Chapter 1: Morning at the Frat House
The sun hadn't cleared the horizon when Pops kicked open the door to the frat house.
"Rise and shine, you sorry sacks of shit! Uncle Sam's burning daylight!"
Billy groaned from the top bunk, pulling his pillow over his head. Below him, Jake didn't even stir.
"I said UP!" Pops barked, yanking the blanket off Celeb's bunk. "You think Charlie's gonna wait for you to finish your beauty sleep?"
Billy Jr sat up fast, grinning. "Morning, Pops."
"That's more like it, Junior." Pops moved to the window and threw open the curtains. "Rest of you princesses planning to join us today, or should I get the hose?"
Jake swung his legs over the side of his bunk. "We're up, we're up."
"Damn right you are." Pops stood in the doorway, arms crossed, cigar already clamped between his teeth. "Breakfast in ten. You're late, you're eating standing up."
He slammed the door behind him, boots thundering down the hallway.
Celeb sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Does he ever wake up in a good mood?"
"This is a good mood," Billy said, climbing down. "You should see him when he's pissed."
The kitchen smelled like coffee, bacon, and Sarah's biscuits. Tom sat at the head of the table reading the livestock report while Sarah moved between the stove and the counter with practiced efficiency. Ray was already halfway through his plate, scrolling through his phone.
The five boys filed in and took their seats. Pops poured himself coffee from the pot, adding a splash of something from his flask when Sarah's back was turned.
"I saw that," she said without turning around.
"Saw what?" Pops said innocently.
Josh came in last, clipboard in hand. He set it down next to his plate and looked at his brothers. "Alright. Billy, Jake, you two are riding fence on the north forty. Reports of coyotes getting through. Take the mule quad and your radios."
"Got it," Jake said.
"Celeb, you're helping Ray with the cattle count in the east pasture. Junior, you and your crew are mucking stalls and prepping the feed barn."
Billy Jr made a face. "Mucking stalls?"
"You want to be on the payroll, you do the work," Josh said. "Besides, builds character."
"Builds blisters," Junior muttered.
Pops laughed, smoke curling from his cigar. "Welcome to ranching, kid."
Tom folded his newspaper. "Weather's supposed to hold through the week. Let's make the most of it. And boys—" He looked at Billy and Jake. "Keep your radios on. Check in every hour."
"Yes sir," they said in unison.
Sarah set down a platter of biscuits. "Eat up. Long day ahead."
Chapter 2: The Ambush
The mule quad bounced over the rough terrain, kicking up dust as Billy navigated between the mesquite and scrub oak. Jake stood in the back, one hand on the roll bar, scanning the fence line with binoculars.
"There," Jake said, pointing. "Twenty yards ahead. Wire's cut clean through."
Billy killed the engine and they both hopped out. The morning sun was climbing fast, already hot on their necks. Billy knelt by the fence, running his gloved hand along the severed wire.
"Coyotes didn't do this," he said.
"Wire cutters," Jake agreed. He straightened up, looking around. "Fresh too. Maybe last night."
Billy pulled the radio from his belt. "Base, this is Billy. We found the breach on the north forty. Wire's been cut. Looks deliberate."
Static crackled. Then Josh's voice: "Copy that. You need backup?"
"Nah, we got it. Just gonna patch it and keep moving."
"Roger. Check in at eleven hundred."
Billy clipped the radio back and moved toward the quad to grab the repair kit. That's when he saw the truck.
It came fast over the ridge, engine roaring, a battered Ford F-250 with three men in the cab. Billy's hand went instinctively to his radio, but Jake was already shouting.
"Billy! Move!"
The truck skidded to a stop ten feet away, doors flying open. Three men piled out, all holding rifles.
"Don't even think about it," the tallest one said, leveling a semi-automatic at Billy's chest. "Hands up. Both of you."
Billy's hand froze on his radio. His eyes widened. "Crawford?"
Jake's jaw tightened. "What the hell are you doing, Dwayne?"
Dwayne Crawford—tall, rangy, with a mean streak that went back to high school—smirked. "What's it look like, Jake? Business."
The stocky one with hard eyes stepped forward. That was Marcus, the middle brother. "Shut up and put your hands up. Now."
The youngest, Tyler, twitchy and wild-eyed, was already circling around behind them with his rifle raised.
"You boys are out of your minds," Billy said, raising his hands slowly. "You know what'll happen when—"
Marcus drove the butt of his rifle into Billy's stomach. Billy doubled over, gasping.
"Hey!" Jake lunged forward, but Dwayne caught him with a hard punch to the jaw that sent him stumbling back.
"That's for pricing us out, asshole," Dwayne said. He grabbed Jake by the collar and shoved him toward Tyler. "Tie him up."
Tyler yanked Jake's arms behind his back and wrapped hemp rope around his wrists, pulling it tight enough to make Jake hiss through his teeth.
"Not so tough now, huh?" Tyler muttered, binding Jake's ankles next.
Marcus hauled Billy upright and spun him around, slamming him face-first against the side of the quad. He ripped the radio off Billy's belt and threw it into the dirt with Jake's, then kicked both their hats aside.
"Your turn, Billy boy." Marcus forced Billy's arms behind him and started wrapping the rope around his wrists. Tight. Brutal. Billy gritted his teeth as the hemp bit into his skin. Marcus moved to his ankles, binding them just as tight.
Dwayne pulled out his phone and held it up, camera pointed at them. The red recording light blinked.
"Smile for the camera, boys. Your daddy's gonna want to see this."
Billy's eyes locked on the phone. Jake glared at it from where Tyler was shoving him toward the truck.
"You're making a big mistake," Jake said.
"Only mistake we made was trusting the Benson consortium to play fair," Dwayne said. He grabbed Billy and shoved him toward the truck bed. "Get in. Both of you."
They threw Jake in first, flipping him onto his back so he landed on top of his bound wrists. He grunted, the weight of his body pressing down on his arms. Billy landed beside him the same way, breath knocked out of his lungs, his shoulders immediately screaming from the pressure.
Dwayne climbed in after them, rifle across his lap, phone still recording. Marcus started the engine. Tyler jumped in the passenger side, grinning back at them through the rear window.
Dwayne leaned forward, positioning the phone to capture both their faces.
"Let me tell you what's gonna happen," Dwayne said. He dragged the butt of his rifle slowly across Billy's exposed stomach. Not hard. Light. Almost gentle.
Billy's abs twitched. He clenched his jaw, trying to hold still.
Dwayne grinned and did it again, trailing the rifle butt in slow circles across Billy's belly. Billy jerked involuntarily, a strangled sound escaping his throat.
"What's the matter, Billy? Ticklish?"
Dwayne pressed the rifle butt into Billy's ribs and dragged it down his side. Billy twisted, trying to get away, but there was nowhere to go. A choked laugh burst out of him—half gasp, half helpless sound he couldn't control.
"There it is," Dwayne said, camera capturing every second. He moved to Jake, repeating the same slow torture across his stomach, his ribs, his sides.
Jake fought it harder, jaw locked, but when Dwayne hit a sensitive spot just above his hip, Jake barked out a laugh—angry, humiliated, unable to stop it.
"Tough guys, huh?" Dwayne said to the camera. "Not so tough when you're tied up in the back of a truck."
He kept it up, alternating between them, the rifle butt tracing their bellies, their ribs, finding every spot that made them jerk and twist and let out those involuntary, gagged laughs. Tyler was howling with laughter from the cab. Marcus just shook his head and kept driving.
Billy's face burned with rage and shame. Beside him, Jake's jaw was clenched so tight his teeth might crack.
