The Drones

 

Chapter 1: The Capture

Jake cursed under his breath as he parked his pickup truck near the broken fence line. Another section of wire down, probably from the storm two nights ago. He grabbed his tools from the truck bed and walked toward the damaged area, his boots crunching on the dry Texas ground.

The consortium radio crackled on his belt. "Jake, you copy?" Billy's voice came through.

"Yeah, I'm here. Found the break on the north pasture. Gonna be about an hour fixing this mess."

"Roger that. Pops wants everyone back by sunset."

Jake clipped the radio back and started examining the fence. The brutal afternoon heat was already making him sweat, so he pulled off his shirt and tossed it in the truck bed. Better to work shirtless than pass out from heat stroke. He'd been out here alone for maybe twenty minutes when he heard the mule quad approaching from behind.

Strange. Nobody else was supposed to be in this sector today.

He turned around just as two men jumped from the vehicle. Before Jake could react, something hard cracked against the back of his head. The world spun, his knees buckled, and everything went black.

---

When consciousness slowly returned, Jake's head pounded and his vision blurred. He tried to move but couldn't - his hands were tied behind his back, his ankles bound tight. Panic shot through him as he realized he was being carried over someone's shoulder like a sack of feed, his bare chest bouncing with each step.

"Good. You have him tied up, blindfolded and gagged. Dump him into the back of the mule quad, and let's get the fuck out of here."

The voice was rough, older. Jake felt himself being hefted up and thrown into the back of their vehicle, his bare skin scraping against the metal bed.

"Thanks, Dad. Those knots ain't coming loose anytime soon," came a younger voice, pride evident in the tone.

The mule quad roared to life and Jake bounced helplessly in the back as they sped away from his abandoned truck. Through his gag, Jake tried to curse, but only muffled sounds escaped as they carried him toward an unknown fate.

Chapter 2: Red Alert

Jake fought against the ropes with everything he had, muscles straining as he tried to work his wrists free. The bastards had trussed him up good - each bicep tied and frapped tight to a sturdy mesquite branch that ran behind his back, his bound wrists pushed up high and lashed to the same branch. The position forced his biceps to bulge and strain against the ropes, making them look even more swollen and defined. His ankles were tied tight and connected back to his wrists in a brutal hogtie.

"Let me the fuck out of this!" Jake snarled through gritted teeth, thrashing against the bindings. Every movement sent pain shooting through his shoulders and made the ropes dig deeper into his skin, his biceps flexing helplessly against their bonds.

The older kidnapper laughed. "Keep fighting, boy. Makes for better pictures."

The camera flash went off again.

---

Miles away at the Benson ranch house, Billy was pacing the front porch when his radio crackled.

"Billy, you there?" It was Ray's voice, tense.

"Yeah, I'm here. Jake back yet?"

"No, and we got a problem. Check your phone."

Billy pulled out his cell and saw the message notification. When he opened it, his blood went cold. The photo showed Jake - shirtless, bound, and hogtied to a branch, his face twisted in rage and pain.

Billy's hands shook as he read the text: "We have your boy. $500,000 or he stays tied up permanent."

Billy Jr. was beside him in seconds. "What is it?"

Billy showed him the photo. Without hesitation, Billy Jr. slammed his palm down on the red emergency button of his radio.

The mechanical voice echoed across all consortium radios: "EMERGENCY ALERT. EMERGENCY ALERT. ALL CONSORTIUM MEMBERS REPORT TO BENSON RANCH HOUSE IMMEDIATELY."

Billy Jr. was already dialing his phone. "Isaiah, drop everything and get your family over here now. Bring your dad and grandfather. Someone kidnapped Jake."

"¡Dios mío! We'll be there in ten minutes, hermano."

Chapter 3: The Gathering Storm

Within fifteen minutes, the Benson ranch house looked like a military command center. Wade Nelson's sheriff vehicle sat next to Wilson and Ryan's deputy cruisers. The Beaumont family truck was parked beside Pops' old Ford. And pulling up the drive came the Rodriguez family convoy - Samuel's pickup followed by Dylan's jeep with Tata Francisco riding shotgun.

Billy Jr. met Isaiah at the door. "Man, am I glad to see you."

"What do we know?" Isaiah asked, shouldering his laptop bag.

"They want half a million. Got Jake tied up somewhere like a damn rodeo steer."

Inside, the living room had transformed into a war room. Wade Nelson stood over a map spread across the coffee table while Pops and Tata Francisco flanked him, both men's faces grim. Samuel Rodriguez was checking his rifle, the weapon that had earned him his reputation as the county's finest marksman.

"Pinche cabrones," Tata Francisco muttered, lighting up a cigar despite Sarah Benson's disapproving look. "Nobody touches our boys."

Pops nodded, pouring himself and Francisco each three fingers of bourbon. "Damn right. We're bringing Jake home."

Wade looked up from the map. "We just got four heat-sensitive drones from that state grant - Wilson and Ryan picked them up last week but we haven't had a chance to figure out how to use the damn things."

