward, his weathered face grim. "How long?"
"Two hours to cover the area properly," Jr. said. "Maybe less if we get lucky."
Tom looked at Sheriff Nelson. Wade's jaw was tight.
"Do it," Tom said. "But Wade—get your people ready. The second we find them, we're going in hard."
"Already on it," Wade said, pulling out his radio. "Wilson, Ryan, you copy?"
"Copy," his sons replied over the radio in unison.
Jr. turned back to the screens. "All right. Let's bring them home."
The radio crackled again. "This is Ray. What do you need from us?"
"Weapons," Pops said flatly. "Every man with a rifle. We're not negotiating."
The four boys and Celeb bent over their stations, fingers flying, drones spinning to life on the monitors.
The hunt was on.
Chapter 3
The concrete floor was cold and unforgiving beneath them. Billy's shoulders screamed with pain, every muscle pulled taut by the cruel arch of the hogtie. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes.
He glanced sideways at Jake. His brother was working his wrists back and forth, trying to find any give in the ropes. Jake's face was red with exertion, jaw clenched tight around the duct tape gag. Their eyes met—a silent conversation passing between them.
Keep going.
Billy resumed his own efforts, twisting his wrists, flexing against the ropes. The burn in his shoulders intensified but he ignored it. They had to try. Had to do something.
Jake had managed to work himself closer to the wall. He was using the rough concrete to saw at the rope connecting his wrists to his ankles. Slow. Methodical. His bare feet flexed and pointed with each movement, toes curling with the effort.
Billy followed his lead, inching across the floor like a worm. Every movement sent fresh waves of pain through his bound limbs. Sweat poured off both of them now, soaking their shirts.
Minutes passed. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty. Time had lost all meaning.
Then Jake's eyes went wide. Billy felt it too—a slight loosening. Jake's rope was fraying against the wall.
Hope surged through Billy's chest. He redoubled his efforts, ignoring the burning in his muscles, the rope cutting into his skin.
The door burst open.
Both brothers froze.
Three masked figures stormed in. The tallest one—the leader—stood over Jake, staring down at the frayed rope against the wall.
"You stupid sons of bitches."
Billy tried to speak through the gag, tried to explain, but only muffled sounds came out.
The leader grabbed Jake by the shoulder and flipped him onto his back. Jake's bound feet kicked uselessly.
"Hold him," the leader barked.
The other two kidnappers pinned Jake down. One grabbed his ankles, forcing his bare feet to stay still.
The leader pulled a thick wooden stick from his belt—maybe two feet long, an inch thick. Solid oak or hickory.
Billy's eyes went wide. He tried to scream through the gag. Tried to thrash toward his brother.
The third kidnapper kicked Billy hard in the ribs. "Stay down."
The first blow landed across the soles of Jake's feet with a sickening crack. Jake's entire body went rigid, back arching, a muffled scream tearing through the duct tape.
CRACK.
Another blow. And another.
Billy squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch, unable to help. Tears streamed down his face.
Five blows total. Then they moved to Billy.
"Your turn."
Billy tried to pull his feet away but the rope held him fast. Strong hands gripped his ankles.
The first strike felt like lightning shooting up his legs. White-hot pain exploded across the soles of his feet. He screamed into the gag, body convulsing.
Four more blows followed in quick succession. By the end, Billy couldn't see straight. His vision swam with tears and pain.
"Now," the leader said, breathing hard, "let's make sure you don't try that shit again."
They yanked the rope connecting Billy's wrists to his ankles even tighter, pulling his feet closer to his hands. The arch in his back became unbearable. He gasped for air through his nose.
Jake got the same treatment. His brother's face had gone pale, eyes glassy with pain.
The leader pulled out a phone and hit record.
"Take a good look," he said to the camera. He panned across both brothers—sweat-soaked, rope marks livid on their skin, feet red and swelling. "Your boys tried to escape. We made sure they won't try again."
He zoomed in on their faces, then their beaten feet.
"You've got six hours. Six. Then we stop playing games and put bullets in their heads. Clock starts now."
He ended the recording and looked down at Billy and Jake with cold eyes.
"Six hours. Better hope Daddy comes through."
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.
Billy turned his head to look at Jake. His brother's chest heaved with ragged breaths. Tears streaked through the dirt on his face.
They couldn't talk. Couldn't comfort each other.
All they could do was lie there in agony and pray the family found them in time.
At the Benson Ranch - Command Center
Tom's satellite phone buzzed. A new video.