"We're thinking a million dollars ought to cover it," Dwayne continued, still filming. "One million, and maybe—maybe—we give you back in one piece. But if Tom Benson don't pay up?" He leaned closer, voice dropping. "Well, we got all kinds of fun planned for you boys. Might take days. Might take weeks. Either way, you're gonna wish you died quick."
The phone camera stayed on them, recording every word, every humiliating second.
Billy and Jake exchanged a look—silent, fierce. The same look they'd shared a thousand times growing up. The same competitive fire that got them through every hard thing since they could walk.
The truck lurched forward, bouncing hard over the ruts. Dwayne kept the rifle across their exposed stomachs and the camera rolling, humming to himself like he didn't have a care in the world.
Twenty minutes later, the truck turned off the main road onto a barely visible dirt track, overgrown with weeds. The house came into view—a sagging, weather-beaten structure with boarded windows and a collapsed porch. Abandoned years ago, forgotten by everyone.
Perfect for what they had planned.
The Crawfords dragged Billy and Jake out of the truck bed and hauled them inside. The air was thick with dust and rot. In the center of the main room, they'd already set up: a tripod with a phone mounted on it, pointing at an empty space on the floor.
"Welcome home, boys," Dwayne said, shoving them down onto their knees.
Marcus pulled out more rope—thicker this time, coarse hemp. He worked on Jake first, forcing his bound legs back and bending them up toward his tied wrists. He threaded the rope from Jake's ankles to his wrists, pulling it taut until Jake was arched in a tight hogtie, his back bowed.
Then he did the same to Billy. The rope dug in, unforgiving. Billy tested the bonds, but there was no give. Beside him, Jake was doing the same, breathing hard through his nose.
Tyler pulled out two plastic bags.
"Alright," Dwayne said, positioning the tripod camera and hitting record. "Let's give Tom Benson something to think about."
He held up the bag and looked straight into the camera.
Then he pulled it over Billy's head.
Chapter 3: The First Video
"Hold still," Marcus growled, shoving a bandana between Billy's teeth. He tied it tight behind his head, the fabric cutting into the corners of Billy's mouth. Billy tried to work his jaw, but the gag held firm.
Marcus moved to Jake next, gagging him the same way. Jake's eyes blazed with fury, but there was nothing he could do.
"Can't have you boys yelling for help," Dwayne said. He pulled out two more bandanas—dark blue, grimy. He tied one around Billy's eyes, plunging him into darkness. Then Jake's.
Billy's world went black. His breathing quickened, panic creeping in at the edges. Hogtied, gagged, and now blind. He could hear Jake beside him, breathing hard through his nose.
"Perfect," Dwayne said. Billy could hear him moving, positioning the camera. "Alright, let's give Tom Benson something to think about."
Billy heard the rustle of plastic. His body tensed.
Then the bag went over his head.
Billy's world became suffocating darkness. The plastic clung to his face, sucking inward with every desperate breath through his nose. He couldn't see. Couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
Beside him, he could hear Jake thrashing, the sound of his body jerking against the hogtie, muffled grunts through the gag.
"Look at 'em go," Tyler said, laughing.
Dwayne's voice: "This is what happens when you cross the Crawfords. You listening, Tom Benson? You watching?"
Billy twisted his head, trying to shake the bag loose, but it held tight. His lungs burned. The blindfold pressed against his eyes under the plastic. He had no idea where he was, where the Crawfords were, when—or if—they'd take it off.
Don't panic. Don't panic.
But his body didn't care. His chest heaved, searching for air that wasn't there through his nose. The rope dug into his wrists, his ankles, holding him in that brutal arch. The gag filled his mouth, making it impossible to gulp air.
Jake was worse. Billy could hear him—thrashing, the hogtie making it impossible to get leverage, strangled sounds through the gag.
The competitive fire that always burned between them flared even now. If Jake can hold on, I can hold on.
"Thirty seconds," Marcus said, somewhere to Billy's right.
Billy's vision—what little existed behind the blindfold—started to blur. Dark spots crept in. His body bucked involuntarily, trying to pull air through the plastic, through his nose, past the gag.
"Forty-five."
Jake's movements were getting weaker. Billy could hear it. His own lungs screamed.
"One minute."
Just when Billy thought he couldn't hold on another second, the bag ripped off his head. Air rushed in through his nose, sweet and sharp. He gasped around the gag, coughing, his whole body shaking. Still blind. Still gagged. But he could breathe.
Beside him, he heard Marcus yank Jake's bag off. Jake sucked in air through his nose, making desperate sounds behind his gag.
"There we go," Dwayne said, still filming. "See that, Tom? We're being nice. Could've let 'em go all the way. But we didn't. Not yet."
Billy's head swam. He couldn't stop the ragged breathing, couldn't get enough air through just his nose. The rope kept him bent backward, ribs aching, shoulders screaming. The blindfold and gag made everything worse—disorienting, helpless.
"Alright," Dwayne said. "Let's do it again."
Billy tried to shake his head, tried to say something through the gag, but only muffled sounds came out.
The bag went back over his head.
Billy heard Jake making desperate sounds beside him, muffled protests through his gag, but it was no use.
This time was worse. Billy's body was already oxygen-deprived, already exhausted. The panic came faster, sharper. He twisted and bucked, the hogtie making every movement agony. Blind, gagged, suffocating. His thoughts fractured.
Can't breathe can't breathe can't—
He heard Jake beside him, thrashing harder now, desperate. The competitive streak kicked in again. Don't quit. Don't you dare quit before Jake does.
"Thirty seconds," Marcus said.
Billy's lungs were on fire. Behind the blindfold, his vision tunneled into nothing. He could feel himself starting to fade, consciousness slipping.
"Forty-five."
His body convulsed, searching for air through his nose. The world tilted.
"One minute. That's enough."
The bag came off. Billy gasped around the gag, choking, tears streaming down his face under the blindfold from the effort. Jake was the same beside him—coughing, shaking, completely spent, muffled sounds of distress.
Dwayne stood up, stopping the recording. "Perfect. Absolutely perfect." His boots scraped on the floor. "Your daddy's gonna love this."
Marcus's voice: "Should hit his email in about two minutes."
Tyler crouched down—Billy could feel him close, could smell cigarette smoke. "How you boys feeling? Ready for round three?"
Billy couldn't answer. The gag prevented it. His body was still shaking, trying to recover. Beside him, Jake had gone quiet except for ragged breathing.
Dwayne: "We'll give 'em a little break. Let Tom sweat for a while. Then we'll see if he's ready to pay up." The click of a lighter. "If not? We got plenty more bags."
Marcus's phone dinged. "It's sent. Video's live."
"Good." Dwayne: "Bet you Tom Benson's having a real bad day right about now."
Billy lay on the filthy floor, hogtied, gagged, and blindfolded, every breath still painful through his nose. Beside him, Jake shifted slightly—the only movement he could manage.
In the darkness behind the blindfold, Billy focused on the sounds. The Crawfords celebrating. Passing around a bottle. Congratulating themselves.
They were getting sloppy. Confident.
Good.
Billy could still feel the slight bulge in his back pocket, pressed against his bound hands.
His phone. Still there.
If they could just hold on long enough for someone to find them.
Chapter 4: 911
Billy Jr checked his watch for the third time. "They should've checked in by now."
Colton—everybody called him Louisiana, or just Colton when they were working—looked up from mucking the stall. "Maybe their radios are out of range?"
"Nah. The north forty's well within range." Billy Jr pulled out his satellite phone and tried Billy's number. Straight to voicemail. He tried Jake's. Same thing.
"That's weird," Colton said, leaning on his pitchfork.
Billy Jr's gut tightened. Something wasn't right. He'd grown up around these men, knew their habits. Billy and Jake always checked in. Always.