Billy Jr. and Isaiah exchanged glances. "We can set up the network," Billy Jr. said. "Link them all to multiple iPads so everyone gets a screen showing all four drone feeds."

"You boys can do that?" Wade asked.

"Give us thirty minutes," Isaiah replied, already pulling out cables and equipment. "Four boxes on each iPad - one for each drone. Real-time coverage."

Billy Jr. was already pulling up the ranch security footage on his laptop. "Got it!" he shouted. "Here's their mule quad." He captured a screenshot of the vehicle and started pushing it to the iPads. "This is what we're looking for."

Within minutes, every iPad in the room displayed the same image of the kidnappers' quad.

Then Billy Jr. switched to the network view. "Okay, here we go." Four boxes appeared on each screen, labeled Drone 1, 2, 3, and 4.

"Well, I'll be damned," Pops muttered, staring at his iPad in amazement. "Look at that, Francisco."

Tata Francisco adjusted his glasses. "¡Increíble! Wish we had these in Nam, eh Pops?"

"Hell yes," Pops replied. "This beats the shit out of field reconnaissance."

Dylan stepped forward, putting his hand on Billy's shoulder. "Billy, you know I played football with half the guys in this county. If anybody's seen that quad or knows who owns it, I can find out."

Samuel looked up from checking his rifle. "Boys, you just gave us eyes in the sky. Now let's go find Jake."

Chapter 4: The Hunt

The convoy roared out of the ranch in a cloud of dust. Wade Nelson's sheriff truck led the way with Samuel Rodriguez riding shotgun, his scoped rifle ready. Behind them, Tom Benson's pickup carried Pops and Tata Francisco in the back seat, the two grandfathers passing a bottle of bourbon between them while Billy rode up front.

"Easy on that bottle, you old bastards," Billy called back. "We're gonna need you sober for this."

"Fuck that," Pops growled, taking another swig. "My grandson's tied up somewhere by those pinche cabrones. I need liquid courage."

The deputy cruiser brought up the rear with Wilson and Ryan flying one of the drones manually while Billy Jr. and Isaiah rode in the back seat, coordinating the other three drones on their laptops and giving GPS directions over the radio.

"Convoy, this is Command," Billy Jr.'s voice crackled through everyone's radios. "Target is two clicks northeast, bearing 045. They're stationary near the tree line."

"Copy that, Command," Wade responded. "Moving to intercept."

Back at the ranch house, the women had gathered around the radio - Sarah Benson, Mary Nelson, Rebecca (Billy Jr.'s mother), Caroline Beaumont, Anna (Billy Jr.'s girlfriend), Edna (Billy's girlfriend), and Rosa Rodriguez (Samuel's wife) who had arrived just as the convoy disappeared in a cloud of dust. Robert Beaumont paced behind them, cursing that he'd missed the action.

"I should be out there with them," Robert muttered.

"They have enough firepower," Sarah said, though her voice was tight with worry.

Suddenly Isaiah's voice burst through: "They see us! The drone spooked them - they're running!"

Through his scope, Samuel could see the mule quad speeding away from the trees, two figures bouncing on it as it hit rough terrain.

"Samuel, you got a shot?" Wade asked.

"Moving target, but yeah." Samuel steadied his rifle against the truck window. "Slowing down... now!"

CRACK! CRACK!

Both kidnappers screamed as the mule quad careened wildly before slamming into a mesquite tree.

Before Wade could even stop the truck, Pops and Tata Francisco were out and running, bourbon forgotten. The two grandfathers reached the wreckage first, each grabbing a kidnapper by the throat.

"Where the FUCK is my grandson?!" Pops roared, his hands around the older kidnapper's neck.

"¿Dónde está el muchacho, cabrón?!" Tata Francisco demanded, shaking the younger one.

"Sheriff! Sheriff!" the older kidnapper gasped. "I got my rights! This is police brutality!"

"You ain't got shit!" Pops snarled, tightening his grip. "You kidnapped my boy!"

The younger kidnapper tried to squirm away from Tata Francisco. "You can't do this! We need medical attention!"

"¡Médico, mis huevos!" Tata Francisco spat. "You want medical? Tell us where Jake is!"

"The... the old Crawford place!" the older kidnapper choked out. "Three miles west! He's hogtied to a branch behind the barn!"

"What condition is he in?" Pops demanded.

"He's... he's alive! Just tied up real good! We didn't hurt him bad!"

Pops released him with a shove that sent the man sprawling. "If you're lying, or if there's one scratch on that boy that didn't need to be there, I'll let Francisco here show you what we learned in Vietnam about interrogation."

Tata Francisco cracked his knuckles. "Sí, and I still remember, cabrón."

Chapter 4: The Hunt

The convoy roared out of the ranch in a cloud of dust. Wade Nelson's sheriff truck led the way with Samuel Rodriguez riding shotgun, his scoped rifle ready. Behind them, Tom Benson's pickup carried Pops and Tata Francisco in the back seat, the two grandfathers passing a bottle of bourbon between them while Billy rode up front.

"Easy on that bottle, you old bastards," Billy called back. "We're gonna need you sober for this."