His hand trembled as he opened it.
"Jesus Christ," Pops breathed, looking over his shoulder.
The entire room fell silent as they watched. Billy Jr. stood frozen, his face draining of color. Sheriff Wade Nelson's jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to break.
The video ended with the ultimatum: Six hours.
Tom checked the timestamp. It had been sent eleven minutes ago.
"Five hours, forty-nine minutes," Jr. said quietly, his voice hollow. "That's all we've got."
Then Ryan shot up from his terminal. "Wait—Jr., the video! They just uploaded it!"
Jr.'s head snapped around. "The ping?"
"I've got it!" Ryan's fingers flew across the keyboard. "New data point. Triangulating now."
A new marker appeared on the map—much more precise than before.
"There!" Celeb shouted, pointing at the screen. "That's not forty miles out anymore. That's—"
"Thirty-eight point two miles," Daniel finished, pulling up coordinates. "Northeast quadrant. I've got a structure on satellite imagery."
"Old barn," Billy Renzo said, zooming in. "Looks abandoned. Off County Road 47."
Jr. was already redirecting the drones. "Birds three and five, converge on these coordinates. Full thermal scan."
On the monitors, two drone feeds shifted, banking hard and accelerating toward the new target.
"How long?" Tom demanded.
"Four minutes to get eyes on," Jr. said, not looking away from the screen.
Sheriff Wade Nelson was already on his radio. "All units, we have a location. Thirty-eight miles northeast, off County Road 47. Mobilize now."
"Armed response," Pops added. "Every man."
Tom stared at the drone feeds, watching them race across the darkening Texas landscape.
"Hold on, boys," he whispered. "We're coming."
The clock was ticking: five hours, forty-five minutes left.
But now they knew exactly where to go.
Chapter 4
"We're not waiting here," Tom said, his voice cutting through the command center. "Pack it up. We're going mobile."
Jr. and the other boys didn't hesitate. They'd planned for this—portable tablets synced to the main system, satellite uplinks that worked from anywhere.
"Two minutes," Jr. said, unplugging tablets and grabbing charging cables.
Billy Renzo was already loading equipment into tactical bags. Ryan and Daniel secured the drone controllers. Celeb grabbed the backup satellite phones.
Downstairs, the consortium men were arming up. Rifles pulled from gun safes. Ammunition counted. Tactical vests distributed to those who had them.
Pops emerged from the gun room with his Vietnam-era M14, his face set in grim determination. "Nobody kills my grandsons."
"Dad—" Sarah started.
"Don't," Tom said quietly to his wife. "We need every gun we've got."
Sarah's face was pale but she nodded. She turned to Rebecca, Mary Nelson, Caroline Beaumont, and the other women. "We'll monitor from here. Stay on the iPads. You see anything, you radio immediately."
Rebecca pulled out one of the sixteen synchronized iPads, the screen already showing the drone feeds. "We've got eyes on everything, Tom. Go get our boys."
The convoy formed quickly in the yard. Tom's F-350 led—Tom driving, Josh in the passenger seat, the four wiz kids and Celeb crammed into the extended cab with their equipment spread across their laps.
Behind them: Sheriff Wade Nelson's cruiser with his sons Wilson and Ryan. The Beaumonts' truck. The Renzos. The Matterns. The Rodriguezes. Ray and the other Benson brothers. Twelve vehicles total, nearly thirty armed men.
"All units, radio check," Jr. said into his headset as the trucks started rolling.
One by one, they called in. The encrypted frequency was crystal clear.
Tom's truck tore down the driveway, dust plumes rising behind the convoy.
Jr. had his tablet balanced on his knees, watching the drone feeds. "Birds three and five are thirty seconds from target."
"What do you see?" Josh asked, gripping the oh-shit handle as Tom took a turn too fast.
"Structure coming into view now," Daniel reported from the back seat. "Thermal imaging shows... two signatures. No, wait—four. Two stationary on the ground, two moving around them."
"That's them," Tom growled. "Has to be."
The drone feed resolved on Jr.'s screen. An old barn, corrugated metal roof half-collapsed. The dark pickup truck parked beside it. And inside—four heat signatures clear as day.
"Tom, that's definitely them," Jr. said. "Two on the ground—those have to be Billy and Jake. Two standing—the kidnappers."
"How far out are we?" Sheriff Wade Nelson asked over the radio.
"Twenty-two minutes at current speed," Ryan calculated.
"Make it fifteen," Pops said from the truck behind them.