"Come on," Billy Jr said, dropping his pitchfork. "We're going out there."
"Josh said—"
"I don't care what Josh said. Something's wrong."
They took one of the ATVs, Colton driving while Billy Jr scanned the horizon. The ride to the north forty took fifteen minutes, bouncing over ruts and dodging mesquite.
The mule quad came into view first, sitting empty by the fence line.
Then Billy Jr saw them.
Two hats lying in the dirt. Two radios, smashed and scattered.
"Oh hell," Colton breathed, pulling up beside the quad.
Billy Jr jumped off before the ATV fully stopped. He picked up Billy's hat, then Jake's. The radios were destroyed—stomped on, maybe run over. He scanned the ground. Tire tracks. Boot prints. Signs of a struggle.
"Billy Jr..." Colton was staring at the fence. The wire was cut clean through, but that wasn't what caught his attention. There were skid marks in the dirt, leading off toward the old access road.
Billy Jr's hand went to his satellite phone. His fingers found the emergency button—the one he and Pops had programmed together. The 911 system.
He pressed it three times.
The mechanical voice echoed from every phone, every radio, every device on the consortium network:
"911. Billy Jr. 911. Billy Jr. 911. Billy Jr."
Within seconds, the encrypted frequency crackled to life.
Josh's voice: "Junior, what's your status?"
"North forty. Found Billy and Jake's hats and radios. Signs of struggle. Tire tracks heading toward the old Miller access road. They're gone."
A pause. Then Tom's voice, hard and cold: "On our way. Don't touch anything else. Hold position."
"Copy that."
Ray: "Scrambling the frequency now. Going encrypted."
Wilson Nelson's voice: "I'm ten minutes out with Ryan."
Sheriff Wade: "En route with Mary. Calling in the deputies."
Robert Beaumont: "Caroline and I are coming. The Renzos, Matterns, and Rodriguezes are mobilizing."
Pops: "Junior, you armed?"
"Yes sir. Sidearm and rifle on the ATV."
"Good. Keep your head on a swivel. Whoever did this might still be around."
Billy Jr and Colton waited, scanning the horizon, rifles ready. The tire tracks were fresh. Deep impressions from a heavy truck, maybe an F-250 or similar. Heading west toward the abandoned properties on the far side of the county.
Fifteen minutes later, the first vehicles started arriving. Tom's truck, followed by Josh and Ray. Then the Nelsons—Sheriff Wade, Wilson, Ryan, all armed and grim-faced. The Beaumonts. The Renzos, Matterns, and Rodriguezes with their boys. Within half an hour, the north forty looked like a staging ground.
Tom knelt by the tire tracks, jaw set. Wade examined the smashed radios. Pops stood off to the side, cigar clenched between his teeth, eyes scanning the landscape like he was back in the jungle.
"Kidnapping," Wade said finally. "Professional enough to cut the fence as a diversion, wait for them, take them quick."
"Ransom?" Ray asked.
"Most likely." Wade straightened up. "They'll make contact soon. Probably already have."
As if on cue, Tom's phone buzzed. He pulled it out, and his face went white.
"What is it?" Sarah asked, coming up beside him.
Tom didn't answer. He just turned the phone around.
A video. Billy and Jake, hogtied on a filthy floor. Bags over their heads. Thrashing. Suffocating.
Sarah's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."
"Send it to the command center," Pops said, his voice like gravel. "Get the wiz kids on it. Now."
Twenty minutes later, they were all back at the ranch house, crowded into the command center—the room next to the frat house where Billy and Pops had set up all the comm equipment.
Billy Jr, Colton, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez were already at the monitors, fingers flying over keyboards. The video played on the main screen, and every adult in the room watched in silent fury.
"Can you trace it?" Tom asked.
"Working on it," Billy Jr said, not looking up. "They sent it through an encrypted email server, routed through three different IPs."
"We can break it," Daniel said, pulling up another screen. "Give us ten minutes."
Colton was examining the video frame by frame. "Look at the background. Old house. Boarded windows. Wood paneling from the seventies, maybe eighties."
"Abandoned property," Ryan Mattern said, zooming in on another section. "There's rot on the walls. Nobody's lived there in years."
"How many abandoned houses are in Kings County?" Wilson asked.
"Dozens," Wade said grimly. "But most are on the west side, near the old Miller and Crawford properties."
Pops's eyes sharpened. "Crawford?"
Wade nodded slowly. "The Crawford family went bankrupt six months ago. Blamed the consortium for pricing them out."
"Dwayne Crawford," Tom said, his voice cold. "Marcus and Tyler."
"That's them," Wade confirmed. "Three brothers. All desperate, all pissed off, and all got nothing left to lose."
Billy Jr looked up from his screen. "Got it. Email originated from a burner phone, but there's metadata embedded in the video file." He pulled up a map. "Signal pinged off a cell tower twenty miles west of here."
"That narrows it down," Ray said, leaning over the map. "Old Crawford territory."
Pops ground out his cigar. "Then that's where we're going."
Wade held up a hand. "Hold on. We do this smart. If we spook them, they'll kill Billy and Jake before we get close."
"So what do you suggest?" Tom asked.
"We find them first. Then we move."
Billy Jr's fingers flew over the keyboard again. "If they're using phones, we can track them. I just need to—"
His screen blinked. A new message.
Everyone froze.
Tom opened it.
Another video. Worse than the first.
Chapter 5: The Search Begins
Tom's hands shook as he opened the second video.
The screen filled with Billy and Jake, still hogtied on the floor. Still gagged and blindfolded.
Marcus knelt beside Billy first, pulling out more rope—thick, coarse hemp. He grabbed Billy's bound wrists and started adding rope, wrapping it around his forearms, cinching them together. Billy's body tensed, a muffled sound through the gag.
"Jesus," Ray whispered.
Marcus kept going, looping rope around Billy's elbows, pulling them closer together. Billy's shoulders rolled back, his chest thrust forward. Even through the screen, they could see the strain, the unnatural angle.
"That's gonna dislocate his shoulders," Wilson said quietly.
Marcus added another loop around Billy's biceps, a few inches apart, creating constant tension. Billy's whole upper body was now locked in rope torture, every breath making it worse.
Then Marcus moved to Jake. Same process. Forearms cinched together. Elbows pulled close. Biceps bound. Jake thrashed harder than Billy, his body fighting the ropes, but it was useless.
"Stop," Sarah sobbed. "Please stop—"
"Just getting started," Dwayne's voice on the video. He stepped into frame holding two plastic bags. "Let's see how long they can really last this time."
Tom's fist slammed into the table. "No. No!"
Dwayne pulled the bag over Billy's head. Marcus did the same to Jake.
Both brothers immediately started thrashing—harder than before, more desperate. The rope torture made it worse. Every movement pulled on their bound arms, their shoulders, adding agony to the suffocation.
"Thirty seconds," Dwayne said, watching them with a grin.
Billy's body bucked and twisted. Jake was worse—arching against the hogtie, his bound arms screaming in pain, unable to get any air through his nose past the gag.
"Forty-five."
"Turn it off," Sarah begged. "Tom, turn it off—"
But Tom couldn't look away. None of them could.
"One minute."
Billy's movements were getting weaker. Slower. Jake's too.
"One minute fifteen."
Josh grabbed a chair and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall. "Those motherfuckers!"
"One minute thirty."
Both brothers had stopped moving. Completely still.
"That's enough," Marcus said. "They're out."
Dwayne and Marcus ripped the bags off. Billy and Jake didn't move. Didn't react.
"Come on," Dwayne said, slapping Billy's face. "Wake up."
Nothing.
Marcus slapped Jake harder. "Hey!"