"Fuck that," Pops growled, taking another swig. "My grandson's tied up somewhere by those pinche cabrones. I need liquid courage."

The deputy cruiser brought up the rear with Wilson and Ryan flying one of the drones manually while Billy Jr. and Isaiah rode in the back seat, coordinating the other three drones on their laptops and giving GPS directions over the radio.

"Convoy, this is Command," Billy Jr.'s voice crackled through everyone's radios. "Target is two clicks northeast, bearing 045. They're stationary near the tree line."

"Copy that, Command," Wade responded. "Moving to intercept."

Back at the ranch house, the women had gathered around the radio - Sarah Benson, Mary Nelson, Rebecca (Billy Jr.'s mother), Caroline Beaumont, Anna (Billy Jr.'s girlfriend), Edna (Billy's girlfriend), and Rosa Rodriguez (Samuel's wife) who had arrived just as the convoy disappeared in a cloud of dust. Robert Beaumont paced behind them, cursing that he'd missed the action.

"I should be out there with them," Robert muttered.

"They have enough firepower," Sarah said, though her voice was tight with worry.

Suddenly Isaiah's voice burst through: "They see us! The drone spooked them - they're running!"

Through his scope, Samuel could see the mule quad speeding away from the trees, two figures bouncing on it as it hit rough terrain.

"Samuel, you got a shot?" Wade asked.

"Moving target, but yeah." Samuel steadied his rifle against the truck window. "Slowing down... now!"

CRACK! CRACK!

Both kidnappers screamed as the mule quad careened wildly before slamming into a mesquite tree.

Before Wade could even stop the truck, Pops and Tata Francisco were out and running, bourbon forgotten. The two grandfathers reached the wreckage first, each grabbing a kidnapper by the throat.

"Where the FUCK is my grandson?!" Pops roared, his hands around the older kidnapper's neck.

"¿Dónde está el muchacho, cabrón?!" Tata Francisco demanded, shaking the younger one.

"Sheriff! Sheriff!" the older kidnapper gasped. "I got my rights! This is police brutality!"

"You ain't got shit!" Pops snarled, tightening his grip. "You kidnapped my boy!"

The younger kidnapper tried to squirm away from Tata Francisco. "You can't do this! We need medical attention!"

"¡Médico, mis huevos!" Tata Francisco spat. "You want medical? Tell us where Jake is!"

"The... the old Crawford place!" the older kidnapper choked out. "Right over there! He's hogtied to a branch behind the barn!"

Billy Jr. looked up from his laptop and saw the old cabin structure just a hundred yards through the trees. "I can see it!" he shouted, already jumping out of the deputy cruiser.

Billy and Celeb were right behind him, the three young men sprinting through the brush faster than anyone had ever seen them move.

"Wait for backup!" Wade yelled, but they were already gone.

Behind them, Wilson and Ryan worked to apply first aid to the bleeding kidnappers while the other adults climbed back into their vehicles.

Billy Jr. reached the cabin first, his heart pounding as he heard muffled sounds from behind the building. The three boys rounded the corner and saw Jake - shirtless, hogtied to a mesquite branch, his face red with rage and exhaustion.

Without hesitation, Billy Jr. kicked in the cabin door while Billy and Celeb rushed to cut Jake free.

"About fucking time!" Jake gasped as the ropes fell away.

Chapter 5: Coming Home

When the convoy of trucks pulled up to the old Crawford cabin, they found Jake sitting on the ground still pulling rope fibers off his wrists while Billy Jr., Billy, and Celeb stood over him with huge grins.

"Look at that," Billy Jr. taunted, "couldn't even get out of a little rope."

"What are you, a wimp?" Billy added with a smirk. "Did you cry like a baby?"

"Shut the fuck up," Jake growled, wincing as he worked circulation back into his arms. "You try being tied up for hours by those bastards."

Celeb laughed. "Man, we've all been tied up in our escape games. You're supposed to be the tough one."

"Those weren't the same knots, you assholes!"

The sound of Pops' voice cut through their banter like thunder: "JAKE!"

The old man came barreling around the cabin faster than anyone thought possible, Tata Francisco right behind him. The sight of his grandson alive and cursing stopped Pops in his tracks.

"Jesus Christ, boy, you scared the shit out of us," Pops breathed, his voice shaking.

Tom Benson was next, immediately wrapping Jake in a bear hug. "Thank God you're okay, son."

Jake leaned into his father's embrace, finally letting his guard down. "I'm alright, Dad. Just sore as hell."

"We need to get you to the hospital," Tom said, examining the rope burns on Jake's wrists and biceps.

"No, Dad," Billy interrupted. "Rebecca can patch him up back home. You know how she is with her medieval medical potions. She'll have him fixed up better than any ER doc."

Jake managed a weak grin. "Yeah, and I'm not explaining this shit to some hospital staff."

Pops clapped a weathered hand on Jake's shoulder. "Come on, boys. Let's go home."

