Jake's Survival

 

Chapter 1: The Capture

The barn smelled like rot and old hay. Jake's head was still pounding from whatever they'd hit him with back at the ranch. His vision had cleared enough now to make out the three men standing in front of him—all wearing bandanas over their faces like this was some kind of old Western movie.

Amateurs, Jake thought, even as his heart hammered in his chest. Real criminals would've worn masks that actually hid something.

He could identify every one of them by height, build, the way they moved. The tall one on the left kept shifting his weight. Nervous. The stocky one in the middle—clearly the leader—stood with his arms crossed. And the wiry one on the right kept his hand on the Glock holstered at his belt.

Jake's white tank top was soaked through with sweat. The Texas heat in this decrepit barn was suffocating, and his cowboy hat sat crooked on his head from the struggle. He kept his left hand shoved in his jeans pocket, trying to look casual, but every muscle in his body was coiled tight. Ready.

Billy's gonna lose his shit when he realizes I'm gone.

The wiry one stepped forward, coils of rough hemp rope in his hands. The kind of rope that would tear skin if you fought it hard enough. Jake's jaw clenched.

"Turn around, Benson," the man said, his voice muffled behind the bandana. "Put your arms behind your back."

Jake's green eyes blazed. He could feel the rage building in his chest—that same hothead temper that got him in trouble since he was a kid. Tom and Sarah were always saying he needed to think before he acted. Billy was always the one to talk him down.

But Billy wasn't here.

"Go ahead, you motherfucker," Jake snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Tie me up."

Let them think I'm just angry. Let them think I'm not paying attention.

But Jake was paying attention to everything. The way the leader nodded to the other two. The creak of the barn door behind him—not fully closed. The distant sound of what might be a highway, maybe two miles off. The position of the sun through the slats—late afternoon.

The family's gonna notice I'm missing by dinner. Maybe sooner. Jr.'s always got those damn iPads tracking everything.

The wiry man moved behind him. Jake felt hands—rough, impatient—yank his arms back. He didn't resist. Not yet. He needed to see what they were planning, needed to stay conscious and alert.

The rope bit into his wrists first. Then his forearms. The man knew what he was doing—unfortunately. Jake felt the hemp wrap around his elbows, cinching them together until his shoulders screamed in protest. His powerful arms, built from years of ranch work, strained against the bonds.

Jesus Christ, this is tight.

More rope around his biceps. Three inches apart, methodical. Then the bastard threaded a hoisting rope behind his biceps and started pulling. Jake's arms were wrenched further back, his chest thrust forward. His feet were still on the ground, but barely. The strain on his shoulders was immediate and intense.

"Not so tough now, are you?" the stocky leader said, stepping closer.

Jake's response was muffled as the tall one shoved a rag in his mouth and wrapped duct tape around his head. The gag tasted like gasoline and dirt.

Breathe through your nose. Stay calm. Think.

But thinking was getting harder. The pain in his shoulders was building, a deep ache that promised to get much worse. His biceps were already burning where the rope dug in.

The leader pulled out a phone. "Smile for the camera, Benson. Your family's gonna want proof you're still breathing."

The flash went off. Once. Twice. Three times.

Ransom photos.

That's what this was about. Money. The consortium had been making news lately—six families controlling a third of Kings County. Someone had noticed. Someone had decided the Bensons could afford to pay.

They have no idea what they just started.

Jake thought about Pops, the old Viet Nam vet who'd taught him and Billy how to shoot when they were eight. About Tom and Sarah, who'd built this ranch into something legendary. About Ray, who'd see this as a business problem to solve. About Josh and Rebecca, and little—no, not so little anymore—Billy Jr., who was probably already on those encrypted satellite phones.

And Billy. His brother. His twin in everything but birth certificate.

Billy's coming for me. They all are.

The leader pocketed his phone and nodded to the others. "Let's go. We send the photos, make the call, and wait for the Bensons to get desperate."

The three men headed for the barn door.

"Wait," the wiry one said. "We're just leaving him like this?"

"He's not going anywhere," the leader replied. "And the more uncomfortable he is, the faster Daddy pays up."

The barn door creaked open, then slammed shut.

Jake was alone.

The rope cut deeper into his biceps with every breath. His shoulders throbbed. Sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes. The gag made every breath a conscious effort.

But Jake Benson wasn't broken. Not yet.

Hold on, he told himself. Just hold on. They're coming.

He just hoped they'd get there before his body gave out.

Chapter 2: The Discovery

Billy Jr. was the first to notice.

He'd been in the command center—the room next to the frat house that the consortium had dropped fifty grand on—calibrating one of the new drones when he realized Jake hadn't shown up for the 4 PM cattle rotation. That wasn't like Jake. Billy and Jake were always punctual about ranch work, even when they'd been up late drinking the secret beer stash under the floorboards.

Jr. pulled out his iPad, checked the location tracker they'd all agreed to install on their phones. Billy's dot was at the south pasture. Celeb's and Colt's dots were out at the west fence line. His dad Josh was at the equipment barn.

Jake's dot wasn't showing at all.

Probably just his phone died, Jr. thought. He's always forgetting to charge the damn thing.

But fifteen minutes later, when Jake still hadn't shown and Billy came back alone, Jr. felt the first spike of real concern.

"You seen Jake?" Billy asked, pulling off his work gloves as he stepped into the command center.

"No. His tracker's offline."

Billy frowned. "That's weird. He was supposed to help me move the herd to the north section."

"Maybe he's with your dad?"

"Checked already. Ray hasn't seen him since lunch."

They looked at each other. Billy's jaw tightened—that same expression Jake got when something was wrong.

Jr. was about to suggest they radio the other families when Billy's phone buzzed. Then Jr.'s. Then the landline in the house started ringing.

Unknown number.

Billy answered, hitting speaker. "Yeah?"

"Mr. Benson?" A digitally distorted voice. "We have something that belongs to you."

Billy's face went white. Jr. felt his stomach drop.

"Who the fuck is this?" Billy demanded.

"Check your messages. You have 24 hours to get us two million dollars, or your brother comes back in pieces."

The line went dead.

Billy's phone pinged. A text message. Three photos loaded on the screen.

Jake. Tied up in what looked like an old barn. Arms wrenched behind his back, ropes cutting into his biceps. White tank top soaked with sweat. Duct tape around his mouth. His green eyes were blazing with fury, but there was pain there too.

