Abandoned Sons
Chapter 1: Bound
The rope bit deep into Josh's wrists as they yanked his arms behind his back. Twenty years old, all muscle and defiance, but the camo shirt couldn't hide how his hands shook as they wrapped the coarse hemp around and around. First the wrists, pulled tight until the fibers cut into skin. Then higher—his elbows dragged together until his shoulder blades nearly touched, every strand methodically wrapped and cinched.
"Fuck you," he snarled through gritted teeth, but his voice cracked when they started on his nineteen-year-old brother.
Marcus tried to pull away, his smaller frame twisting, but they held him fast. The same process—wrists, then elbows, the rope creating a web that transformed arms into useless appendages. Both brothers' feet were bound at the ankles, then knees.
The cloth gags came next. Rough cotton shoved between teeth, tied behind heads.
"Your daddy's gonna pay good money for you boys," one captor said, checking his phone. "Real good money."
The chloroform-soaked rag descended over Josh's face as he tried to shake his head. The last thing he saw was Marcus's wide eyes above his own gag, then everything went black.
Chapter 2: The Call
Marcus Holloway Sr. answered on the third ring, his voice clipped and professional even at 2 AM.
"We have your sons."
A pause. "I don't have any sons."
"Josh and Marcus Jr. Twenty and nineteen. We know where you live, old man. We know how much you're worth."
"I disowned those boys two years ago. They made their choices."
The kidnapper's confidence faltered. "Don't play games. We'll send proof."
Three hours later, the video arrived. Both boys suspended from a beam, arms pulled high behind them, heads hanging forward. Josh's camo shirt was torn open, revealing welts across his hairy chest where they'd worked him over. Marcus Jr.'s face was swollen, one eye nearly shut, his own shirt ripped to show the angry red marks covering his torso.
"Dad," Josh's voice came out hoarse through the video, reading from a script. "They want two million. They said... they said you'd pay."
The phone rang again.
"You see your boys? Next video won't be so pretty."
Marcus Sr.'s voice was ice. "I told you. I don't have sons. Do whatever you want with them."
The line went dead.
Chapter 3: Escalation
"He hung up," Tommy said, staring at his phone. "The old bastard actually hung up."
"Call him back," Dave ordered, but his voice had lost its earlier confidence.
Three more calls. Three more hang-ups.
"Maybe he needs more convincing," suggested Rick, cracking his knuckles.
They returned to the basement where the brothers hung facing each other, consciousness drifting in and out. The wooden beam creaked with each slight movement.
"Your daddy doesn't seem to care much about you boys," Tommy said, grabbing Josh's hair and yanking his head up. "Maybe we need to show him how serious we are."
The beating lasted an hour. Fists to ribs, belt across chests, careful not to damage anything vital—they still believed they had merchandise to protect.
Another video. More calls. More hang-ups.
"Son of a bitch really meant it," Dave said after the fifth rejection. "He really doesn't want them back."
Chapter 4: Worthless
By day three, the professional restraint was gone. The kidnappers had invested time, effort, a hideout—and their captives were worthless.
"This is your fault," Rick screamed at Marcus Jr., landing a punch that split his lip. "Your piece of shit father!"
But it was more than anger now. It was humiliation. They'd been made fools by an old man who valued money more than blood. Every strike was payback for their wounded pride.
Josh and Marcus could only watch each other suffer, suspended face-to-face, close enough to see every wince, every tear, every moment their bodies betrayed their will to stay strong.
Their eyes met constantly—the only communication left to them. Josh's gaze saying I'm sorry and stay strong and I love you. Marcus responding with the same desperate mix of apology and determination.
They were all each other had left.
Chapter 5: Abandoned
"We're done," Dave announced on day four. "Cut our losses and get out."
"What about them?"
"What about them? Nobody's coming. Nobody cares. Leave them."
The brothers heard the footsteps moving away, car doors slamming, engines starting. Then silence.
They hung there in the empty basement, facing each other, both thinking the same thing: Now what?
Josh tested his weight against the beam. It creaked. He looked at Marcus, raised his eyebrows above the gag. Marcus nodded.
Together, they began to swing.
Chapter 6: The Fall
The beam splintered on the fourth synchronized swing. Twenty years of Josh's solid weight plus Marcus's desperate momentum—wood that was never meant to hold two people finally gave way.
They crashed to the concrete floor in a tangle of rope and pain, the broken beam clattering beside them. Josh's shoulder took the worst of it, Marcus landing partially on top of him.
For a moment, they just lay there, breathing hard through their gags, tasting their own blood. But their arms were still bound behind them, elbows still tied together, feet still roped.
The real work was just beginning.
Hour One
Josh rolled onto his side, trying to catch Marcus's eye. His brother was facing away, hands purple from lack of circulation. Marcus's fingers were swollen, barely able to twitch.