Chapter 6: The Bet

The following evening, the Benson ranch house looked like a festival ground. Tables groaned under covered dishes of Rosa Rodriguez's enchiladas and tamales, while Tom Benson manned the massive barbecue pit, filling the air with smoke and the smell of brisket. Sarah and Mary Nelson had prepared enough side dishes to feed an army.

"¡Ay, Jake!" Rebecca called out, approaching with her infamous medical kit. "One more time, mijo. These rope burns need another treatment."

Jake groaned as she unwrapped his arms. "Christ, Rebecca, that shit burns worse than the ropes did."

"Medieval antiseptics," Billy Jr. laughed, cracking open a beer. "That's what we call them."

Even Billy Jr. and Isaiah had been allowed one beer each, though everyone knew they had a stash hidden somewhere in the frat house room they all shared.

The mood was celebratory, but as the beer flowed and the sun set, the inevitable taunting began.

"So Jake," Celeb said with a grin, "still can't believe you couldn't get out of those ropes."

"Yeah," Billy added, "and here we thought you were the tough one."

Jake's face reddened. "You sons of bitches don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure we do," Billy Jr. chimed in. "We've all been tied up in our games. You just couldn't handle it."

Jake stood up abruptly, his temper flaring. "Go ahead, you mother fuckers! Tie me up and I'll show you bastards how I can escape!"

Pops, already well into his bourbon, perked up. "Now that sounds interesting. Fifty bucks says you can't get out."

"I'll take that action," Samuel Rodriguez called out, raising his beer.

"Count me in," Wade Nelson added.

Within minutes, Jake found himself hogtied in the dirt behind the house, rope around his wrists, ankles, and connecting them together in the familiar position. The men stood around in a circle, drinks in hand, placing side bets and checking their watches.

"Forty-five minutes and counting," Pops announced. "Come on, boy, show us what you got."

Jake thrashed and twisted, his face growing redder as the minutes ticked by and the laughter grew louder. The betting escalated as it became clear he wasn't getting free anytime soon.

Finally, sweating and exhausted, Jake gasped out the words he'd hoped never to say: "Uncle! Uncle! I give up!"

The men erupted in cheers and laughter as they collected their winnings. Jake lay in the dirt, knowing he was about to be very, very broke.

"Don't worry, son," Pops grinned, counting his money. "There's always tomorrow night for a rematch."

Jake just groaned.

Jr's New Camera

 

Chapter 1: The Photo Shoot

It was the 14th pose Billy Jr. was forcing on his Uncle Billy, Uncle Jake, and their new friend Celab.

"You going to make this the last one here?" Billy said, squinting in the harsh Texas sun.

"Should not have given you that camera for your birthday," his annoyed Uncle Jake responded, shifting his weight from one boot to the other.

"Leave Jr. alone. He knows handsome cowboys!" Celab grinned, striking another exaggerated pose.

CLICK.

"Finally," Jr. said, lowering the camera with satisfaction. The three young men looked toward him expectantly.

"Not bad," Celab said, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Worth the wait."

"Print it and we'll put it up in the 'frat house,'" Jake added, already heading toward the ranch house.

Billy Jr. beamed with pride, clutching his birthday gift - the camera that had already become his most prized possession. At fourteen, with his muscular arms filling out from ranch work and his confidence matching any of the older boys, he felt like he belonged with this crew. They treated him as an equal, paid him the same wages, and now lived in the same bunkhouse setup.

Little could they know that by tomorrow, Billy, Jake, and Celab's arms and bare chests would be bound up with ropes and tape gags would be over their mouths!

Chapter 2: The Consortium

The Benson Ranch had been in the family for four generations, started by Pops' great-grandfather and now sprawling across thousands of acres of prime Texas cattle country. What made it special wasn't just the land—it was the people who worked it.

Tom and Sarah Benson ran the day-to-day operations alongside Tom's father, Pops, a Vietnam vet who'd never quite shaken the war but channeled his intensity into building the best ranch in Kings County. Their four sons each had their role: Josh at 31 was the general manager, married to Rebecca Nelson and father to Billy Jr. Ray, 27, handled the business side with a sharp eye for numbers. And then there were the "twins"—Jake, 20, and Billy, 19, who despite being a year apart might as well have been born on the same day for how inseparable they were.

Next door, the Nelson ranch complemented the Bensons perfectly. Sheriff Wade Nelson and his wife Mary had raised their own crew: Rebecca, now married into the Bensons, Edna at 19 who was sweet on Billy, and the two deputy sons, Wilson and Ryan, who helped keep the peace in Kings County when they weren't working cattle.

The newest addition to their tight-knit community was the Beaumont family. Robert and Caroline had moved in six months ago with their two kids, and it was like they'd always belonged. Celab, 19, had immediately clicked with Billy and Jake, and now the three were practically joined at the hip. Their daughter Annabelle—Anna to her friends—was 13 and had given Billy Jr. his first taste of butterflies in his stomach.

Billy Jr. burst through the kitchen door, still buzzing with excitement from the photo session. "Pops! Grandma! Mom! You gotta see this!"