"Jesus Christ," Billy whispered.

Jr. didn't hesitate. He slammed his palm on the red emergency button mounted on the wall—the 911 system he and Billy had built for the entire consortium.

Immediately, a mechanical voice echoed through every radio, every phone, every device connected to their network: "911 Emergency. 911 Emergency. 911 Emergency. Billy Junior Benson."

Within thirty seconds, the command center was chaos.

Tom and Sarah burst through the door first, Sarah's face already pale. "What happened?"

"Jake's been taken," Billy said, his voice shaking with rage and fear. "They want two million."

Pops came in next, leaning on his cane but moving faster than Jr. had seen him move in years. "Show me."

Billy held up the phone. Pops' weathered face went hard as stone—that look he got when he talked about Nam. The look that said someone was about to pay.

"Motherfuckers," Pops growled. "Those goddamn motherfuckers."

Ray arrived with Josh right behind him. The door to the frat house slammed open and Celeb came running in, Colt—Louisiana, as they all called him—right on his heels. Both had been working the west fence and sprinted back the moment they heard the 911 alert.

"What's going on?" Celeb demanded, his Louisiana accent thick with worry. "Where's Jake?"

Billy held up the phone wordlessly. Celeb's face went white. Colt let out a string of Cajun curses that would've made Pops proud.

The radio crackled as the other consortium families checked in—Sheriff Wade Nelson's voice, then Robert Beaumont, then the Renzos, Matterns, and Rodriguezes.

"Everyone on frequency?" Jr. asked, his fingers already flying across his keyboard.

"Copy," came Wade's voice. "What's the situation?"

"Jake's been kidnapped," Tom said, his voice tight with controlled fury. "Ransom demand. Two million. Twenty-four hours."

"Forward me those photos," Wade ordered. "I'm calling in the county. We need—"

"No cops," Billy interrupted. "Not yet. They said no cops or Jake dies."

"Billy, I am the cops—"

"Then get over here as family, not as sheriff," Sarah said. "Please, Wade."

A pause. "On my way. Five minutes."

Jr. was already working, his fingers dancing across three keyboards at once. "I'm tracing the call. The photos came from a burner phone, but I can track the cell tower—"

Outside, they heard the roar of a mule quad engine. Billy Renzo pulled up to the ranch house, Ryan Mattern and Daniel Rodriguez jumping off before it even stopped. All three sixteen-year-olds burst through the door, iPads already out.

"Got it," Billy Renzo said, breathing hard. "Northeast sector. Cell tower near Highway 54."

"That's a twenty-mile radius," Josh said. "Too big."

"Not if they send another message," Jr. said. "If they send video, we can pull metadata, cross-reference—"

Billy's phone buzzed again. Everyone froze.

Another message. This time, a video file.

Billy's hand shook as he hit play.

The video was short. Ten seconds. Jake, still bound, was being hoisted higher—his feet leaving the ground. Even through the gag, they could hear him screaming. The sound was muffled, animalistic, full of agony.

Then the video cut out.

Sarah's hand flew to her mouth. Tom's fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white.

Billy looked like he might put his fist through the wall.

Celeb and Colt stood frozen, their faces matching masks of rage.

"I'm gonna kill them," Billy said quietly. "I'm gonna fucking kill them."

"Get in line," Pops said. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, bit the end off, and lit it. "Jr., can you track that video?"

"Already on it." Jr.'s eyes were locked on his screen, but his jaw was set. Jake was his uncle, his mentor, the guy who'd taught him to shoot and ride and curse like Pops. "Ryan, pull up the drone network. Daniel, start thermal scanning the northeast sector. Billy, monitor all incoming calls and texts."

The four boys moved like a machine, their fingers flying across screens and keyboards.

Rebecca Nelson burst in, still in her scrubs from the hospital. "I just heard. Oh my God. Is he—"

"He's alive," Josh said, pulling his wife close. "But we need to move fast."

Sheriff Wade arrived with his wife Mary, his sons Wilson and Ryan right behind him. Edna, Billy's girlfriend, was with them, her face streaked with tears.

Robert and Caroline Beaumont arrived last, and suddenly the command center was packed with all six consortium families.

"Talk to me, Jr.," Wade said. "What do we know?"

Jr. pulled up a map on the main screen. "Video was sent from the same phone. Same cell tower. I'm pulling metadata now—looks like it was recorded maybe fifteen minutes ago. The kidnappers are still in the area."

"How long until we can pinpoint them?" Ray asked. Always the business manager, even now.

"If they send another message, maybe an hour. But we can't wait for that." Jr. looked at Pops. "We need to deploy the drones."

Pops nodded, smoke curling from his cigar. "Do it. All six. Thermal and night vision."

"It's still daylight," Tom said.

"Won't be for long," Pops replied. "And these bastards aren't gonna wait for us to get organized. Jr., get those drones in the air. Cover every barn, every abandoned building, every structure in that twenty-mile radius."

"On it." Jr. turned to his friends. "You heard him. Let's go."

The four boys moved to the drone controls, and within minutes, six high-tech drones were launching from the Benson property, their cameras feeding directly back to the command center screens.

Billy stood in the corner, staring at the frozen image of Jake's face from the video. His twin. His best friend. His brother in everything but blood.

Celeb moved next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. "We're getting him back, brother."

Billy nodded, unable to speak.

"Hold on, Jake," Billy whispered. "We're coming."

But even as the consortium mobilized, even as the most powerful families in Kings County prepared to bring hell down on whoever had taken one of their own, one question burned in everyone's mind:

Would they get there in time?

Chapter 3: The Hunt

The command center had become a war room.

Six drone feeds displayed across the main screen, each one scanning the northeast sector in a grid pattern. Jr. and his three friends sat at their stations, eyes locked on their monitors, fingers never stopping. Billy Renzo handled communications, Ryan Mattern controlled the thermal imaging, Daniel Rodriguez managed the GPS coordinates.

Jr. orchestrated it all.

"Drone Three, shift northeast two degrees," Jr. said into his headset. "There's an old structure at coordinates 31.4° North, 100.2° West."

On the screen, Drone Three banked smoothly, its camera zooming in on a collapsed shed. Empty.

"Moving on," Jr. muttered.

Around them, the families had organized into teams. Tom and Ray stood with Robert Beaumont, studying a paper map of Kings County spread across a table. They were marking every abandoned building, every barn, every structure that could hide a man within that twenty-mile radius.

