Chapter 1: The Discovery
The scream from the back bedroom cut through the morning air like a chainsaw through pine.
Jesse Benson froze at the kitchen table, his spoon halfway to his mouth, soggy cereal dripping back into the bowl. That wasn't anger. That was something worse. Something broken.
His father's voice came next, low and deadly: "Boys. Get in here. Now."
Josh, Marcus, and Tyler exchanged glances before dropping their coffee mugs and heading toward the back of the house. Jesse's stomach clenched. He knew that tone. Had heard it exactly twice in his eighteen years - when their neighbor's dog killed their chickens, and when their mother died.
"Jesse!" His father's voice boomed again. "You too, boy."
Jesse's legs felt like concrete as he walked down the narrow hallway. His father stood in front of his bedroom closet, the heavy steel safe door hanging open like a broken jaw. The old man's face was gray, his hands shaking as he stared into the empty space where neat stacks of hundreds had been organized by year.
"Fifty thousand dollars," his father whispered. "Fifty thousand dollars I've been saving for fifteen years."
Jesse's mouth went dry. He could feel his brothers' eyes on him, but he couldn't look away from his father's face. The man looked like he'd aged ten years in the past ten minutes.
"That was for your mother's headstone," his father continued, his voice getting stronger, more dangerous. "The good marble one. Not that cheap granite shit we had to put up." He turned to face his sons. "And for Tyler's wedding next spring. And Josh's surgery if his back goes out again."
The silence stretched until Marcus broke it. "Dad, maybe someone broke in—"
"No." His father's voice was final. "Safe wasn't forced. Lock wasn't picked. Someone knew the combination."
Jesse felt like he was drowning. His father's eyes moved from son to son, searching faces, looking for guilt. When those eyes landed on him, Jesse knew it was over.
"Empty your pockets," his father said quietly. "All of you."
Jesse's hands trembled as he pulled out his wallet, his keys, a crumpled receipt from the gas station. His father examined each item, then moved to Josh, then Marcus, then Tyler. Nothing.
"Now we search rooms," his father said. "Starting with the youngest."
Jesse's knees nearly buckled. In his room, under his mattress, was the glass pipe. The small baggie of crystal. The rolling papers. Evidence of where that money had gone, burned away in smoke and powder and the desperate need to feel nothing.
"No," Jesse whispered.
His father's head snapped up. "What did you say?"
"I said no." Jesse's voice was stronger now, but his whole body was shaking. "You can't just—"
"The hell I can't." His father stepped closer. "This is my house. My money. My rules."
Josh was already moving toward Jesse's room. The search took less than five minutes. When Josh emerged holding the pipe and the baggie, his face was pale with disgust.
"Jesus Christ, Jesse," Tyler breathed.
Their father stared at the paraphernalia in Josh's hands like it was a dead snake. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"You stole from your dead mother's memory to buy drugs."
It wasn't a question.
Jesse wanted to explain. Wanted to tell them about the depression, the emptiness, the way everything felt gray and meaningless. Wanted to say he was sorry, that he'd pay it back, that he'd never touch the stuff again.
Instead, he just stood there, shirtless and shaking, watching his family's faces change from confusion to understanding to something that looked like hate.
"Get him outside," his father said finally. "We're gonna settle this the old way."
Chapter 2: The Judgment
The morning sun felt like a spotlight as they dragged Jesse into the backyard. His father sat heavily on the porch steps, head in his hands, while his brothers formed a semicircle around him. The drug paraphernalia lay scattered on the wooden planks like evidence at a crime scene.
"Fifteen years," his father said without looking up. "Fifteen years of twelve-hour days, overtime, side jobs. Every extra dollar went in that safe." He finally raised his head, and Jesse saw something he'd never seen before - his father looked defeated. "Your mother made me promise. Said if anything happened to her, I'd take care of you boys proper."