The ranch house kitchen was the heart of the operation, where morning coffee happened at 5 AM and evening planning sessions ran until the stars came out. Today it was full of family—Pops nursing his afternoon beer, Tom and Sarah going over feed schedules, Rebecca sorting through mail, and Josh and Ray huddled over laptop computers that tracked everything from cattle prices to GPS locations of every vehicle on the ranch.

"What's got you all fired up, boy?" Pops growled, but his eyes were twinkling. Billy Jr. had always been his favorite, though he'd never admit it.

"The photo turned out perfect! Look at this!" Billy Jr. rushed to the ranch office computer in the corner and started printing. The machine hummed to life, producing a glossy 8x10 of the three young men in their cowboy poses.

"Not bad," Josh said, looking over his son's shoulder. "Your uncles clean up nice when they're not covered in mud."

"I'm putting it up in the frat house!" Billy Jr. announced, already heading for the door.

"Hold on there, hotshot," Ray called after him. "You're on payroll same as everyone else, and that barn won't clean itself. Get your ass out there and earn that equal pay you're so proud of."

Billy Jr. grinned and saluted mockingly. At 14, he was already pulling his weight with the best of them—shooting, hunting, working cattle, and arm-wrestling his uncles to a draw more often than not. The summer off from school meant full-time ranch work and full-time pay, something that made him stand taller than most boys his age.

"Yes, sir, boss man," he said to Ray, then winked at his grandmother. "But first, the frat house gets its new decoration."

As he bounded out the door, Pops shook his head with a chuckle. "That boy's gonna be trouble."

"He already is," Rebecca said fondly, watching through the window as her son tacked the photo to the wall of what had once been Billy and Jake's room but now housed four bunks—theirs, Celab's, and Billy Jr.'s own.

None of them could have imagined that by tomorrow, three of those bunks would be empty.

Chapter 3: Irrigation and Ambush

The irrigation project was five miles out on the south pasture—a major undertaking that would bring water to previously dry grazing land. Billy, Jake, and Celab loaded the truck with shovels, a portable compressor, and enough Gatorade to last the day. The Texas sun was already brutal at 9 AM, promising to be a scorcher.

"Should've brought Jr.'s camera," Jake joked, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Document us doing actual work for once."

"Don't give him ideas," Billy laughed. "Kid's already got enough photos to blackmail us for life."

Celab grinned as he shouldered a shovel. "At least he pays us back by actually working. Most 14-year-olds would be inside playing video games."

The work was backbreaking—digging trenches in the hard-packed earth, laying pipe, checking grades with the surveying equipment. They'd stripped off their shirts in the heat, their muscular torsos gleaming with sweat as they worked through the afternoon.

By 2:30, they were taking a water break when they heard the rumble of an engine. A single pickup truck was approaching across the pasture, kicking up a dust cloud.

"That's weird," Billy said, shading his eyes. "Nobody should be out here."

The truck pulled up fast and two men jumped out—hard-faced, armed with AK-47s that they held with practiced ease. The boys barely had time to register the weapons before they were being shouted at.

"On the ground! Face down! Now!"

Jake's hothead instincts flared. "Like hell! You know whose land—"

The barrel of an AK swung toward his chest. "Shut the fuck up and get down or I'll blow your bodies to bits!"

With assault rifles trained on them, the three young men had no choice but to drop to their knees in the dirt, hands raised.

"Here's what's gonna happen," the leader snarled, while his partner produced three beer bottles from a cooler. "You're gonna drink these. All of them. Nice and slow."

"We're not drinking anything from you," Billy said through gritted teeth.

The AK's muzzle pressed against Celab's temple. "Your friend's brains get splattered all over this field if you don't. Your choice, cowboy."

One by one, with rifles pointed at their heads, they were forced to drain the bitter-tasting beer. The drugs hit fast—within minutes, their vision blurred and their limbs grew heavy.

"What did you..." Jake slurred, trying to stand but collapsing.

"Just a little something to keep you quiet," the leader laughed as Billy and Celab also crumpled to the ground.

The kidnappers dragged the unconscious, shirtless young men to their own trailer—the one they'd driven out for hauling equipment. Inside, three sturdy chairs had been positioned and waiting.

Their phones and radios were crushed under boot heels and scattered in the dirt before the trailer pulled away, leaving only tire tracks and the abandoned irrigation equipment as evidence of what had happened.

---

Meanwhile, back at the ranch house, Billy Jr. was getting an earful from Ray about the state of the barn.

"I don't care if you're the second coming of Annie Leibovitz with that camera," Ray said, hands on his hips. "This place looks like a tornado hit it. Feed scattered everywhere, tools all over the floor—this is not how we run things."

"Sorry, boss," Billy Jr. said, genuinely contrite. He'd been so excited about the photo that he'd rushed through his morning chores. "I'll get it sorted."

"See that you do. And when you're done, the water troughs in the north pasture need cleaning. Being family doesn't mean you get to slash off."

Billy Jr. nodded and got to work, unaware that five miles away, his three roommates were being bound to chairs in the back of a moving trailer.