"There's the old Morrison place," Robert said, pointing. "Been empty for three years."

"Add it to the list," Tom said grimly.

Sheriff Wade was on his satellite phone with his deputies Wilson and Ryan, coordinating a search perimeter without officially calling it in. If the kidnappers were monitoring police frequencies, Wade wasn't going to tip them off.

Pops sat in a chair near Jr., cigar smoke curling around him. He hadn't said much since the drones launched, but his eyes—sharp despite his seventy-six years—watched everything. Sarah brought him coffee. He took it without looking away from the screens.

Billy paced. Back and forth, back and forth, like a caged animal. Celeb and Colt flanked him, ready to grab him if he tried to do something stupid like jump in a truck and start searching on his own.

Edna sat with Rebecca and Mary Nelson, all three women silent, hands clasped.

"Got something," Daniel said suddenly. "Drone Five. Thermal signature. Building at the edge of the search zone."

Every head turned to the screen.

The thermal imaging showed a structure—looked like an old barn. And inside, three heat signatures. Human-sized.

"That's them," Billy said immediately. "That's gotta be them."

"Hold on," Jr. said, fingers flying. "Let me get a visual."

Drone Five descended, its camera switching to high-definition. The barn came into focus—weathered wood, tin roof half-collapsed. A truck parked outside, partially hidden under a tarp.

"Run the plates," Wade ordered.

Jr. was already on it. "Plates are registered to a John Summers. Address in Abilene. Wait—" His fingers stopped. "Vehicle was reported stolen four days ago."

"That's them," Pops said quietly. He stood, leaning on his cane. "That's the bastards."

"Where's Jake?" Billy demanded. "I don't see Jake."

Jr. zoomed in closer. Through gaps in the barn walls, they could make out movement. Three figures. But no fourth.

"He might be in a different part of the barn," Ryan Mattern said. "The thermal can't pick up through thick walls if he's in a corner or—"

"Or they already moved him," Ray said, his business mind cutting through the emotion. "Those photos were sent over an hour ago. They could've relocated."

"No," Jr. said, shaking his head. "Look at the timeline. The video was sent seventeen minutes ago. They recorded it, sent it, and then—" He pulled up the drone's tracking history. "Drone Five passed this location forty minutes ago. The truck wasn't there. They just arrived."

"They moved him," Tom said. "After they sent the video, they panicked and moved him."

Wade stepped closer to the screen. "If they're this close to where they sent the message from, they're sloppy. Desperate. That makes them dangerous."

"Or it makes them stupid," Celeb said, his Louisiana drawl sharp. "And stupid means we can catch them."

"Jr., keep Drone Five on that barn," Pops ordered. "Don't let them out of your sight. Get another drone to cover the surrounding area. If Jake's nearby, we find him."

"On it." Jr. nodded to Billy Renzo. "Take Drone Two, do a perimeter search. Half-mile radius."

"Copy."

The room fell silent except for the hum of equipment and the occasional murmured instruction from the boys.

Then Billy's phone rang.

Unknown number.

Everyone froze.

Billy answered, his voice cold. "Yeah."

"Mr. Benson, I hope you're getting our money together." The same distorted voice. "Because your brother's running out of time."

"You touch him again and I'll—"

"You'll what?" The voice laughed. "You'll call the police? We know Sheriff Nelson's there. We can see his truck from here."

Jr.'s eyes widened. He mouthed to Wade: They can see the ranch.

Wade's face went hard. He pulled out his phone, texted his sons: Move the vehicles. Now.

"We want the money by midnight," the voice continued. "Two million. Unmarked bills. We'll send you a location. You come alone—just you, Mr. Benson. Anyone else shows up, anyone follows you, your brother dies. Understood?"

"I want proof he's alive," Billy said.

"You got your proof."

"That was an hour ago. I want proof now."

A pause. Then: "You'll get your proof. Check your phone in ten minutes."

The line went dead.

Billy's hand was shaking so hard he nearly dropped the phone. "They can see us. They said they can see Wade's truck."

"Bullshit," Pops said. "They're bluffing."

"Maybe," Jr. said slowly. "Or maybe they've got someone watching the ranch."

Tom's jaw clenched. "Ray, Josh—go check the perimeter. Take the Matterns and Rodriguezes. If someone's watching us, find them."

The men moved immediately, grabbing rifles from the gun cabinet.

"Billy Renzo, Ryan, Daniel—stay on those drones," Jr. ordered. "I'm pulling up our security cameras. If someone's out there, we'll find them."

The next ten minutes felt like hours.

Jr. scanned through camera feeds. Ray's team spread out across the Benson property, searching. The drones continued their systematic sweep.

And then Billy's phone pinged.

Another video.

Billy hit play, his face pale.

The video showed Jake—still in the barn, still tied, but now his feet were completely off the ground. His arms were stretched so far behind him that his shoulders looked unnatural, distorted. His face was visible now, the gag removed just enough to show his mouth open in a scream that the camera didn't capture.

Then someone—one of the kidnappers, voice distorted—spoke off-camera: "Midnight, Mr. Benson. Or we leave him hanging until his arms rip off."

The video ended.

Sarah's hand flew to her mouth, a sob escaping. Rebecca turned away, tears streaming down her face.

Billy looked like he'd been punched in the gut.

Celeb swore in French. Colt's fists clenched.

Pops just stared at the screen, his jaw working.

And then Jr. said quietly: "I've got them."

Every head snapped toward him.

"The video," Jr. said, his voice tight with controlled rage. "They sent it from the same phone, same location. But they screwed up." He pulled up a map. "The metadata shows the exact coordinates. And it's not the barn."

A red dot appeared on the map. Two miles from the barn Drone Five was watching.

"They're at a second location," Jr. said. "That's where Jake is."

Wade stepped forward. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Jr. looked at Pops. "We send the drones. We find him. And then we go get him."

Pops took a long drag of his cigar, then stubbed it out. "Do it."

Jr. turned to his friends. "Drones One and Six, redirect to these coordinates. Maximum speed. Thermal and visual. Find him."

The boys moved in perfect synchronization.

On the screen, two drones banked hard, racing toward the new location.

Billy stood next to Jr., his hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Find him, Jr. Please."

Jr. didn't take his eyes off the screen. "We will, Uncle Billy. I promise."

The drones closed in on the coordinates. Everyone in the command center held their breath.