Tom pressed the accelerator harder.
Inside the Barn
One of the kidnappers walked to the open door, stretching his back. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, looking up at the darkening sky.
Then he froze.
"You hear that?" he called back to his partners.
The leader looked up from counting money. "Hear what?"
"Like a... buzz. High-pitched."
All three kidnappers stepped outside. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the scrubland.
There—silhouetted against the orange sky. A small shape, maybe two feet across, hovering three hundred yards out.
"What the fuck is that?" the third kidnapper said.
The leader's eyes went wide. "Drone. Shit—there's two of them!"
He spun toward the barn, then back at the drones. His mind was racing.
"They found us," he said, his voice tight. "I don't know how, but they fucking found us."
"What do we do?" the second kidnapper asked, panic creeping into his voice.
The leader's jaw clenched. He looked at the barn where Billy and Jake lay hogtied and helpless. Then at the truck. Then back at the drones.
"Kill them," he said. "Kill them both. We take the truck and we run. Leave no witnesses."
"But the ransom—"
"Forget the goddamn ransom!" the leader shouted. "Those drones mean they're coming. Could be minutes away. We kill the boys, scatter the evidence, and disappear. Move!"
All three kidnappers pulled their weapons and ran back into the barn.
On the ground, Billy and Jake couldn't see them coming. Couldn't hear the death sentence that had just been pronounced.
But forty miles away, in the lead truck of the convoy, Jr. watched his screen in horror as the thermal signatures moved with sudden purpose toward his uncles.
"Dad—Tom—they spotted the drones," Jr. said, his voice tight. "They're going for Billy and Jake."
Tom's knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
"How long?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.
"We're still fourteen minutes out."
In the back of the barn, through the drone's camera, they could see one of the kidnappers raise his pistol.
"Drive faster," Josh said.
Tom floored it.
Chapter 5
Tom's convoy skidded to a halt three hundred yards from the barn, dust clouds billowing around them. Truck doors flew open. Men poured out with military precision—rifles up, safeties off.
Sheriff Wade Nelson took command. "Wilson, Ryan—north side. Beaumonts, cover the east. Renzos, Matterns, south approach. Tom, Ray, Josh—you're with me on the main entrance."
"Pops, you stay with—" Tom started.
"Like hell I will," Pops growled, chambering a round in his M14. "Those are my grandsons in there."
Tom didn't argue.
Jr.'s voice crackled through the radios. "Three hostiles, moving toward the center of the structure. Billy and Jake are on the ground, northeast corner. No movement from them."
"Flash bangs ready," Wade ordered. "On my count. Three... two... one—GO!"
The assault happened in seconds.
Wilson Nelson kicked in the side door as Ray Benson hurled a flash bang through the main entrance. The barn exploded with light and sound—a deafening CRACK that rattled teeth and turned the world white.
"MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"
The consortium men poured through every opening. The kidnappers, disoriented and blinded, tried to raise their weapons.
They never had a chance.
Gunfire erupted—controlled bursts, professional, lethal. Tom's rifle barked twice. Wade's three times. Pops' M14 boomed like thunder.
Within fifteen seconds, all three kidnappers were down. Not moving. Not breathing.
"CLEAR!" Wade shouted.
"CLEAR!" came the responses from every direction.
Then Tom was running, his rifle forgotten, dropped to hang from its sling. "BILLY! JAKE!"
They were there—both of them, hogtied tight on the filthy concrete floor. Duct tape across their mouths. Their bare feet swollen and discolored. Rope marks raw and bleeding on their wrists and ankles.
But their eyes were open. They were alive.
"Oh thank God," Tom breathed, dropping to his knees beside them. His hands shook as he pulled a knife from his belt. "Hold still, boys. Hold still."
Josh was already sawing through Jake's ropes. Ray worked on Billy's ankles. Pops stood over them, his weathered face wet with tears he didn't bother to hide.
"Easy now," Tom said, cutting through the rope connecting Billy's wrists to his ankles. The tension released and Billy gasped, his back finally able to straighten after hours in that cruel arch.
Jake's gag came off first. He sucked in air, coughing. "Took you... long enough..."
"Shut up," Tom said, but he was smiling through his own tears.
Billy's gag came next. "Is there... food at home?"
Despite everything, Tom laughed—half sob, half relief. "Yeah, son. There's food."
The ropes fell away completely. Both brothers tried to stand but their legs wouldn't hold them. Their feet—swollen, beaten, couldn't bear weight.