Josh managed to work his way around until they were back-to-back. He could feel Marcus's bound hands against his own. Their fingers were too numb to grip properly, but Josh tried anyway, fumbling blindly at the knots that held his brother's wrists.
Nothing. The rope was too tight, his hands too dead.
Hour Two
They tried using the broken beam. Josh scooted on his belly until he could press his bound wrists against the splintered wood, trying to fray the rope. The angle was wrong—he could barely make contact, and when he did, it was his skin that scraped away, not the rope.
Marcus tried the same, rolling awkwardly across the floor. A splinter drove deep into his forearm. He bit down on his gag, tears streaming, but kept trying.
The rope held firm.
Hour Three
Desperate now, they attempted to work on each other's bonds with their teeth. Josh managed to get close enough to Marcus's wrists to bite at the rope through his gag, but the cloth in his mouth made it impossible to get any real grip.
Marcus tried the same, both brothers contorting their bodies, necks straining until the muscles screamed. They could taste the hemp fibers through the cotton gags, but couldn't get enough pressure to loosen anything.
Their shoulders were on fire from the awkward positions.
Hour Four
Josh discovered that if he pressed his back against the concrete wall and pushed with his legs, he could create slight slack in the elbow ropes. Not enough to slip free, but enough for Marcus to work at the knots with his bound hands.
Marcus's fingers were clumsy, circulation still poor, but he picked at the hemp fibers one by one. His nails were already torn and bleeding, but he kept going.
A single strand came loose. Then another.
Progress. Finally, actual progress.
Hour Five
The elbow rope on Josh's right arm was definitely looser now. He could feel it shifting when he moved. Marcus kept working, ignoring the blood seeping from his fingertips.
"Mmph," Josh encouraged through his gag. Keep going.
Marcus nodded, sweat dripping onto his brother's back as he worked. Another strand. Another.
Josh tested the rope. Still tight, but there was give now. Real give.
Hour Six
The breakthrough came when Josh managed to slip his right elbow partially free. Not completely—the rope still held—but enough that he could bend his arm slightly.
This new angle let him reach Marcus's wrist bonds. His hands were still numb, but he could feel the knots now, could work at them with purpose.
They were back-to-back on the floor, both bleeding, both exhausted, but finally making real progress.
Marcus got Josh's elbow rope completely loose. Josh worked Marcus's right wrist free.
Once Marcus had one hand loose, everything changed. He pulled his gag out first, gasping.
"Almost there," he whispered, his voice raw. "Almost fucking there."
They were going to make it.
And they were going to do it together.
Chapter 7: Free
Twenty minutes later, the last rope fell away from Marcus's ankles. They sat on the concrete floor, surrounded by coils of hemp stained with their blood, neither able to stand yet.
"Jesus Christ," Marcus whispered, flexing his fingers, wincing as circulation returned. "I can't feel my hands."
Josh was examining the deep rope burns around his wrists, purple bruises already forming. "We did it, though. We fucking did it."
They looked at each other in the dim basement light—faces swollen, shirts torn, bodies marked with days of abuse. But they were free.
"I thought..." Marcus started, then stopped. His voice cracked. "When Dad hung up that first time, I thought we were dead."
Josh moved closer, their shoulders touching. "He meant what he said two years ago. We're really on our own."
"We always were," Marcus said quietly. "Even before this. It was always just us."
Josh reached over, his hand finding his brother's. Their fingers interlaced, both sets still trembling from trauma and exhaustion.
"When you were working on my ropes," Josh said, "and I could feel you bleeding on my back... I kept thinking about how you didn't give up. Even when your fingers were raw."
"You would have done the same."
"I know. That's what I mean." Josh squeezed his brother's hand. "We saved each other. Not him. Not anyone else. Us."
Marcus leaned against Josh's shoulder. "I was so scared I was going to watch you die. Hanging there, seeing them beat you, and I couldn't do anything."
"But we didn't die. And now we're free."
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of survival settling over them.
"Where do we go now?" Marcus asked.
Josh looked around the empty basement, then back at his brother. "Anywhere. Everywhere. We've got nothing to lose anymore, right? No family to disappoint. No expectations to fail."
"Just us."
"Just us." Josh helped Marcus to his feet, both of them unsteady. "And that's enough. That's more than enough."
Marcus smiled—the first real smile in days. "Yeah. It is."
They walked toward the basement stairs together, leaving the ropes behind. At the top, sunlight streamed through a dirty window.
"Ready?" Josh asked.
Marcus nodded. "With you? Always."
They opened the door and stepped into their new life—battered, broke, but unbroken. They had each other. They had survived. And for the first time in years, that felt like everything.