And then, on Drone One's feed, a building came into view.

Another barn. Older, more isolated. No vehicle outside.

But the thermal imaging showed one heat signature inside.

One person. Alone.

"That's him," Billy whispered. "That's Jake."

Jr. zoomed in. Through the gaps in the barn walls, they could just make out a figure suspended in the air, arms behind his back.

"Twenty miles northeast," Jr. said, reading the coordinates. "Off County Road 12."

Tom was already moving. "Ray, Josh, Robert—with me. Wade, bring your boys. Everyone else, stay here with the women and Jr."

"Like hell," Billy said. "I'm going."

"Billy—"

"He's my brother, Dad. I'm going."

Tom looked at his youngest son, saw the determination there, and nodded. "Fine. Celeb, Colt—you too. But you follow my orders. All of you."

Pops stood slowly. "Take the rifles. All of them. And take this." He pulled out his old service pistol from Nam, handed it to Billy. "Don't hesitate, boy. You understand me?"

Billy took the gun, his hand steady now. "Yes sir."

"Then let's go get Jake."

The men poured out of the command center, engines roaring to life outside.

Jr. stayed at his station, drones tracking, watching his family race toward his uncle.

On the screen, Jake hung motionless in the barn.

"Hold on," Jr. whispered to the image. "Just hold on a little longer."

Chapter 4: Escalation

Jake had lost track of time.

The pain in his shoulders had gone from sharp agony to a deep, grinding throb that radiated down his spine and into his chest. His arms felt like they were being torn from their sockets. Every breath made the rope bite deeper into his biceps, the rough hemp already slick with blood where it had cut through skin.

His feet dangled six inches off the ground now. They'd hoisted him higher after taking that second video—the wiry one cranking the rope while the other two laughed. Jake had screamed so hard the duct tape had loosened, finally peeling away from his mouth.

Not that it mattered. There was no one to hear him out here.

How long has it been? Two hours? Three?

The barn was darker now. Late afternoon had given way to early evening, the sunlight through the slats turning golden, then orange, then dim.

They're looking for me. I know they are. Jr.'s got those drones. Billy's lost his mind by now. Pops is planning something.

But Jake's body was giving out.

His shoulders felt wrong. Not just painful—wrong. Like something had shifted, torn, disconnected. He couldn't feel his hands anymore. The rope around his wrists had cut off circulation so completely that his fingers were numb, useless.

Just hold on. Just a little longer.

Then he heard it. The crunch of gravel outside. A truck engine.

The barn door burst open.

All three kidnappers rushed in, and Jake could immediately tell something had changed. The stocky leader was on his phone, his voice sharp, panicked. The tall one kept looking over his shoulder. Even the wiry one—the one who'd seemed so confident with the rope—looked spooked.

"—don't know how they found us, but they're close," the leader was saying into the phone. "Yeah, I'm looking at it right now. It's a fucking drone!"

Yes! Jake's heart surged despite the pain. They found me. They're coming.

"We need to move," the tall one said. "Right now. Leave him and go."

"And lose our payday?" the leader snapped. "No. We're taking him with us."

"Are you insane? Look at him—he can barely move. We drag him to the truck and we're dead. They'll track us."

Jake's vision was starting to blur, but he forced himself to focus. Through the gaps in the barn walls, he could see it—a small black shape hovering in the distance. One of Jr.'s drones.

Come on. Come on. I'm right here.

The leader shoved his phone in his pocket and pulled out a knife. For one terrifying moment, Jake thought he was going to use it. But instead, the man moved to the hoisting rope.

"We cut him down, gag him again, throw him in the truck bed under the tarp. We can still make this work."

"They're tracking us!" the tall one protested.

"Then we ditch the phone!" The leader was losing it now, his voice rising. "Jesus Christ, will you just—"

The wiry one stepped forward. "Wait. Look."

He was pointing out the barn door. In the distance, more drones. At least three of them, circling like hawks.

"They know where we are," the wiry one said quietly.

The leader's hand was shaking now. "No. No, this was supposed to be easy. Small-town ranchers, they were supposed to be—"

"You said they'd pay," the tall one interrupted. "You said two million, easy money, they'd just hand it over. You didn't say anything about fucking military-grade surveillance!"

"Shut up and let me think!"

But there was no time to think.

From somewhere in the distance came the sound of engines. Multiple vehicles, moving fast.

The three men looked at each other.

"We're done," the wiry one said. He dropped the coil of rope he'd been holding. "I'm not dying for this."

"You walk out that door and I'll—"

"You'll what?" The wiry one was already backing toward the exit. "Shoot me? Go ahead. At least the cops will go easy on me compared to what those ranchers are gonna do when they get here."

He turned and ran.

The tall one hesitated for only a moment, then bolted after him.

That left the leader. He stood in the middle of the barn, knife in hand, staring at Jake with wild eyes.

"This is your fault," he said, his voice shaking. "You and your fucking family. You think you own everything. You think—"

The sound of engines was closer now. Much closer.

The leader looked toward the door, looked back at Jake, then dropped the knife and ran.

Jake was alone again.

He tried to speak, tried to call out, but his voice was barely a whisper. His shoulders were screaming, his vision tunneling. The edges of the world were going dark.

No. Not yet. They're so close.

But his body didn't care. The pain was too much. The strain on his joints, the lack of circulation, the hours of torture—it was all catching up at once.

Jake felt something in his left shoulder give way. A sensation like tearing, like something fundamental had broken. The pain was blinding, white-hot, and he screamed.

Then the right shoulder. The same terrible tearing sensation.

His shoulders had dislocated.

Jake's scream echoed through the barn, raw and primal. His body convulsed, trying desperately to find relief that didn't exist. The ropes held him suspended, his arms now twisted at unnatural angles behind his back.

He was dimly aware of the sound of trucks skidding to a stop outside. Doors slamming. Voices shouting.

Billy. That's Billy.

The barn door crashed open.

"JAKE!"

Billy's voice, torn with anguish.

Jake tried to lift his head, tried to focus, but everything was spinning. He saw shapes rushing toward him—Billy's face, pale and terrified. Tom right behind him. Celeb and Colt.

"Oh my God," someone said. "His shoulders—"

"Get him down! Get him down NOW!"

Hands on him. Someone supporting his weight. The sound of a knife sawing through rope.

"Careful! Don't move his arms!"