"Whoa, easy," Josh said, catching Jake before he fell.
Headlights swept across the barn entrance. Rebecca's SUV skidded to a stop.
"Let me through!" Rebecca pushed past the armed men, her nurse's bag already open. She took one look at her uncles' feet and her face went pale. "Oh my God."
"Can you walk?" she asked gently, kneeling beside Billy.
"No," Billy admitted, his voice hoarse. "Hurts like hell."
Rebecca pulled out compression wraps, ice packs, and pain medication. "I'm going to stabilize these. Then we're getting you to the hospital—"
"No hospital," Jake said firmly. "Home. We just want to go home."
"Jake—"
"HOME," both brothers said in unison.
Rebecca looked at Tom. He nodded slowly.
"All right," she said. "But I'm checking you every hour. And if those feet get worse, you're going to the ER whether you like it or not."
She worked quickly, wrapping their feet with practiced efficiency. Tom and Josh lifted Billy. Ray and Wilson carried Jake. They were loaded gently into the back of Tom's truck, sitting with their backs against the cab, feet elevated on coolers packed with ice.
The convoy turned for home.
The Benson Ranch - Two Hours Later
The kitchen smelled like heaven. Sarah, Mary Nelson, and Caroline Beaumont had been cooking since the moment they got the radio call: "We have them. They're alive."
Chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, cornbread, gravy. Comfort food. Home food.
Billy and Jake sat at the kitchen table, their feet propped up on chairs, wrapped in Rebecca's careful bandaging. They looked exhausted—faces pale, dark circles under their eyes. But they were eating like they hadn't seen food in a week.
"Slow down," Sarah said gently, touching Billy's shoulder. "You'll make yourself sick."
"Don't care," Billy mumbled around a mouthful of chicken. "S'good."
Jake just nodded, already reaching for more cornbread.
Jr. and his buddies hovered nearby, trying to act casual but unable to stop staring at their uncles—making sure they were really there, really safe.
Pops sat at the head of the table, a tumbler of Jack Daniels in his weathered hand. He'd already poured himself three fingers and showed no signs of stopping.
"To my grandsons," he said, raising his glass. "Toughest sons of bitches in Texas."
"Pops!" Sarah protested weakly.
"It's true," Pops insisted. "And to those wiz kids who found 'em. Damn fine work."
Jr. ducked his head, embarrassed but pleased.
Tom stood by the window, watching his sons eat. His hands had finally stopped shaking. Wade Nelson stood beside him, both men holding their own glasses of whiskey.
"They're going to be okay," Wade said quietly.
"Yeah," Tom replied. "They are."
Outside, the rest of the consortium men were gathered in the yard—weapons cleaned and stored, adrenaline finally fading. They'd come when called. They'd fought when needed. And they'd brought the boys home.
Inside, Billy pushed his empty plate away and looked at Jake. His brother looked back.
No words needed. Just a nod.
They were home.
Chapter 6
An hour later, Josh and Ray carried Billy up the stairs. Tom and Celeb had Jake. Their feet were too swollen, too painful to walk on.
"Watch the doorframe," Billy muttered as they maneuvered through the frat house door.
"We got you," Josh said.
They settled both brothers onto their bunks—Billy on the bottom, Jake above him, same as it had been since they were kids. Jr.'s bunk was across from them, with Celeb on the top.
Billy Renzo, Ryan, and Daniel stood in the doorway with backpacks.
"We're staying," Billy Renzo announced.
"Damn right we are," Ryan added.
Tom looked at the three wiz kids, then at Jr. and Celeb who already lived there, then at his injured sons. He nodded. "You need anything—"
"We're good, Dad," Billy said. "Really."
Tom hesitated, then squeezed Billy's shoulder and left, closing the door behind him.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Celeb moved to the corner, pried up the loose floorboard, and pulled out the secret beer stash. "I think tonight qualifies."
"Hell yes it does," Jake said from his bunk.
The door opened again. Everyone froze, beers half-hidden.
Pops walked in with his bottle of Jack Daniels and a stack of plastic cups.
"Put those shit beers away," he said. "Tonight, you drink like men."
He poured a finger of whiskey into each cup, passing them around. The boys took them reverently. Even the three sixteen-year-olds didn't dare refuse when Pops was pouring.
"To Billy and Jake," Pops said, raising his own glass. "Who survived a bunch of dumb-ass kidnappers and lived to tell about it."