Finally—finally—Billy gasped. A huge, desperate inhale through his nose. Beside him, Jake did the same, both brothers coughing and choking behind their gags, bodies convulsing as they came back.
"There we go," Dwayne said to the camera. "One million dollars, Tom. Twenty-four hours. Or next time, we see how long it takes before they don't wake up."
The video cut out.
The room exploded.
Josh punched the wall hard enough to put a hole through the drywall. "I'm gonna kill them! I'm gonna fucking kill all three of them!"
Ray kicked over a trash can, sending it flying. "Goddammit!"
Tom stood frozen, his face white, hands trembling.
Pops didn't move. Didn't speak. But his hands gripped his cane so tight his knuckles were white, and his eyes—his eyes looked like they had back in Vietnam. Cold. Dead. Lethal.
Sarah was sobbing into her hands. Rebecca held her, tears streaming down her own face.
Wade's jaw worked. "We find them. Now."
Billy Jr was already typing, tears streaming down his face. "I'm on it. I'm—" His voice cracked. "They almost killed them. They almost—"
"Easy, Junior," Tom said, his voice shaking. "I need you focused."
"They're dying!" Billy Jr shouted. "They're fucking dying and we're just sitting here—"
"Which is why we need you to find them." Tom gripped his grandson's shoulders. "Can you do that?"
Billy Jr wiped his face, nodded. "Yeah, Gramps. Yeah, I can do that."
Colton pulled up the video file, his hands shaking. "There's audio metadata. Background noise. Give me a second."
Daniel was already running searches. "Crawford family lost their ranch eight months ago. Foreclosure. They blamed the consortium in court documents."
"I don't give a shit about court documents," Pops said quietly. "They're dead men. They just don't know it yet."
Billy Renzo looked up from his screen. "Got something. The video file has GPS coordinates embedded. Sloppy. They didn't scrub it."
"Where?" Wade asked, moving to his station.
"Twenty-two miles west. Old Crawford property." Billy Renzo pulled up satellite imagery. "Abandoned farmhouse. Hasn't been occupied in five years."
The room went silent.
Tom's voice was steel. "That's where they are."
The command center had transformed into a tactical staging area. Maps covered the walls, satellite imagery on the screens. The wiz kids worked their stations while the adults gathered around the main table.
Tom stood at the head, murder in his eyes. Beside him, Pops leaned on his cane, but his posture was pure soldier. Sheriff Wade spread out detailed maps of the Crawford property.
"Alright," Wade said. "Single access road, overgrown. House is set back from the main road, probably a quarter mile. Trees and scrub provide cover, but also means they'll see us coming if we're not careful."
"Drone first," Wilson Nelson said. "Get eyes on the property."
"Already launching," Ryan Mattern said from his station. "Should have visual in ten minutes."
Robert Beaumont checked his rifle. "How many entry points?"
"Front door, back door, two windows on the east side," Wade said. "But the place is falling apart. Could probably breach anywhere."
Pops ground out his cigar. "What about when we find them?"
The room went quiet.
"We assess," Wade said carefully. "See what we're dealing with. Then—"
"Then we go in and get our boys," Pops said, his voice cold and flat. "With or without badges."
Wade met his eyes. "I didn't say otherwise. But if we go in guns blazing and they panic, Billy and Jake die. We need to be smart."
Tom nodded slowly, his jaw tight. "Wade's right. We do this clean. Fast. No mistakes."
"And if they resist?" Josh asked, his hands still shaking with rage.
Pops smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Then they resist."
Twenty-two miles away, in the abandoned house, Billy lay on the filthy floor, still hogtied, still gagged and blindfolded. The new rope binding his forearms, elbows, and biceps made every breath agony. His shoulders felt like they were tearing apart.
His lungs still burned from the suffocation. A minute and a half. He'd almost died. He knew it. Felt the darkness closing in before they'd ripped the bag off.
Beside him, Jake hadn't moved much since they came to. Billy could hear his breathing—shallow, ragged, pained.
Footsteps. Heavy boots on rotted wood.
"Well, well," Dwayne's voice. "You boys awake?"
Billy's body tensed. The rope torture made even that small movement excruciating.
"Bet you thought you were gonna die, huh?" Dwayne crouched down. Billy could feel his breath. "Came real close. Real close."
A hand grabbed Billy's face, squeezing. "But we need you alive. For now. So you better hope your daddy pays up."
Tyler's voice: "What if he doesn't?"
"Then we find out how long they can last at two minutes," Dwayne said.
Billy's heart hammered. Two minutes. That would kill them. No question.
"Give it a few more hours," Marcus said. "Let Tom Benson sweat. Then we'll send another video. Really turn the screws."
"I like the way you think," Dwayne said. "Besides, I need another drink. And I wanna watch that last video again. See their faces when they realize they're dying."
The brothers laughed. The door slammed.
Billy lay in the darkness, arms screaming in rope torture, gagged and blind, and prayed that someone—anyone—would find them before the Crawfords decided to make their next video.
Chapter 6: Breath Control
Billy had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? In the darkness behind the blindfold, gagged and hogtied with his arms screaming in rope torture, time had lost all meaning.
He could hear Jake beside him. Breathing. Still alive.
That's all that mattered.
Billy tested the ropes again—carefully, so the Crawfords wouldn't notice if they were watching. Wrists: no give. Ankles: locked tight. The hogtie rope connecting them: solid. And the new rope binding his forearms, elbows, and biceps together—that was pure agony, pulling his shoulders back at an angle that made every breath hurt.
Jake shifted slightly. Billy heard him grunt through the gag—soft, barely audible.
Billy made a sound back. Not words. Just a grunt. A signal.
You okay?
Another grunt from Jake. Stronger.
Still here. Still fighting.
Even now, even hogtied and tortured and suffocating in an abandoned house, the competitive fire between them burned. It always had. Since they were kids racing horses, wrestling in the dirt, seeing who could hold their breath longest in the swimming hole.
If Jake could survive this, Billy could survive this.
The door creaked open. Footsteps.
"They're still out," Tyler's voice.
"Good," Dwayne said. "Means they're learning."
Billy stayed perfectly still. Beside him, Jake did the same.
"When we sending the next video?" Marcus asked.
"Soon," Dwayne said. Billy could hear him moving around the room. "But this time, we're gonna do it right. Two minutes. See if they can handle it."
Billy's heart hammered.
"Two minutes might kill them," Tyler said.
"That's the point," Dwayne said. "If Tom Benson don't pay up, we make good on our threat. Simple."
"And if he does pay?"
"Then we let 'em go. Eventually." Dwayne laughed. "After we have a little more fun."
The footsteps retreated. The door slammed.
Billy lay in the darkness, pulse racing. Two minutes. That would kill them. He'd barely survived a minute and a half.
Another grunt from Jake. This one different. Angry.
Billy grunted back. He knew what Jake meant.
Don't you dare quit on me.
Not a chance.
Back at the ranch, the command center buzzed with activity.
"Drone's in position," Ryan Mattern said, adjusting the controls. On the main screen, thermal imaging showed the abandoned Crawford house. "I've got three heat signatures inside the structure. Moving around. Alive."
"That's the Crawfords," Wade said.
"And two more signatures," Ryan continued, zooming in. "On the floor. Not moving much. But they're warm. They're alive."
Tom leaned forward, gripping the back of Billy Jr's chair. "That's them. That's Billy and Jake."
Sarah's hand flew to her mouth, tears streaming. "Oh thank God."
"They're alive," Josh breathed.
"For now," Pops said quietly. His eyes never left the screen. "We need to move. Now."
"Hold on," Wade said. "We go in half-cocked, the Crawfords panic and kill them before we breach the door."