"We have to get him down, he can't—"

Jake felt the tension release as the hoisting rope was cut. His body dropped, but strong arms caught him—Billy on one side, Celeb on the other, easing him down as gently as they could.

The moment his weight shifted, the pain in his shoulders exploded. Jake screamed again, a sound he didn't recognize as his own.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry," Billy was saying, his voice breaking. "We've got you, Jake. We've got you."

More rope being cut. The bindings around his elbows, his forearms, his wrists. But even as the ropes fell away, Jake's arms didn't move. They hung limp and useless, twisted behind him at angles that made Tom swear viciously.

"Both shoulders are dislocated," Wade said, his sheriff's training kicking in. "We can't move him like this. We need Rebecca—"

"She's on her way," Josh said, phone to his ear. "Ambulance too. ETA ten minutes."

"We don't have ten minutes," Billy said desperately. He was cradling Jake's head, tears streaming down his face. "Jake, stay with me. Look at me."

Jake's eyes fluttered open. His brother's face swam into focus, blurry but there.

"B-Billy," Jake managed, his voice barely audible.

"I'm here. I'm right here. You're gonna be okay."

"Hurts..."

"I know. I know it does. But you're safe now. We found you."

Tom was on the ground next to them, his hand on Jake's head. "You did good, son. You held on."

Pops' voice from the doorway: "Where are the bastards?"

"Ran," Ray said, coming back inside. "Took off in three different directions. Wilson and Ryan are tracking them."

"Good." Pops' face was hard as stone. "When they catch them, I want five minutes alone."

"Get in line," Celeb muttered darkly.

Jake's vision was fading again. The barn, the faces, Billy's voice—it was all slipping away.

"Jake!" Billy's voice, sharp with panic. "Jake, stay awake!"

But Jake couldn't. The pain, the exhaustion, the trauma—it was too much.

The last thing he heard before the darkness took him was Billy's voice, desperate and pleading:

"Don't you dare die on me. Jake. Jake!"

Then nothing.

Chapter 5: The Chase

"Jr., you got eyes on them?" Tom's voice crackled over the radio as he knelt beside Jake's unconscious form.

Back at the command center, Jr.'s fingers flew across the keyboards. All six drone feeds were active now. Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez worked beside him.

"Affirmative," Jr. said. "Three targets, different directions. Wiry one heading east on foot. Tall one in a sedan, moving south on County Road 9. Leader on foot, heading northwest."

"Don't lose them," Pops said from his chair, cigar clenched between his teeth.

On screen, the tall one's sedan swerved erratically. Wilson and Ryan's patrol vehicles appeared ahead, blocking the road. The kidnapper hit the brakes, trapped.

"Target Two secured," Wilson's voice said. "He's crying like a baby."

The wiry one reached Patterson farm's fence line—nowhere to go. Robert Beaumont's voice came through: "Already heading out to pick him up."

That left the leader.

Jr. watched the thermal signature on Drone Six. The man was hiding in the old quarry, on his phone.

"He's making a call," Jr. said. "Recording it now."

On the radio, chaos from the barn. Rebecca had arrived with the ambulance, working on Jake.

"We need to get him to the hospital NOW," Rebecca was saying.

Billy's voice, desperate: "Is he gonna be okay?"

"He's strong, Billy. We'll get him through this."

Jr. forced himself to focus. "Got something. The leader mentioned a storage unit. Number 247. Abilene."

"That's our evidence," Wade said.

On screen, the leader was moving again, heading for a service road on the quarry's far side.

"Celeb and Colt are—" Josh's voice started.

"Right here," Celeb cut in. "Where do you need us, Pops?"

"Quarry. North side. Cut him off."

Jr. watched Celeb and Colt's truck race toward the intercept point. "Two minutes."

The leader burst out of the brush onto the road—and froze.

Celeb and Colt stood there, rifles raised. The leader dropped to his knees, hands on his head.

"Target Three secured," Celeb said.

Jr. leaned back, exhaling. "All three targets secured. Drones returning to base."

Pops nodded. "Good work, boys." He looked at Jr. "Your uncle's gonna be proud."

Jr.'s throat tightened. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"He's a Benson," Pops said. "And Bensons don't quit."

Pops relit his cigar, eyes cold. "Now they talk. They tell us who hired them. Who planned this."

Smoke curled. "And then they learn what happens when you mess with this family."

Chapter 6: The Confession

The three kidnappers sat in separate rooms at the Benson ranch—not the house, but the old bunkhouse they'd converted for storage. Each man was zip-tied to a chair, with two armed consortium members standing guard.

Sheriff Wade Nelson had a problem. He was law enforcement, sworn to uphold the law. But he was also family. And right now, Jake Benson was in surgery at County Hospital fighting for his life.

"Technically, I should be reading them their rights," Wade said to Tom and Pops in the main house.

"Technically," Pops said around his cigar, "they should already be dead."

Tom put a hand on his father's shoulder. "Wade, you do what you need to do. But give us thirty minutes first. Before you make this official."

Wade looked between the two men. Thought about Jake hanging by his arms, shoulders dislocated. Thought about Billy's face when they'd cut him down.

"Thirty minutes," Wade said. "Then I have to call it in. I've got three deputies who already know we picked them up."

"Understood."

They started with the wiry one. He was the youngest, maybe mid-twenties, and he'd been shaking since Celeb and Colt brought him in.

Ray sat across from him, businesslike. Robert Beaumont stood in the corner, arms crossed. The wiry man's eyes kept darting between them.

"Name," Ray said.

"I—I want a lawyer."

"You'll get one. After you talk to us. Name."

"Trevor. Trevor Walsh."

"Who hired you, Trevor?"

Trevor's jaw clenched. "I don't know what you're—"

Robert stepped forward. "Let me tell you how this works. Right now, the sheriff is giving us thirty minutes before this becomes official. That means you have thirty minutes to tell us everything, and maybe—maybe—we convince him you were just stupid, not evil. Or you can waste our time, and we let every rancher in this consortium know you're the one who tortured Jake Benson for six hours."

Trevor went pale. "You can't—"

"Can't what? This is Texas, son. And you hurt one of ours."

Trevor broke. "It was Marcus! Marcus Delgado! He set it up! Said it would be easy money, just grab one of the Benson boys, hold him for a day, get the ransom and split!"

"Where is Marcus now?"

"He's the one you got at the quarry. The leader. It was his plan!"