The afternoon wore on. Billy Jr. cleaned the barn spotless, then tackled the water troughs with the same thoroughness his uncles had taught him. It wasn't until evening chores that anyone realized Billy, Jake, and Celab hadn't returned from the irrigation site.

At first, no one was worried. Equipment breakdowns happened. Trucks got stuck. But as the sun began to set and their radios remained silent, a knot of anxiety began forming in everyone's stomach.

"They should've been back by now," Josh said, trying to reach them on the radio for the tenth time.

"Maybe the equipment broke down," Rebecca suggested, but her voice was tight with worry.

Billy Jr. looked up from his laptop where he'd been checking the GPS tracking system he and Pops had installed on every ranch vehicle. What he saw made his blood run cold.

"Dad," he said quietly. "You need to see this."

The GPS showed their truck moving—but not toward home. It had left the irrigation site at 2:47 PM and was traveling east on back roads, now over fifty miles away and still moving.

"They're not answering the radio, but their truck keeps moving," Billy Jr. said, his voice tight with worry.

---

Inside the bouncing trailer, Billy, Jake, and Celab were slowly regaining consciousness. Each found himself bound bare-chested to a sturdy wooden chair, their wrists crossed and tied behind the chair back, upper arms lashed tight to their sides. Ropes formed an "X" across their sweating chests and stomachs, lashing their torsos securely to the chairs. Their thighs were tied over their jeans to the seats, and their ankles were pulled back and bound to the rear chair legs, leaving them completely immobilized.

Knotted bandannas filled their mouths, secured with layers of duct tape wrapped around their heads. Every bump and pothole sent them lurching against their bonds, sweat pouring down their faces and torsos in the stifling heat of the enclosed trailer.

Jake's eyes were blazing with fury above his gag, but he was as helpless as the others. All three could do was endure the relentless bouncing and try to figure out where they were being taken.

---

That's when Josh's phone rang, and everything changed.

Chapter 4: War Room

Josh's phone buzzed with an incoming text. The thumbnail image made his stomach drop—three figures bound to chairs. He opened it with shaking hands.

Ray and Billy Jr. both leaned in to look at the same time. The photo was crystal clear: Billy, Jake, and Celab, shirtless and tied to chairs exactly as they feared. Their faces were streaked with sweat, bandannas and duct tape silencing them, their eyes wide with a mixture of anger and fear.

Below the photo, a message: "ONE MILLION DOLLARS. CASH. INSTRUCTIONS TO FOLLOW. NO POLICE OR THEY DIE."

"Jesus Christ," Josh whispered.

Billy Jr. felt the world tilt. These weren't his heroes posing for the camera anymore—this was real. This was his roommates, his brothers, helpless and terrified.

Without hesitation, Billy Jr. grabbed his belt radio and pressed the red 911 emergency button.

Immediately, a mechanical voice echoed across every radio in the three-ranch consortium: "RED ALERT BILLY JUNIOR. RED ALERT BILLY JUNIOR. RED ALERT BILLY JUNIOR."

Billy Jr. keyed his mic, his voice steady despite his racing heart: "We have a picture of Billy, Jake, and Celab tied to chairs. They've been kidnapped. Everyone to the Benson kitchen. Now."

The response was immediate. Voices crackled to life from across the three ranches:

"What's the emergency?" Wade Nelson's sheriff voice cut through first.

"Josh, what's happening?" That was Tom from the north pasture.

"Is everyone okay?" Sarah's worried voice from the main house.

"Kitchen. Now. Everyone," Josh's voice was steel. "We have a situation."

Within minutes, the Benson kitchen had transformed into a war room. Tom and Sarah rushed in from the fields, dirt still on their boots. Pops limped in, his old combat instincts already kicking in. Wade Nelson arrived with his sons Wilson and Ryan, their deputy badges gleaming. The Beaumonts came racing over, Caroline's face white with terror for her son.

Billy Jr. had the laptop open, GPS tracking displayed on the large screen, radio console crackling with check-ins from ranch hands across all three properties. At fourteen, he was suddenly the technical coordinator for a kidnapping rescue.

"Show them the photo," Josh said grimly.

The room went dead silent as Billy Jr. displayed the ransom image. Caroline Beaumont let out a sob. Sarah covered her mouth with her hands. Even Pops, who'd seen plenty of violence in Vietnam, cursed under his breath.

"One million dollars," Josh announced. "Cash. No police, or they die."

Wade Nelson's jaw tightened. "I AM police, and these bastards just declared war on the wrong families."

"We can get the money," Ray said, his business mind already calculating. "Between the three ranches, liquidate some cattle futures, empty the emergency accounts—"

"That's not the point," Pops interrupted, his old soldier voice cutting through the room. "You pay once, you pay forever. These boys are tough. We get them back ourselves."

Billy Jr. cleared his throat. All eyes turned to him. "Their truck is still moving. Highway 287, heading toward Dallas. Speed's been consistent—about 65 mph for the last hour."

"Can you predict where they're going?" Wade asked.

"Working on it," Billy Jr. said, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I'm pulling up traffic cam feeds, cross-referencing with their route pattern. Give me a few minutes."