Tyler stepped forward, his fists clenched. "You piece of shit. You know what Dad did last winter? Worked construction in the freezing cold with pneumonia because we needed the money. Wouldn't even go to the doctor."
"And you," Marcus added, his voice thick with disgust, "you've been sitting at our dinner table every night, eating our food, acting like family, while you planned this."
Jesse tried to speak, but Josh cut him off. "Don't. Don't you dare try to explain this away."
Their father stood up slowly, his joints creaking. "You watched me open that safe. Studied the combination. Planned this whole thing." He walked over to Jesse, his face inches away. "You looked me in the eye every morning and lied."
"Dad, I—"
The backhand came fast and hard, snapping Jesse's head to the side. Blood trickled from his split lip.
"You don't get to call me Dad anymore." His father's voice was dead calm. "Not after this."
Jesse's legs gave out. He dropped to his knees in the dirt, the weight of what he'd done finally hitting him. "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I was sick, I needed help, I—"
"Help?" Tyler laughed bitterly. "You needed help, so you stole from your family? From your dead mother's memory?"
His father walked back to the porch and picked up a coil of rope and three BB guns. "Shirt off."
Jesse's blood went cold. "What?"
"You heard me. Strip that shirt off. Hands behind your back."
Jesse's brothers moved closer, blocking any escape route. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. With shaking hands, he pulled off his shirt, the morning air hitting his bare chest like a slap.
Josh grabbed his wrists and yanked them behind his back. The rope was rough against his skin as they bound him tight, then forced his elbows together until his shoulders screamed. More rope went around his forearms, then his biceps, pulling everything so tight he could barely breathe.
His father handed out the BB guns. "You get fifteen minutes," he said, checking his watch. "Then we come after you. When we catch you - and we will catch you - you'll get what's coming to you."
Jesse stared at the weapons in his brothers' hands, his breathing becoming ragged. The BB guns wouldn't kill him, but they'd hurt like hell and mark his bare skin.
"Please, don't do this. I'll get clean, I'll pay it back, I swear—"
"You'll run," his father interrupted. "Because that's what you do. You run from everything hard in your life." He leaned down close. "But you can't run from this. We know these woods better than you know your own name."
Marcus stepped forward with a bandana. "This is for your own good, little brother. So you don't bite your tongue off when we catch you."
The gag went in rough, tied tight behind his head. Jesse's breathing became frantic through his nose as panic set in.
"Fourteen minutes," his father announced.
Jesse looked at each of his brothers' faces one last time. Tyler's jaw was set in stone, BB gun in hand. Marcus looked like he was already planning the hunt. Josh just shook his head in disgust, checking his weapon.
"Run," his father said quietly. "Because when those fourteen minutes are up, we're coming for you. And God help you when we find you."
Jesse stumbled toward the tree line, his bound arms throwing off his balance. Behind him, he could hear his father's voice: "Thirteen minutes, forty seconds."
The woods had never looked so dark.
Chapter 4: The Breaking Point
Three hours into the hunt, Jesse had stopped thinking about escape.
He stumbled through a grove of pine trees, his bare chest a roadmap of cuts and welts. BB marks dotted his shoulders and back like angry red coins, with more scattered across his bound arms where his brothers had found easy targets. His jeans were torn at the knees, and his boots were caked with mud and blood. The gag had worked loose from his constant heavy breathing, hanging around his neck like a noose.
His brothers had become ghosts in the woods, appearing just long enough to drive him forward with a volley of shots, then melting back into the trees. They weren't trying to end this quickly. They were breaking him down, piece by piece, hour by hour.
Jesse collapsed against a massive oak tree, his bound arms screaming in agony. The rope had cut deep grooves in his wrists, and his hands had gone completely numb hours ago. BB welts covered his forearms and biceps, throbbing with each heartbeat. His vision blurred with exhaustion and pain.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to the empty woods. "I'm so fucking sorry."
But the words felt hollow. He'd been saying sorry his whole life - sorry for being weak, sorry for being different, sorry for not being the son his father wanted. Sorry had never fixed anything.