Ray made notes. "Who else?"

"Just us three! I swear! Marcus said the Bensons were rich but small-time, that they'd just pay up quick and we'd be gone!"

"The storage unit in Abilene. What's in it?"

Trevor hesitated.

"What's in it, Trevor?"

"Papers. Photos. Marcus had been watching the ranch for weeks. He had schedules, shift changes, vehicle registrations. Everything."

Ray and Robert exchanged looks. This wasn't a random snatch-and-grab.

In the second room, Wilson and Ryan Nelson were with the tall one. He'd given his name as David Pacheco, and he was already crying.

"I didn't want to hurt him," David sobbed. "Marcus said we'd just take some photos, make the call, collect the money. I didn't know he'd—I didn't know about the rope, about hanging him up like that."

"But you helped," Wilson said coldly.

"I didn't have a choice! Marcus said if I backed out, he'd—"

"He'd what?"

David's mouth snapped shut.

"He'd what, David?"

"Nothing. I just... I needed the money."

Ryan leaned forward. "Who else is involved? Who hired Marcus?"

"I don't know! Marcus just said someone would pay him fifty grand to grab a Benson, any Benson, and hold them for ransom. He cut us in for ten grand each."

"Someone paid him fifty thousand dollars?" Wilson's eyes widened. "Who?"

"I don't know! He never said! He just said it was 'handled' and we'd get paid after!"

In the third room, Marcus Delgado sat stone-faced as Tom and Celeb stared him down. Colt stood by the door, arms crossed.

"You're done, Marcus," Tom said quietly. "Your boys already gave you up. So you can tell us who hired you, or you can wait for the sheriff to charge you with kidnapping, aggravated assault, and attempted murder."

Marcus said nothing.

"Fifty thousand dollars," Tom continued. "That's what Trevor and David said you were getting paid. Who's got that kind of money and that kind of grudge against my family?"

Still nothing.

Celeb stepped forward, his Louisiana accent thick and dangerous. "See, here's what I don't understand. You boys watched the ranch for weeks. You knew the shifts, the vehicles, the routines. That takes planning. Resources. And then you grab Jake in broad daylight and take him to a barn twenty miles away?"

Marcus's eye twitched.

"That's not random," Celeb continued. "That's specific. Someone told you exactly when and where to grab him. Someone who knew Jake would be vulnerable."

"I want a lawyer," Marcus finally said.

"You'll get one," Tom replied. "But first, you're going to tell me who paid you to torture my son."

Marcus smiled, cold and cruel. "You think you run this county? You Bensons and your little consortium? There are people who've been here longer. People who don't appreciate you buying up half of Kings County."

Tom's fists clenched. "Names."

"Figure it out yourself."

The door opened. Wade stepped in. "Time's up, Tom. I need to make this official."

Tom stared at Marcus for a long moment, then nodded. "He's all yours, Wade."

As Wade began reading Miranda rights, Tom stepped outside. Ray and Robert were waiting.

"The wiry one sang like a canary," Ray said. "Marcus planned it, promised them easy money. But someone hired Marcus. Paid him fifty thousand."

"Marcus won't talk," Tom said. "But he said something about people who've been here longer. People who don't like the consortium."

Robert's jaw tightened. "That's half the old families in this county. The ones who lost land sales to us. The ones who didn't make the consortium."

"We need to find that storage unit," Ray said. "If Marcus was watching us for weeks, there's evidence. Names. Contacts."

Tom pulled out his phone, called Josh at the hospital. "How's Jake?"

"Still in surgery," Josh said, his voice strained. "Rebecca says the shoulders are worse than they thought. Torn ligaments, nerve damage. He's gonna need months of recovery."

Tom closed his eyes. "When you see him, tell him we got them. All three."

"Did they say who hired them?"

"Not yet. But we're gonna find out."

He hung up and looked at Ray and Robert. "Let's go to Abilene. That storage unit has answers, and I want them before Marcus lawyers up and this whole thing gets buried in the system."

Pops appeared in the doorway, leaning on his cane. "I'm coming with you."

"Pops, you should rest—"

"My great-grandson is in surgery because some son of a bitch paid to have him tortured. I'm coming."

No one argued with Pops.

Within twenty minutes, three trucks were heading toward Abilene. Tom, Ray, and Pops in one. Robert and Celeb in another. Wade in the third with Wilson and Ryan.

Behind them at the ranch, Jr. and his friends monitored everything from the command center. The drones were back in their stations, fully charged and ready. The satellite phones were active. The consortium was on high alert.

And in a hospital operating room in Kings County, Jake Benson fought for his recovery while his family hunted for answers.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter 7: The Rescue

The storage facility in Abilene was quiet at this hour. Wade's truck pulled up to Unit 247, bolt cutters in hand. The padlock snapped. The door rolled up.

Everyone froze.

Cork boards covered the walls, plastered with photos. The Benson ranch from every angle. Billy and Jake—dozens of photos. Their schedules written out in marker. Vehicle descriptions. Maps with notations about security cameras, blind spots, patrol routes.

"Jesus Christ," Ray breathed.

Pops stepped inside, his face carved from stone. "They studied us. For weeks."

Tom moved to one of the boards. Photos of Jake specifically. Times and dates underneath each one.

"They were hunting him," Tom said, his voice tight with rage.

Celeb found a laptop on a folding table. "Wire transfer. Fifty thousand dollars from an offshore account. Two weeks ago."

"Copy everything," Tom said.

Pops stood in the center, gripping his cane. "This wasn't about money. They wanted him to suffer. They wanted us to see it."

"This was personal," Ray said.

Tom's phone buzzed. "Josh?"

"He's out of surgery," Josh said. "Both shoulders reduced and stabilized. Torn rotator cuffs, ligaments. He'll need months of physical therapy. But he'll recover."

Tom closed his eyes. "And Billy?"

"Hasn't left his side."

"Tell him we found where they planned it. We're getting answers."

He hung up. "Jake's gonna make it."

"Good," Pops said. "Let's go. Jr. needs to see this."

They pulled up to the ranch house just after midnight. Jr. was still in the command center with his three friends.

"Uncle Jake?" Jr. asked immediately.

"He's alive," Tom said. "Out of surgery. He's gonna recover."

Jr.'s relief was visible. His friends exhaled.

"Can you trace the payment?" Ray asked.