The radio crackled. "Base, this is Charlie-7. We found their equipment at the irrigation site. Looks like they were jumped while working. Beer bottles scattered around, but the boys don't drink on the job."

"Drugged," Wilson Nelson concluded. "Smart. Harder to fight back."

Rebecca had been quiet, but now she spoke up, her voice tight with controlled emotion. "How long before they... before they hurt them?"

"Kidnappers want their money," Pops said bluntly. "They'll keep 'em alive until they get it. Question is, how long do we have before they get impatient?"

As if summoned by his words, Josh's phone buzzed again. Another message: "PROOF OF FUNDS BY MIDNIGHT OR WE START CUTTING FINGERS. THIS IS NOT A GAME."

The room erupted in angry voices, but Billy Jr.'s quiet words cut through the noise: "I've got them. They're stopped at a truck stop outside Waxahachie. Fuel break. If we move now..."

Wade Nelson was already reaching for his radio. "All units, this is Sheriff Nelson. I need—"

"No," Billy Jr. interrupted, surprising everyone. "No official channels. They said no police. But that doesn't mean we can't handle this ourselves."

For the first time since the crisis began, Pops smiled grimly. "That's my boy. What do you need?"

Billy Jr. looked around the room at three generations of ranchers, lawmen, and neighbors who'd become family. "I need every truck we've got, everyone who can shoot straight, and about an hour to track their next move."

The war room sprang into action.

Chapter 5: The Hunt

"They've got a thirty-five mile head start on us," Billy Jr. announced, his laptop balanced on his knees as he tracked the GPS signal. "But they're still moving east on back roads, probably trying to avoid main highways."

The war room had exploded into action. Wade Nelson was grabbing his sheriff's gear, his sons Wilson and Ryan checking their weapons and radios. The Benson men were loading trucks with everything they might need.

"We're not waiting," Wade declared. "Every minute we lose gives them more distance."

"I'm riding with you, Grandpa Wade," Billy Jr. said, closing his laptop and grabbing his portable GPS unit. He was already strapping on his sidearm, moving with the same practiced efficiency as the other men. "I need to track them in real time."

Josh nodded approvingly at his son. The boy had earned his place as one of the men, and this was his fight as much as anyone's.

"Boy's the only one who can follow that signal," Pops confirmed. "He goes, or we lose them."

Wade nodded grimly. "He rides with me and the deputies. We take the lead truck."

Within minutes, the convoy was racing down the ranch road, kicking up clouds of dust in the dying light. Wade Nelson's sheriff SUV led the chase, emergency lights flashing and siren wailing, with Billy Jr. in the passenger seat monitoring his GPS unit while Wilson and Ryan coordinated from the back seat.

Behind them, two more trucks followed with lights and sirens—Josh, Ray, and Tom Benson in one, Robert Beaumont and three ranch hands in the other, all armed and determined.

"They're still heading east," Billy Jr. reported over the radio, his voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Speed's dropped to about fifty—they might be on rougher roads now."

Back at the Benson ranch house, Sarah, Rebecca, Mary Nelson, and Caroline Beaumont had taken over the communications center, monitoring every radio frequency and coordinating with ranch hands across all three properties.

"Base to Pursuit One," Rebecca's voice crackled over the radio. "We've got eyes on the back roads from our helicopter pilot friends. No unusual traffic reported on the eastern routes."

Wade Nelson pushed his SUV harder, the speedometer hitting eighty on the straight stretches. "How much distance are we making up, Billy Jr.?"

Billy Jr. studied his screen, calculating. "We're gaining maybe a mile every few minutes. At this rate... we should catch visual contact in about forty-five minutes, assuming they don't speed up."

"They won't speed up much," Wilson observed from the back seat. "That trailer's got to be bouncing those boys around pretty good. Too fast and they risk an accident."

"Plus they don't know we're coming," Ryan added. "They think they've got all night to get wherever they're going."

The radio crackled again. "Pursuit One, this is Base. We just got another message. 'ONE HOUR TO MIDNIGHT DEADLINE. HAVE THE MONEY READY.' They're getting nervous."

Billy Jr. checked his watch—9:15 PM. "Grandpa Wade, we've got less than three hours to find them, get the boys free, and end this."

Wade Nelson's jaw tightened as he floored the accelerator. The convoy screamed through the Texas night, sirens wailing, closing the distance inch by inch.

"They just turned north on Farm Road 1378," Billy Jr. announced. "That's... that's heading toward the old abandoned industrial area outside Corsicana."

"I know that area," Wade said grimly. "Lots of empty buildings, no witnesses for miles around."

"Perfect place for a kidnapping," Wilson muttered.

"Wait," Billy Jr. said, staring intently at his screen. "They're slowing down. Speed's dropped to thirty... twenty-five... they're turning again."

"What's out there?" Wade asked.

Billy Jr. switched to satellite view on his GPS. "Looks like... an old grain processing plant. Been abandoned for years. Multiple buildings, lots of cover."

"And lots of places to hide three hostages," Ryan added grimly.