"So what do we do?" Ray demanded.
"We plan it," Wade said. "Fast and surgical. Wilson, Ryan—you're with me on entry team. Robert, you and the Renzos cover the back exit. Tom, Josh, Ray—you're second wave. Pops—"
"I'm going in," Pops said, his voice flat.
Wade looked at him. "You sure?"
"Those are my great-grandsons in there," Pops said. "I'm going in."
Wade nodded. "Alright. You're with Tom's team."
Billy Jr pulled up another screen. "I'm tracking their phones. They've made three calls in the last hour—all local. Probably celebrating."
"Good," Wade said. "Means they're distracted. Colton, can you kill their cell service?"
Colton's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Give me two minutes."
"Do it," Wade said. "I want them blind and deaf when we hit them."
Daniel pulled up blueprints of the house—old county records, decades out of date, but better than nothing. "Front door's here. Back door here. Two windows on the east side, boarded up. If we breach simultaneously—"
"They'll still have time to hurt Billy and Jake," Wilson said.
"Not if we're fast enough," Wade said. "We flashbang the entry points, go in hard, neutralize the threats before they know what hit them."
Tom's jaw was tight. "How long until we move?"
Wade checked his watch. "Thirty minutes. Enough time to gear up and get in position. Then we go."
"Thirty minutes," Sarah whispered. "They could send another video in thirty minutes."
"Then we better move fast," Pops said, already heading for the door.
In the abandoned house, Dwayne stood over Billy and Jake, phone in hand.
"Alright boys," he said. "Time for the grand finale."
He positioned the tripod camera, hitting record.
"Let's see how long you can really last."
Marcus grabbed the plastic bags.
Billy's body tensed. Beside him, Jake did the same.
Here it comes.
The bag went over Billy's head.
In the darkness, blind and gagged and hogtied, Billy's last thought before the suffocation began was simple:
Hold on. Just hold on.
Chapter 7: The Ping
Tom's phone rang.
He looked down at the screen. His blood went cold.
"Billy. It's Billy's number."
The room went silent. Everyone stared.
Tom answered, putting it on speaker. "Billy? Billy, can you hear me?"
Static. Muffled sounds. Heavy breathing.
Then Dwayne Crawford's voice, crystal clear: "Alright boys, let's talk about what's coming next."
Tom's hand tightened on the phone. "He butt-dialed. Billy's phone is in his back pocket—his struggles must've triggered it."
"Open line," Wade said immediately. "Don't hang up. Record everything."
Billy Jr was already on it, routing the audio through the command center speakers, hitting record.
Marcus's voice came through: "You sure two minutes won't kill them?"
"Maybe it will," Dwayne said, laughing. "But that's Tom Benson's problem, not ours. He should've paid up when he had the chance."
Sarah's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a sob.
Tyler: "What if they die before we get the money?"
"Then we send Tom their bodies," Dwayne said casually. "Either way, we're done with this shithole county. We take the money and disappear, or we make an example and disappear. I'm good either way."
Tom's jaw clenched so tight it might crack. Beside him, Pops's knuckles were white on his cane.
"Before we do the next video," Marcus said, "I wanna add more rope. Really fuck up their shoulders. Make it so they can't even move without screaming."
"I like that," Dwayne said. "Do it. And maybe we use the cattle prod again after. See how much they can take."
A muffled sound came through the line—Billy or Jake, impossible to tell which, making a desperate noise through their gags.
"Shut up," Tyler's voice, followed by the sound of a kick. A grunt of pain.
Josh punched the wall. "I'm gonna kill them. I'm gonna fucking kill them."
"Not if I get there first," Ray said, his voice shaking with rage.
Wade was already moving. "That's it. We're done waiting. Full mobilization. Now."
"Gear up!" Tom shouted. "Everyone, full kit. We leave in five minutes."
The room exploded into motion.
Josh and Ray ran for the armory. Wilson and Ryan Nelson right behind them. The Beaumonts, Renzos, Matterns, and Rodriguezes mobilized like a military unit.
Pops grabbed his old Vietnam gear bag from the closet—the one he'd kept packed for forty years. He pulled out his service pistol, checked the magazine, then grabbed his rifle.
"Junior," Pops called. "You and the boys ready?"
Billy Jr stood up, wiping tears from his face, grabbing his sidearm. "Yes sir."
"Good. You're with me and Celeb. We're going in first wave."
Celeb appeared in the doorway, already armed, face set like stone. "I'm getting them out of there."
"Damn right you are," Pops said. "Soon as we clear the room, you go straight for Billy and Jake. Get those ropes off them."
"Got it."
Colton, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez were packing up the portable command center—laptops, satellite phones, signal boosters, all loaded into hard cases.
"We're going mobile," Colton said, checking his sidearm. "GPS routing, real-time intel, communications—we'll have everything in the field. And we'll keep that call live. Monitor everything they're saying."
"Who are you paired with?" Wade asked.
"I'm with Wilson and Ryan Nelson," Colton said.
"I'm with my dad and Robert Beaumont," Billy Renzo said.
"I'm with my family," Ryan Mattern added.
"Same," Daniel Rodriguez confirmed.
Wade nodded. "Good. Keep your heads down, stay behind cover, and for God's sake, don't get shot."
"Yes sir," they said in unison.
Through the phone's open line, Dwayne's voice: "Alright, let's get started. Marcus, add that rope. Make it tight. I want them screaming."
The sound of movement. Hemp rope being unwound. Then a muffled scream through a gag.
Sarah broke down sobbing. Rebecca held her.
"We're coming," Tom said quietly, staring at the phone. "Hold on, boys. We're coming."
The convoy formed up in the ranch yard. Trucks, ATVs, armed men and women moving with deadly purpose. The portable command center loaded into the lead technical vehicle—a modified pickup with comm equipment and a weapons mount.
Tom stood at the front, rifle slung over his shoulder, the open phone line still active in his pocket. "Listen up! We go in fast, we go in hard, but we go in smart. Wade's team breaches front and back simultaneously. Second wave secures the perimeter. Wiz kids provide overwatch and comms. Nobody fires unless fired upon—but if they fire, you put them down. Understood?"
"Understood!" the group shouted back.
Pops climbed into his truck, Billy Jr in the passenger seat, Celeb in the back. All three armed. All three ready.
"You scared, Junior?" Pops asked, starting the engine.
Billy Jr checked his magazine. Through the open line on Tom's phone, they could hear the Crawfords laughing, hear Billy and Jake's muffled sounds of pain. "No sir. I'm pissed."
"Good. Fear makes you stupid. Anger makes you focused." Pops looked at him. "You focus on getting your uncles out alive. Everything else is noise."
"Yes sir."
Sarah ran up to the truck, tears streaming down her face. She grabbed Billy Jr through the window. "You be careful. You hear me? You bring them home, but you come home too."
"I will, Grandma. I promise."
She kissed his forehead, then moved to the next truck where Tom sat. She didn't say anything. Just held his hand for a moment.
Tom squeezed back. "I'm bringing our boys home."
"I know you will."
Wade's voice crackled over the radio. "All units, comms check."
One by one, the trucks called in. Twelve vehicles. Thirty-two armed men and women. Five wiz kids with enough tech to run a military operation.
"Route's programmed," Billy Jr said, pulling up the GPS on the portable system. "Twenty-two minutes at speed. I'll guide us in."
Through Tom's phone, Dwayne's voice: "Alright, that's enough rope. Now let's see how long they last. Get the bags."
"Oh God," someone whispered over the convoy radio.
"Move out NOW," Wade commanded.
The convoy roared to life, headlights cutting through the dusk. Engines growling. Dust rising.
They were coming.