A branch snapped somewhere behind him. Jesse forced himself to stand, swaying on unsteady legs. He looked down at his chest, at the network of scratches and cuts that covered his torso like war paint. Blood had dried in dark streaks down his ribs. His arms were a patchwork of rope burns and BB marks.
For the first time in months, maybe years, Jesse felt something other than the gray numbness that had consumed him. Looking at his torn flesh, he felt... alive. Present. Real.
The depression that had driven him to steal, to drugs, to betraying his family - it had made him feel like he was disappearing, like he didn't belong anywhere. But standing here, beaten and bloodied, he realized something that cut through the fog in his mind.
He wasn't running from his brothers anymore. He was running from himself.
All his life, he'd been carrying a secret that ate at him like acid. The real reason he'd felt different, broken, wrong. The reason he'd turned to drugs to numb the pain of existing in a body that felt like a lie.
"I AM FUCKIN GAY!" he screamed into the trees, his voice raw and desperate. "You hear me? I'M GAY!"
The words echoed through the woods, bouncing off the trees and coming back to him. Words he'd never said out loud, not even to himself in the mirror. Words that had been trapped in his chest for years, poisoning him from the inside.
He'd hated what the Benson name meant. The reputation for being tough, unforgiving, dangerous. He'd wanted to be different, softer, acceptable to the outside world. He'd been ashamed of his father's calloused hands, his brothers' quick fists, their old-fashioned way of handling problems.
But looking at his shredded chest and battered arms, Jesse understood something his depression had hidden from him. This pain, this blood, this hunt - it wasn't punishment. It was initiation. His brothers weren't trying to destroy him. They were trying to forge him into something stronger.
Into a Benson.
"Come on!" he shouted into the trees, his voice hoarse but defiant. "I'm done running!"
The woods fell silent. Even the birds seemed to hold their breath.
Jesse straightened his shoulders, ignoring the agony in his bound arms. For the first time in the hunt, he wasn't looking for a place to hide. He was looking for his family.
"You hear me?" he called out louder. "I'm done being a coward!"
Tyler emerged from behind a cluster of birch trees, BB gun lowered. There was something different in his expression - not the cold anger from before, but something that might have been respect.
"You sure about that?" Tyler asked.
Jesse nodded, blood still dripping from his split lip. "I want to be a Benson. A real one. Not the weak piece of shit I've been."
Marcus appeared from the opposite direction, then Josh. They formed a loose circle around their youngest brother, but their weapons weren't raised.
"You stole from us," Marcus said quietly. "From our dead mother's memory."
"I know." Jesse's voice was steady now, despite the pain. "And I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it right. But I'm done running from who I am."
Josh studied his brother's face, looking for the lie, the weakness, the boy who had betrayed them. But something had changed in Jesse's eyes. The fear was still there, but it was mixed with something harder now.
"You ready to face what comes next?" Josh asked.
Jesse nodded. "I'm ready."
The brothers exchanged glances, some silent communication passing between them. Finally, Tyler stepped forward.
"Then let's go home," he said. "Dad's waiting."
Jesse walked between his brothers, no longer a prisoner being herded to slaughter, but a man walking toward his judgment. The woods that had seemed so dark and threatening now felt like they were leading him exactly where he needed to go.
He was finally ready to face what he'd done. And what he was meant to become.
Chapter 6: The Final Reckoning
The backyard felt different when they returned. The morning sun had climbed higher, casting harsh shadows across the dirt where Jesse had knelt hours earlier. His father stood on the porch, a leather horsewhip coiled in his hands like a sleeping snake.
"Bring him here," the old man said quietly.
Jesse's brothers formed a tight circle around him, their faces grim. The hunt was over. The judgment had begun.
His father stepped down from the porch, the whip trailing behind him. "You know what I heard echoing through those woods, boy?"
Jesse's chest heaved with exhaustion, blood still seeping from the cuts and welts that covered his torso and arms. "Yeah."