Jr. plugged in the flash drive, fingers flying. His friends gathered around, each taking a different screen.

"Offshore account. Cayman Islands. Bounced through three shell companies," Jr. muttered.

Billy Renzo pulled up the emails. "Someone called 'KingsWatch.' IP address is local. Kings County."

Ryan Mattern checked the photos. "Six weeks of surveillance. All focused on Jake specifically."

"Why Jake?" Tom asked.

Jr. looked up. "Because Jake's the hothead. They wanted him to suffer."

The room was quiet.

Then Jr. said: "Got it."

Everyone turned.

"The offshore account traces back to a Texas holding company. The primary shareholder is..." Jr.'s eyes widened. "Oh my God."

"Who?" Pops demanded.

Jr. turned the screen around.

A name.

Tom's face went white with rage. Ray's fists clenched. Robert looked punched.

Pops just nodded slowly.

"So," Pops said, his voice cold. "Now we know."

Wade stared at the screen. "Now I make an arrest. But we need to be smart. They've got lawyers."

"Then we build the case airtight," Ray said.

"And what about Jake?" Billy's voice came from the doorway.

Everyone turned. Billy stood there, bloodstained, Edna beside him.

"What do we tell him when he wakes up?" Billy's voice shook with rage. "That we're gonna wait for lawyers while the person who tortured him walks free? If the law won't handle this, I will."

Pops walked over. Put a hand on Billy's shoulder.

"We'll handle it," Pops said quietly. "Together. The right way. You understand me, boy?"

Billy's jaw clenched. He nodded.

"Good." Pops looked at Wade. "How long?"

"Twenty-four hours."

"Then we wait," Pops said. "We let Jake rest. We build our case. And in twenty-four hours, we make sure the person who did this never hurts anyone again."

He looked around the room.

"Bensons don't quit," Pops said. "And Bensons don't forget."

Chapter 8: Recovery

Jake woke to pain.

Not the sharp, tearing agony of the barn—this was different. Deeper. Chemical. His whole body felt like it was wrapped in fog, heavy and distant.

He tried to move his arms and couldn't.

Panic surged through him. The ropes. They're still—

"Jake. Jake, it's okay. You're safe."

Billy's voice. Close. Right next to him.

Jake forced his eyes open. White ceiling. Fluorescent lights. The smell of antiseptic.

Hospital.

Billy's face appeared above him, haggard and exhausted but smiling. "Hey, brother. Welcome back."

Jake tried to speak. His throat was raw, his voice a croak. "Arms..."

"Immobilized," Billy said gently. "Both shoulders were dislocated. They had to do surgery. You've got braces on to keep everything stable while you heal."

Memory came flooding back. The barn. The rope. Being hauled off the ground. The sensation of his shoulders tearing apart.

"How long?" Jake managed.

"Two days. You've been in and out. The painkillers are pretty heavy."

Jake looked down. His torso was wrapped in some kind of medical brace that kept both arms pinned close to his body, shoulders immobilized. He couldn't move them even an inch.

"How bad?"

Billy's smile faded. "Torn rotator cuffs in both shoulders. Damaged ligaments. Some nerve damage. Rebecca says you'll need physical therapy for months, maybe a year."

Jake closed his eyes. A year. An entire year before he could work the ranch properly again.

"But you're alive," Billy said, his voice breaking slightly. "That's what matters. You held on, Jake. You made it."

"The kidnappers?"

"All three in custody. Wade's got them. Federal charges are coming too—kidnapping, assault, the whole thing. They're not getting out."

Jake's jaw clenched. "Who hired them?"

Billy hesitated. "We know. Jr. traced the money. But Dad and Pops said to wait until you were stronger before—"

"Tell me."

"Jake—"

"Tell me, Billy."

Billy looked at his brother, saw the rage building behind the pain and exhaustion, and sighed. "You remember the Crawfords? Old ranching family, been in Kings County for generations?"

Jake nodded slightly. The Crawfords. They'd tried to buy the Morrison place two years ago, but the consortium had outbid them. There'd been bad blood ever since.

"Marcus Delgado was hired by Gerald Crawford," Billy said. "Paid fifty grand to grab you, torture you, make us suffer. Wade arrested him yesterday. He's fighting it, got three lawyers already, but Jr. and his friends documented everything. The wire transfers, the emails, the photos in that storage unit. Crawford's done."

Jake was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I want to see him."

"What?"

"When I get out of here. I want to see Gerald Crawford. Face to face."

"Jake, you can't—"

"I didn't say I'd do anything. I said I want to see him."

Billy studied his brother's face. Saw the cold fury there, the same look Jake got right before a fight. "Let's focus on getting you healed first. Okay?"

Jake didn't answer.

The door opened. Tom and Sarah walked in, Sarah gasping when she saw Jake was awake.

"Oh, thank God," she said, rushing to his bedside. "Baby, how are you feeling?"

"Been better," Jake said, managing a small smile for his mother.

Tom stood at the foot of the bed, his hand on Jake's foot—one of the few places that wasn't injured or immobilized. "You scared the hell out of us, son."

"Sorry, Dad."

"Don't be sorry. Just heal."

Over the next hour, the hospital room filled. Ray came with Josh and Rebecca. Pops arrived, leaning on his cane, his weathered face breaking into the closest thing to a smile anyone had seen in two days. Celeb and Colt stood in the doorway, both visibly relieved to see Jake conscious.

Then Jr. and his three friends showed up, all four boys crowding around the bed.

"Uncle Jake," Jr. said, his voice tight. "We got them. All of them. The kidnappers, the guy who hired them, everything."

"I heard. Good work, Jr."

"If we'd been faster—"

"You were fast enough," Jake interrupted. "I heard the drones. I knew you were coming. That's what kept me going."

Jr. blinked back tears. His friends stood behind him, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez all looking at Jake like he'd come back from the dead.

Which, in a way, he had.

Edna arrived with Anna Nelson, Jr.'s girlfriend. The Beaumonts came. Sheriff Wade and Mary Nelson. The room was packed with consortium families, all there to see Jake, to make sure he was really okay.

"All right, all right," Rebecca finally said, her nurse training taking over. "He needs rest. Everyone out except immediate family."

Protests, but Rebecca was firm. Gradually, people filtered out, each stopping to touch Jake's shoulder or foot, to say something encouraging.

Finally, it was just Tom, Sarah, Billy, and Pops.