Twenty-two miles away, Dwayne Crawford held up the plastic bag, grinning at the camera.
"Two minutes this time, Tom. Let's see if your boys can handle it."
He moved toward Billy and Jake, both still hogtied, gagged, and blindfolded on the filthy floor. Even more rope now binding their arms, pulling their shoulders back at an agonizing angle.
Marcus stood ready with the timer.
Tyler filmed it all.
None of them knew about the open phone line.
None of them knew the convoy was coming.
Dwayne pulled the bag over Billy's head. Marcus pulled one over Jake's.
"Start the clock," Dwayne said.
Through the phone in Billy's back pocket, pressed against his bound hands, the convoy heard everything.
The timer starting.
Billy and Jake thrashing, suffocating.
The Crawfords laughing.
"Twenty-two minutes out," Billy Jr said, his voice breaking. "Drive faster."
Chapter 8: The Ride
The convoy tore through the night, headlights bouncing over the dirt roads, engines roaring.
In the lead truck, Tom gripped the wheel, foot pressed to the floor. Beside him, Josh had his rifle across his lap, checking and rechecking the magazine.
Through the phone on speaker between them, they could hear everything.
Billy and Jake thrashing. The plastic bags suffocating them. The Crawfords counting.
"Thirty seconds," Dwayne's voice.
"Faster," Josh said through gritted teeth.
"I'm doing eighty on a dirt road," Tom said. "Any faster and we flip."
In Pops's truck, Billy Jr monitored three screens at once—GPS routing, thermal imaging from the drone still overhead, and the open phone line's audio waveform.
"Nineteen minutes out," Billy Jr said into the radio.
Wade's voice: "All units maintain speed. Stay tight. We hit them all at once."
"Forty-five seconds," Dwayne's voice through the phone.
Pops's jaw was clenched so tight his teeth might crack. Celeb sat in the back, hands white-knuckled on his rifle.
"They're not gonna make it," Celeb said. "Two minutes—they can't—"
"Yes they can," Pops said. His voice was steel. "Those boys are Bensons. They can hold on."
But even he didn't sound convinced.
"One minute," Dwayne said.
Through the phone, the sounds of Billy and Jake's struggles were getting weaker. Desperate, fading movements.
Sarah's voice crackled over the radio from back at the ranch, listening to the same open line. "Please. Please don't let them die."
"One minute fifteen."
Billy Jr's screen showed the Crawford house—still three heat signatures moving around, two on the floor. Not moving.
"They're still alive," Billy Jr said, his voice breaking. "Thermal shows they're still—"
"One minute thirty."
Complete silence through the phone now. No movement. No sounds from Billy or Jake.
"They're out," Marcus's voice.
"Let 'em go a little longer," Dwayne said.
"NO!" Josh roared. He grabbed the radio. "Wade, we need to be there NOW!"
"Seventeen minutes," Wade said back. "We're moving as fast as we can."
"One minute forty-five."
"That's enough," Marcus said. "They're gonna die."
"Fine." The sound of plastic ripping. "Come on, wake up."
Silence.
"Hey!" A slap. "Wake up!"
More silence.
Then—finally—a huge gasping sound. Coughing. Choking. Billy or Jake, impossible to tell, sucking in air through their nose.
Another gasp. Both of them. Both alive.
"There we go," Dwayne said, laughing. "Thought we lost you boys for a second."
The convoy didn't slow down.
In the technical vehicle with the portable command center, Colton was running countermeasures.
"Killing their cell service now," he said, fingers flying. "They won't be able to call for backup or post anything online."
"Good," Wilson Nelson said from the driver's seat. "What about the phone line? Can they hear us?"
"No," Colton confirmed. "It's one-way. They have no idea we're listening."
Through the open line, Tyler's voice: "You think Tom's actually gonna pay?"
"Doesn't matter," Dwayne said. "We already sent the ransom demand. If he doesn't pay in..." A pause. "Eighteen hours, we do another video. But this time, we don't take the bags off."
Rage exploded over the convoy radio.
Josh: "I'm gonna put a bullet in his fucking head."
Ray: "Get in line."
Robert Beaumont: "We all are."
Wade's voice cut through: "Radio discipline. Save it for when we breach."
Billy Jr pulled up the tactical map. "Fifteen minutes out. Drone shows no movement outside the structure. All five heat signatures still inside."
"Entry teams, final check," Wade said. "Ryan, Wilson, you're with me on the front. Tom, Josh, Ray—you secure the perimeter and come in behind us. Pops, you and your team go through the back door. Celeb, soon as we clear, you get those boys untied."
"Copy that," Pops said.
Through the phone, they could hear the Crawfords moving around, bottles clinking. Celebrating.
"They think they've won," Pops said quietly. "They have no idea what's coming."
Marcus's voice: "How much you think we can get for them if Tom doesn't pay? Could sell 'em to someone who wants revenge on the consortium."
"Now there's an idea," Dwayne said. "Plenty of folks got beef with the Bensons."
Billy Jr's hands shook on the keyboard. Beside him, Pops put a steady hand on his shoulder.
"Focus, Junior. We're almost there."
"Twelve minutes," Billy Jr said into the radio.
Wade: "All units, go dark. Kill your headlights. We approach silent."
One by one, the convoy's lights went out. They were twelve trucks moving through the darkness, guided only by moonlight and GPS.
"Ten minutes," Billy Jr said.
Through the phone, Dwayne: "Alright, I'm bored. Let's do another round. But first..." The sound of rope being cut. "Let's add some more bondage. Really make this interesting."
A muffled protest through a gag.
"Shut up," Tyler said. A kick. A grunt of pain.
Tom's voice over the radio, cold as ice: "The second we breach that door, the Crawfords are done. No warnings. No mercy."
Wade: "Tom—"
"No mercy," Tom repeated.
A chorus of affirmatives from the convoy.
"Eight minutes," Billy Jr said. On his thermal screen, he could see the Crawfords moving around Billy and Jake, adding more rope.
"Seven minutes."
The convoy slowed, engines dropping to idle as they approached the access road.
"Six minutes. Half mile out."
Wade: "All units, dismount and approach on foot. Wiz kids, hold position with the vehicles. Provide overwatch."
"Roger," Billy Jr said. But he looked at Pops. "I'm going in."
"Damn right you are," Pops said, grabbing his rifle. "Celeb, you ready?"
"Ready," Celeb said.
They climbed out of the truck. Thirty-two armed men and women, moving through the darkness toward the abandoned house.
Through Tom's phone, still transmitting from Billy's back pocket, they could hear everything.
Dwayne: "Alright, that should do it. Now, let's make this one really count. Three minutes this time."
"Three minutes will kill them," Marcus said.
"I know," Dwayne said. "That's the point. If Tom Benson's listening to his voicemail later, he'll get to hear his sons die."
The convoy moved faster.
Four minutes out.
Three.
Two.
Wade's voice, barely a whisper over the radio: "Entry teams in position. On my mark."
Through the phone, the sound of plastic bags being pulled out.
"No," Sarah sobbed from back at the ranch.
"Mark," Wade said. "GO GO GO!"
The doors exploded inward.
Chapter 9: The Shootout
The front door exploded inward in a shower of rotted wood. Wade, Wilson, and Ryan Nelson poured through, flashlights mounted on their rifles cutting through the darkness.
"SHERIFF'S DEPARTMENT! HANDS UP!"
The back door crashed open simultaneously. Pops, Billy Jr, and Celeb came through, weapons raised.
Dwayne Crawford spun around, plastic bag still in his hand, his other hand going for his rifle.
"DON'T!" Wade shouted.
But Dwayne was already bringing the rifle up.