"An abomination." His father's voice carried the weight of absolute certainty. "Leviticus 18:22. 'Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.' Romans 1:27. 'And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another.'"
Jesse stood straighter, meeting his father's eyes. "I know what I am."
"You know what you choose to be." His father uncoiled the whip, the leather making a soft whistling sound. "God don't make no mistakes, boy. But He gives man free will to choose sin."
"Dad—"
"DON'T." The word cracked like the whip itself. "You don't get to call me that. Not anymore. Not after what you've done. Not after what you are."
Tyler, Marcus, and Josh maintained their circle, their faces stone. Jesse could see the conflict in their eyes - the brother they'd grown up with was disappearing before them.
"You stole from this family," his father continued, his voice building like a sermon. "Exodus 20:15. 'Thou shalt not steal.' You brought drugs into our home - your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, and you defiled it. You lied to our faces, and the Lord says in Proverbs that lying lips are an abomination unto Him. And now you confess to the sin of Sodom itself." He raised the whip. "The Good Book says the wages of sin is death. But I ain't gonna kill you, boy. I'm gonna mark you. So every time you look in a mirror, you remember what you chose."
Jesse's bound arms ached, but he didn't flinch. "Do it."
The first lash caught him across the upper chest, the leather cutting a line of fire from shoulder to shoulder. Jesse's back arched, a scream caught behind his clenched teeth, but he stayed on his feet.
"For theft - breaking God's commandment," his father announced.
The second lash crossed the first, forming a bloody X across Jesse's chest. This time he couldn't hold back the cry.
"For drugs - defiling the temple of the Holy Spirit."
The third lash struck lower, across his ribs. Blood began to run freely down his stomach.
"For dishonoring your mother's memory."
The fourth lash caught him across the stomach, doubling him over. Jesse fell to his knees, gasping.
"For bringing shame to the Benson name."
The fifth lash struck his bound arms as he knelt. The leather wrapped around his forearms, tearing already raw flesh where the BB marks and rope burns had left him vulnerable.
"And for the sin of perversion - an abomination before the Lord."
Jesse knelt in the dirt, his chest and torso crisscrossed with bleeding welts, his bound arms now streaming fresh blood. His father coiled the whip again, breathing hard.
"Joshua, cut him loose."
Josh stepped forward with a knife, slicing through the ropes that had bound Jesse's arms for hours. Jesse's hands fell to his sides, numb and useless.
"You got ten minutes to get your things and get out." His father's voice was flat, final. "You ain't welcome in this house, on this land, or in this family. You take your truck and you drive, and you don't never come back."
Jesse struggled to his feet, his legs shaking. Blood dripped from his chest onto the dirt. His father turned his back. "You made your bed. Now lie in it."
Jesse stumbled toward the house, past his brothers who couldn't meet his eyes. In his room, he grabbed a duffel bag and threw in whatever he could with his numb hands. Clothes, his wallet, a few personal items. Everything else would stay behind.
When he came back outside, his truck keys were sitting on the porch rail. His father was gone. Only his brothers remained, watching him with expressions he couldn't read.
Jesse walked to his truck, his bare chest still bleeding, his arms raw from the ropes and whip. He threw the duffel bag in the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. The engine turned over on the second try.
He rolled down the window and looked at his brothers one last time. Tyler, Marcus, and Josh - men who had hunted him through the woods, who had watched him get whipped, who had said nothing when their father cast him out.
"FUCK YOU," Jesse said, his voice hoarse but clear.
He put the truck in drive and pulled away, leaving the only home he'd ever known in a cloud of dust and blood. In the rearview mirror, he could see his brothers still standing in the yard, getting smaller and smaller until they disappeared entirely.
Jesse drove half-naked down the dirt road, his chest on fire, his arms throbbing, his future uncertain. But for the first time in years, he felt free.
The Benson name was behind him now. Whatever came next, it would be his choice.