They all drank. The whiskey burned going down. Billy Renzo coughed.
"Lightweight," Pops muttered, but he was smiling.
Pops settled into the old armchair in the corner—the one that had been there since Tom was a kid. Everyone else found spots—Jr. and his three buddies on the floor, Daniel on the mattress between the beds, Celeb leaning against his bunk. The door stayed closed. This was their space.
"So," Jr. said finally, looking up at Jake's bunk and over at Billy. "What the fuck happened?"
Jake snorted. "You want the whole story or the short version?"
"Everything," Celeb said. "Start to finish."
Billy and Jake exchanged looks. Then Billy started talking.
"We were riding fence line, southeast boundary. Normal patrol. Jake was giving me shit about something—"
"You were riding too slow," Jake interjected.
"I was being careful," Billy shot back. "Anyway, we're arguing, not paying attention like we should've been. Then these three assholes come out of nowhere."
"Fast," Jake added. "Too fast. Like they'd been waiting."
"They pulled us off our horses before we could react," Billy continued. "I tried to fight but one of them had a gun to Jake's head. So I stopped."
"Smart," Pops said quietly.
"They tied our hands behind our backs with rope," Jake said. "Tight. Professional knots. Then they went through our pockets, our saddlebags. Took our phones, radios, wallets. Everything."
"Then they made us take off our boots," Billy said. "Well, we couldn't with our hands tied, so they yanked them off. Socks too."
"Why?" Ryan asked.
"So we couldn't run," Jake said flatly. "And because of what they were planning to do later."
The room went quiet.
"They threw us in the back of a truck," Billy continued. "Just our hands tied, not hogtied yet. We could talk to each other."
"What'd you say?" Jr. asked.
Jake grinned despite everything. "I told Billy not to be a pussy. He told me to shut the fuck up."
"Sounds about right," Celeb said, and everyone laughed—tense, relieved laughter.
"They drove for maybe forty minutes," Billy said. "Took us to that old barn. That's when they hogtied Jake first. Wrists to ankles, pulled tight. Gagged him with duct tape."
"Then they made me call Dad," Billy said. "Untied my hands so I could hold the phone. Made me show Jake like that. Then they tied me up the same way while you watched."
"That was fucked up," Daniel said quietly.
"Yeah," Billy agreed. "It was."
"How long were you like that?" Jr. asked.
"Hours," Jake said. "I don't even know. Time stopped meaning anything. Your shoulders feel like they're being ripped out of their sockets. You can't move. Can't talk. Just lie there."
"We tried to escape," Billy said. "Jake found a rough spot on the wall, started sawing at his ropes."
"Did it work?" Billy Renzo asked.
"Almost," Jake said. "Got it maybe halfway through. Then they caught us."
The room went very still.
"That's when they beat our feet," Billy said quietly.
Pops took a long drink of his whiskey.
"Big wooden stick," Jake said. "Thick. Hard. They held our feet still and just... wailed on them. Five hits each."
"Jesus," Ryan breathed.
"Then they tightened the hogties even more," Billy added. "So we couldn't try again. Sent that video to Dad with the six-hour deadline."
"We thought we were dead," Jake admitted. "When we heard them run back in after spotting the drones, I thought, 'This is it.'"
"But then—" Billy started.
"Then we heard the flash bang," Jake finished. "Thought the world was ending. Then gunfire. Then Dad's voice."
"Scariest fifteen seconds of my life," Billy said. "Followed by the best fifteen seconds."
Nobody spoke for a moment. Then Pops cleared his throat.
"You boys did good," he said. "Kept your heads. Didn't panic. Tried to escape even when it was damn near impossible. That takes balls."
"Thanks, Pops," Jake said.
"And you wiz kids," Pops continued, gesturing with his cup at Jr. and his friends. "Found 'em with those fancy drones and computers. Saved their lives."
"We just did what we trained for," Jr. said.
"Bullshit," Pops said. "You did more than that. You did what family does."
He poured another round. This time, the whiskey didn't burn quite as much going down.
Outside, the night was quiet. The ranch was safe. The consortium stood guard.
Inside the frat house, seven boys and one old man sat together—drinking, talking, being alive.
"Pops," Billy said after a while. "Can we not tell Mom we're drinking Jack Daniels?"
"Boy," Pops said, "your mama already knows. And right now, she don't give a damn. You're home. That's all that matters."
Jake raised his cup. "To being home."
"To being home," they all echoed.
And for the first time since the ambush, Billy and Jake actually believed it.
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