Wade fired twice. Center mass. Dwayne went down hard, the rifle clattering across the floor.
Marcus dove for his weapon leaning against the wall. Tom and Josh came through behind Wade's team.
"DROP IT!" Tom roared.
Marcus grabbed the rifle anyway, swinging it toward the door.
Josh and Ray fired simultaneously. Marcus jerked backward, hit the wall, and slid down, leaving a red streak.
Tyler was closest to Billy Jr's entry point. He had his rifle in his hands, eyes wild, swinging it toward Pops.
Billy Jr didn't think. Didn't hesitate.
He fired.
Three rounds. Just like Pops had taught him on the range.
Tyler's chest erupted red. He stumbled backward, rifle dropping from his hands, and collapsed.
The room went silent except for ragged breathing and the ringing echo of gunshots.
Billy Jr stood frozen, his pistol still raised, staring at Tyler's body. The body of a man he'd just killed. His hands started to shake.
"CLEAR!" Wade shouted, checking the other rooms.
"CLEAR!" Wilson called back.
"Celeb, NOW!" Pops said.
Celeb was already moving, dropping his rifle and pulling out his knife. He fell to his knees beside Billy and Jake, both still hogtied on the floor, plastic bags over their heads, not moving.
"No no no," Celeb said, ripping the bag off Billy's head. "Come on, Billy. Come on."
Billy's face was pale, lips blue. Not breathing.
"Jake!" Tom was there, tearing the bag off Jake's head. Jake wasn't breathing either.
"Get those ropes off them!" Josh shouted. "And get the oxygen!"
Robert Beaumont was already rushing in with the oxygen tanks and masks from the volunteer fire company. "Here!"
Celeb's knife worked frantically, cutting through the hogtie rope, then the rope binding Billy's forearms, elbows, biceps. The rope torture came off in pieces. Then wrists, then ankles. Deep rope burns marked every place the hemp had cut in.
"Billy, breathe!" Celeb rolled him onto his side, pulled the gag out of his mouth, ripped off the blindfold. Billy's eyes were closed. "Come on, brother. BREATHE!"
Tom was doing the same with Jake—cutting ropes, pulling off the gag and blindfold, rolling him over. Jake's wrists and arms were raw and bleeding from the rope burns.
Wade pressed the oxygen mask over Billy's face, turning the valve. "He's got a pulse. Come on, kid."
Wilson did the same for Jake. "Pulse here too. Strong."
Five seconds. Ten.
Then Billy gasped. A huge, desperate inhale through the oxygen mask. His eyes flew open, unseeing, panicked. He coughed, choking, his body convulsing.
"That's it!" Wade said, keeping the mask in place. "Easy, easy. You're safe. You're safe now."
Billy kept coughing, gasping, his whole body shaking. The oxygen helped—his color started coming back, his breathing evening out. His eyes focused on Wade, then on Celeb kneeling beside him.
"Celeb?" Billy's voice was barely a whisper, muffled by the mask, raw from the gag.
"Yeah, brother. I got you. You're safe."
Jake gasped next, coming back the same way—violent, desperate, coughing. The oxygen mask helped him too, his breathing steadying faster with the pure O2. Tom held him, tears streaming down his face.
"That's my boy. That's my boy."
Josh pulled out his satellite phone. "Ambulance is fifteen minutes out."
"No hospital," Billy croaked, pushing the oxygen mask aside for a moment. "Home. We're going home."
"Billy, you need—" Wade started.
"Home," Billy said, his voice stronger. "We're fine. Just... rope burns. We're going home."
Jake nodded, pushing his own mask away enough to speak. "What he said. No hospital. Home."
Tom looked at Wade, who checked both brothers over—pulse, breathing, pupils. The oxygen had done its job. They were breathing normally now, color returning.
"Rope burns, shoulder strain, dehydration," Wade said. "They should get checked—"
"We're going home," Jake repeated, more forcefully.
Tom sighed. "Stubborn as hell, both of you." But there was relief in his voice. "Fine. But you're keeping those oxygen tanks for the ride, and Rebecca's checking you over the second we get there."
"Deal," Billy said.
Across the room, Billy Jr still stood frozen, staring at Tyler's body. His pistol had lowered, but his hands shook violently.
Pops walked over and gently took the pistol from Billy Jr's hands, engaging the safety. He holstered it for him.
"Junior. Look at me."
Billy Jr couldn't. His eyes were locked on Tyler.
"Look at me, son," Pops said, more firmly.
Billy Jr's eyes finally shifted to Pops. They were wet, wide, shocked.
Pops put both hands on Billy Jr's shoulders. "You saved my life. You understand that? Tyler had his rifle pointed at me. Another second and I'd be dead. You saved my life."
"I killed him," Billy Jr whispered.
"Yes, you did," Pops said. "And that's a hard thing. The hardest thing. But you did it for the right reason. Not out of anger. Not out of hate. You did it to protect someone you love. That's what good men do, Junior. Good men make hard choices to protect their families."
"But I—"
"Listen to me," Pops said, his voice gentle but firm. "I've killed men. In Vietnam. And it stayed with me. Every single one. But I'm here today because I made those choices. Your uncles are alive today because you made this choice. You hear me?"
Billy Jr nodded, tears spilling over.
"You're gonna feel this later. Tonight. Tomorrow. Maybe for a long time," Pops continued. "And that's okay. That means you're human. That means you have a conscience. But don't you ever doubt that what you did was right. You saved my life, Junior. My great-grandson saved my life. And I'll never forget that."
Pops pulled Billy Jr into a tight hug. Billy Jr broke down, sobbing into Pops's shoulder.
"It's alright, boy," Pops said quietly. "Let it out. You earned it."
Tom walked over, leaving Jake with Josh. He put his hand on Billy Jr's back.
"Your grandfather's right," Tom said. "You saved Pops. You helped save Billy and Jake. You're a hero, Junior. Whether it feels like it or not."
Billy Jr pulled back, wiping his face. He looked at Pops, then Tom, then across the room where Billy and Jake were being helped to their feet by Celeb and Ray, oxygen masks still on their faces, arms hanging awkwardly from the rope torture damage.
"They're okay?" Billy Jr asked.
"Thanks to you," Pops said. "Thanks to all of us."
Wade was already on his radio. "All units, suspects down. Victims recovered alive. We're coming home."
Celeb had his arms around Billy, supporting him. Billy's legs were shaky, but he was standing. Jake was the same, leaning heavily on Tom.
"Can you walk?" Celeb asked Billy.
"Yeah," Billy said, his voice still rough. "Get me the hell out of here."
They moved toward the door, stepping carefully around the bodies. Billy Jr couldn't help but glance at Tyler one more time.
"Don't look," Pops said quietly. "Remember why you did it, not what you did. There's a difference."
Billy Jr nodded and followed Pops out into the night.
The convoy was waiting, engines idling. Sarah's voice came over the radio, breaking with emotion.
"Are they alive? Please tell me they're alive."
Tom keyed his radio. "They're alive, Sarah. We're bringing them home."
Sarah's sob of relief echoed through every speaker.
Billy and Jake were loaded into Tom's truck, wrapped in blankets, oxygen masks back on. Celeb climbed in beside them, refusing to leave their side.
Pops kept his arm around Billy Jr as they walked back to their truck. "You ride with me. We're gonna talk on the way home."
"Okay," Billy Jr said quietly.
Wade stayed behind with Wilson and Ryan to secure the scene and wait for the coroner. The rest of the convoy formed up.
Tom looked back at the abandoned house one last time. Three dead men inside. Two living sons beside him.
"Let's go home," Tom said.
The convoy rolled out, heading back toward the ranch. Toward safety. Toward family.