"They're throwing a barbecue when you get home," Billy said. "Whole consortium. Everyone wants to celebrate."

Jake managed a weak laugh. "I can't even feed myself right now and they want to throw a party?"

"They want to celebrate that you're alive," Sarah said softly. "We all do."

Pops moved closer, looked down at Jake. "You did good, boy. Held on when a lot of men would've quit. Your great-grandfather would've been proud."

Coming from Pops, that meant everything.

"Get some rest," Tom said. "We'll be back tomorrow. And the day after that. And every day until we bring you home."

As his family filed out, Jake caught Billy's arm. "Billy."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For coming for me."

Billy's eyes got wet. "Always, brother. Always."

After they left, Jake lay in the quiet hospital room, staring at the ceiling. His shoulders throbbed despite the painkillers. His arms were useless, trapped in the medical brace. A year of recovery stretched ahead of him.

But he was alive.

And Gerald Crawford—the man who'd paid to have him tortured—was going to pay.

Jake closed his eyes and let the painkillers pull him back under.

But even in his drugged sleep, his jaw was clenched.

This wasn't over.

Chapter 9: Coming Home

Five days after the surgery, Jake came home.

The ranch house looked the same as always—the long gravel drive, the sprawling main house, the barns in the distance. But everything felt different to Jake. He sat in the passenger seat of Tom's truck, his arms still locked in the medical brace, unable to do something as simple as open the door himself.

Billy hopped out and came around, helping him ease out of the vehicle. Every movement sent dull throbs through Jake's shoulders.

"Easy," Billy said. "We got all the time in the world."

Jake's feet touched the ground, and he looked up.

The entire consortium was there.

Not just family—everyone. The Nelsons, the Beaumonts, the Renzos, the Matterns, the Rodriguezes. Tables were set up across the yard, loaded with food. A massive grill was smoking, Pops standing next to it with a cigar in his mouth and a spatula in his hand. Banners hung from the porch: WELCOME HOME JAKE.

For a moment, Jake couldn't speak.

Then Sarah was there, tears streaming down her face, careful as she hugged him. "Welcome home, baby."

One by one, they came. Ray, clapping him gently on the shoulder. Josh, grinning. Rebecca, checking him over with a nurse's critical eye. Jr. and his three friends, all four boys talking at once about how the drones tracked everything, how they'd documented every piece of evidence.

Celeb and Colt—Louisiana—both grabbed him in careful embraces. "Thought we lost you, brother," Celeb said, his Louisiana drawl thick with emotion.

Edna was crying, holding Billy's hand. Anna stood with Jr., smiling.

Sheriff Wade and Mary Nelson were there, along with Wilson and Ryan. Robert and Caroline Beaumont. Every family that made up the consortium, all gathered to celebrate one thing: Jake was alive.

"All right, all right," Pops called out from the grill. "Let the boy sit down before you all smother him. And somebody get me a beer!"

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Billy guided Jake to a chair set up in the shade—a big comfortable recliner they'd brought out from the house. Jake sank into it gratefully.

"This is too much," Jake said.

"Shut up and enjoy it," Billy replied, grinning.

The barbecue was massive. Ribs, brisket, chicken, all of Pops' specialties. Side dishes from every family. Beer flowed freely, though Jake was limited to water because of his painkillers. He didn't care. Being home, surrounded by family, was enough.

Jr. and his friends set up a screen and played footage from the drones—not the rescue, but the chase. Watching the kidnappers panic and run while the consortium closed in. Everyone cheered when Celeb and Colt cut off the leader at the quarry.

"Idiots thought they could mess with us," Billy Renzo said, shaking his head. "Wrong county."

As the sun set and the party continued, Jake found himself sitting with Billy, Celeb, Colt, and Jr. The five of them, like they'd been countless times before. But different now.

"Gerald Crawford goes to trial next month," Jr. said quietly. "Federal charges. Conspiracy, kidnapping for ransom, assault. Wade says he's looking at twenty-five years minimum."

"Good," Jake said. His voice was cold.

Billy looked at his brother. "You gonna be okay, Jake? Really?"

Jake was quiet for a moment. His shoulders ached. His arms were useless. A year of physical therapy stretched ahead, maybe more. He'd never forget those hours in the barn, the rope cutting into his biceps, the sensation of his shoulders tearing apart.

But he was alive. And he was home.

"Yeah," Jake said finally. "I'm gonna be okay."

Celeb raised his beer. "To Jake. Toughest son of a bitch in Kings County."

"To Jake," they echoed, bottles clinking.

Across the yard, Pops caught Jake's eye. The old man raised his cigar in salute. Jake nodded back.

As darkness fell and the party wound down, families started heading home. Each stopped to say goodbye to Jake, to tell him they were glad he was safe, that if he needed anything—anything at all—they were there.

Finally, it was just the Bensons. Tom and Sarah, Ray and Josh, Billy and Jake, Pops and Jr. The core family.

"Let's get you inside," Sarah said gently. "You need rest."

Billy and Josh helped Jake to his feet, walked him into the house and up to the frat house—the room he shared with Billy, Jr., Celeb, and Colt. His bunk looked the same. The hidden beers under the floorboards were still there. Everything was exactly as he'd left it.

Except he couldn't climb into the top bunk anymore. Not with the medical brace.

"We already moved you to the bottom," Billy said, reading his mind. "Jr.'s taking the top for now."

"Thanks," Jake said.

They helped him ease onto the mattress, adjusting pillows so he could sit semi-upright—the only position that didn't aggravate his shoulders.

"Need anything?" Billy asked.

"I'm good."

Billy hesitated at the door. "Jake... when you were in that barn, I thought—"

"I know," Jake said. "Me too."

"But you made it."

"We made it," Jake corrected. "You came for me. All of you."

Billy nodded, unable to speak. Then he left, closing the door softly.

Jake sat in the darkness of the frat house, listening to the familiar sounds of the ranch. Cattle in the distance. Wind through the trees. Voices downstairs as the family cleaned up.

He was home.

Broken, hurting, facing months of recovery. But home.

And Gerald Crawford, the man who'd paid to have him tortured, was going to prison for the rest of his life.

Jake closed his eyes, finally letting himself relax.

It was over.

But as sleep pulled him under, one thought lingered:

The Bensons didn't forget. And they didn't forgive.

Crawford might be going to prison, but Jake would make sure he remembered every single day why you didn't mess with this family.

The fight was over.