In Pops's truck, Billy Jr stared out the window, silent.
"Talk to me, Junior," Pops said.
"I keep seeing his face," Billy Jr said. "Right before I pulled the trigger."
"You'll see it for a while," Pops said. "Maybe always. But every time you see it, I want you to remember something else. Look behind you."
Billy Jr turned. In the truck behind them, he could see Billy and Jake through the back window, oxygen masks on, alive.
"That's why you did it," Pops said. "That right there. Never forget that."
Billy Jr watched his uncles for a long moment, then nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Okay."
They drove on through the night, leaving the dead behind and carrying the living home.
Chapter 10: Coming Home
Three days later, the smell of mesquite smoke drifted across the ranch yard. Tom stood at the grill, flipping steaks while Sarah brought out potato salad and corn. Josh tended the ribs. Ray had commandeered the drink cooler.
It was just family today. The Bensons, Wade, and the wiz kids—Billy Jr, Colton, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez. The boys who'd helped bring Billy and Jake home.
Billy and Jake sat at the picnic table, still moving carefully. The rope burns on their wrists and arms were bandaged, fading from angry red to purple. Their shoulders were still sore from the rope torture, but Rebecca had cleared them—no permanent damage. They'd been lucky.
Billy Jr sat with the other wiz kids, quieter than usual. He'd barely slept since the rescue. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Tyler's face.
Pops noticed. Pops always noticed.
"Alright, listen up!" Pops stood, cigar clamped between his teeth, tapping a bottle of Jack Daniels against his glass. "Got something to say."
The yard went quiet. Everyone turned.
Pops looked at Billy Jr. "Junior. Get over here."
Billy Jr stood slowly, confused. The other wiz kids nudged him forward, grinning like they knew something he didn't.
Pops reached behind his chair and pulled out a long rifle case—leather, expensive, with brass fixtures. He set it on the table in front of Billy Jr.
"Open it," Pops said.
Billy Jr's hands shook slightly as he unlatched the case. Inside, nestled in velvet, was the most beautiful rifle he'd ever seen.
A custom precision rifle. Walnut stock, hand-carved and oiled to a perfect finish. Stainless steel barrel with intricate engraving. The scope alone probably cost more than most trucks. And on the stock, engraved in elegant script:
William "Billy" Benson Jr.
June 15, 2024
A life saved is a life earned.
Billy Jr stared at it, speechless.
"That's a Morrison custom build," Pops said quietly. "One of twelve he makes a year. Ordered it three months ago, but had him add the engraving last week." Pops put his hand on Billy Jr's shoulder. "Three days ago, you saved my life. You made the hardest choice a man can make, and you made it without hesitation. You're not a boy anymore, Junior. You're a man. And a man needs a rifle worthy of what he's done."
Billy Jr's eyes were wet. "Pops, I—"
"No need," Pops said. "You earned it."
Wade stood up, his voice thick. "That's my grandson. Damn proud of you, Junior."
Tom raised his beer. "To Billy Jr. The youngest man at this table, and one of the bravest."
"To Junior!" everyone shouted.
Billy Jr wiped his eyes, looking at the rifle, then at Pops. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, son." Pops grinned. "Now let's see if it shoots as good as it looks. Set up some targets!"
The yard exploded into motion.
Josh and Ray dragged out hay bales and set up targets at fifty, one hundred, and two hundred yards. Celeb grabbed his rifle. Jake carefully stood up, grinning despite the pain.
"I got twenty bucks says Junior can't hit center mass at two hundred," Jake said.
"Bullshit," Billy said, pulling out his wallet. "Kid just took down a moving target at fifteen feet under pressure. I'll take that bet."
"Fifty says he outshoot you, Jake," Colton said, slapping cash on the table.
"Hundred says he outshoots all of us," Billy Renzo added.
"Oh hell no," Ray said, throwing down bills. "I'll take that action."
Pops laughed, pulling out a bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring shots. "This is what I'm talking about! Billy Jr, show these sorry bastards what that rifle can do."
Billy Jr lifted the rifle from the case. It was perfectly balanced, the weight distributed like it was made for his hands. Which, he realized, it probably was. Pops would've given Morrison his measurements.
He loaded the magazine, chambered a round, and moved to the firing line.
"Two hundred yards," Josh called. "Center mass."
Billy Jr settled into position, the rifle stock against his shoulder. Breathed out. Squeezed.
CRACK.
The target at two hundred yards jerked. Dead center.
"GODDAMN!" Colton shouted.
"Pay up!" Billy said, grinning at Jake.
Jake laughed, wincing as it pulled his sore shoulders. "Beginner's luck."
"Double or nothing," Billy Jr said, his confidence growing. "Three shots, all center mass."
"You're on," Jake said.
Billy Jr fired three times in quick succession.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
All three shots clustered in a group smaller than a fist.
The yard erupted in cheers and groans. Cash changed hands.
"My turn," Celeb said, grabbing his own rifle.
"Oh no," Billy Renzo said. "We're doing this tournament style. Everyone shoots, best grouping wins."
"Pot's at four hundred," Daniel Rodriguez said, counting the cash on the table.
"Make it six," Wade said, throwing in bills. "I got faith in my grandson."
Pops poured another round of Jack. "This is a proper celebration!"
One by one, they shot. Celeb, Billy, Jake (carefully, his shoulders still sore), Josh, Ray, Tom, Wade, and all the wiz kids. The bottles of Jack Daniels made the rounds. Sarah and Rebecca shook their heads but smiled, bringing out more food.
Billy Jr's grouping held at the top. But Billy came close—damn close.
"Final round," Billy said, grinning. "Me versus Junior. Winner takes the pot."
"Hell yes," Billy Jr said. The weight that had been pressing on him for three days was lifting. Here, with his family, competing and laughing and alive—this was what mattered.
They both fired five shots at two hundred yards.
When they checked the targets, Billy Jr's grouping was tighter by half an inch.
The yard exploded. The wiz kids mobbed Billy Jr, shouting and laughing. Colton poured Jack Daniels over Billy Jr's head like champagne.
Billy walked over, still moving carefully, and pulled Billy Jr into a careful hug. "That's my nephew. Damn fine shooting."
"Thanks, Uncle Billy," Billy Jr said, grinning.
Jake limped over, wincing but smiling. "You saved our asses, Junior. And you can outshoot me. I don't know whether to be proud or pissed."
"Both," Billy Jr said.
Pops stood watching it all, cigar smoke curling around him, a bottle of Jack in his hand. Tom came up beside him.
"You did good, Pops," Tom said quietly. "That's exactly what he needed."
"He's a good boy," Pops said. "Gonna be a hell of a man."
"Already is," Tom said.
Billy Jr sat back down at the table, the rifle beside him, surrounded by his family and friends. The wiz kids were already planning the next shooting competition, bets flying. Billy and Jake were arguing good-naturedly about who was the better shot before the kidnapping.
For the first time in three days, Billy Jr laughed. Really laughed.
Pops sat down beside him, pouring them both a shot of Jack.
"How you feeling, Junior?" Pops asked quietly.
Billy Jr looked at the rifle, then at his family. "Better. Still see his face sometimes. But..." He looked at Billy and Jake, alive and laughing. "I remember why I did it."
"Good," Pops said. He raised his shot glass. "To hard choices made for the right reasons."
Billy Jr clinked his glass against Pops's. "To family."
They drank.
The sun set over the ranch, smoke rising from the grill, laughter filling the yard. Billy and Jake were home. Billy Jr had his rifle and his family's respect. The Crawfords were gone.
Life went on.
And on a ranch in Kings County, Texas, the Bensons did what they always did—they survived, they competed, and they loved each other fierce as hell.
THE END
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