The radio crackled with Josh's voice: "Pursuit One, we're five minutes behind you. What's the plan?"

Wade keyed his mic. "We set up a perimeter first. Billy Jr. guides us to their exact location, then we coordinate the assault. Nobody goes in alone."

"They've stopped," Billy Jr. announced suddenly. "Same spot for the last two minutes. I think... I think they've reached their destination."

Through the darkness ahead, they could see faint lights in the distance—the abandoned industrial complex where somewhere, three young men were bound and waiting for rescue.

The chase was over. Now the real fight would begin.

"All units, this is Pursuit One," Wade Nelson's voice was steel over the radio. "We've got them cornered. Time to bring our boys home."

Billy Jr. checked his sidearm and gripped his GPS unit tighter. His roommates, his brothers, his heroes—they were just ahead in the darkness. And he was going to help get them back.

Chapter 6: Breaking Free

Inside the bouncing trailer, the three captives had endured hours of jarring movement, sweat pouring down their faces and bare torsos as they fought against their bonds. Every pothole and sharp turn sent them lurching against the ropes that held them to their chairs.

It was during a particularly violent turn onto the rough farm road that disaster—and opportunity—struck.

Celab's chair, positioned nearest the trailer's side wall, caught the full force of the turn. The chair tipped, crashed against the metal wall with a sickening crack, and went over completely. Celab hit the floor hard, his right upper arm twisted beneath him as the chair's back leg snapped off entirely.

Pain shot through his shoulder and arm—a bad sprain that made him see stars. But as he lay there, gasping through his gag, he realized something crucial: the broken chair had loosened everything.

The rope that had secured his torso to the chair back was now slack. The bindings around his wrists, while still tight, weren't attached to anything solid anymore. His legs were still tied to what remained of the chair, but the whole structure had come apart.

Working through the pain in his injured arm, Celab began to twist and work his wrists. The ropes were tight, cutting into his skin, but without the chair holding everything in place, he had just enough leverage to work one hand free.

It took twenty agonizing minutes, his sprained arm throbbing with every movement, but finally his left hand slipped through the loosened bonds. Quickly, he pulled the gag from his mouth and worked to free his other hand and legs.

Billy and Jake had been watching in amazement, their own muffled sounds of encouragement coming through their gags. When Celab finally stood up, rubbing his rope-burned wrists and favoring his injured arm, they both looked at him with desperate hope.

"Hang on, guys," Celab whispered, his voice hoarse. "I'll get you out."

The trailer was still moving, bouncing them around as Celab worked to untie Billy first. The ropes were tight and well-tied, but with patience and determination, he managed to loosen the knots. Billy's bindings came free just as the trailer hit another series of bumps.

Together, Billy and Celab worked to free Jake, who was practically vibrating with pent-up fury and the desire to get his hands on their captors.

"My arm's pretty messed up," Celab said quietly, rotating his injured shoulder and wincing. "Sprained bad, maybe worse. But I can still fight."

"We're all gonna fight," Jake growled, pulling the duct tape and bandanna from his mouth. "These bastards picked the wrong three cowboys."

Billy was examining the broken chair pieces scattered around the trailer floor. "Look at this—we've got weapons. Chair legs, broken slats. Not much, but better than nothing."

Each of them armed himself with the largest piece of broken wood they could find. Jake hefted a chair leg like a club, Billy grabbed a splintered back slat, and Celab, despite his injured arm, managed to grip a solid chunk of the seat.

They positioned themselves on either side of the trailer doors, waiting. The truck continued to bounce and sway for another thirty minutes before finally beginning to slow down.

"This is it," Billy whispered. "When that door opens..."

The trailer came to a complete stop. They could hear voices outside, muffled conversation between the two kidnappers. Footsteps approached the back of the trailer.

The three young men pressed themselves against the walls on either side of the doors, makeshift weapons ready.

The latch turned. The door began to swing open.

"What the hell—" one of the kidnappers started to say as he saw the empty, broken chairs.

That's when Jake exploded from the shadows, chair leg swinging. The kidnapper went down hard, his AK-47 clattering across the trailer floor. Billy was right behind him, tackling the second man before he could bring his weapon to bear.

Within seconds, it was over. The two kidnappers were on the ground, dazed and disarmed, while three very angry young ranchers stood over them with their own AK-47s.

"How's it feel, you sons of bitches?" Jake snarled, pointing the assault rifle at his former captor.

Using the same rope that had bound them, they tied both kidnappers securely—hands behind backs, ankles bound, and for good measure, the same duct tape and bandanna gags that had silenced them for hours.

"Payback's a bitch," Billy said with satisfaction as he secured the last knot.

Celab, his arm still throbbing but his spirits soaring, climbed into the driver's seat of the truck. "Either of you know how to drive a rig this size?"

"I do," Jake said. "Pops taught me on the ranch equipment haulers."

As Jake fired up the engine and began the long turn-around on the narrow farm road, Celab looked back at their bound captors and grinned despite his pain.

"Boys," he said, "we just went from being the kidnapped to being the kidnappers. Let's go home."

The trailer that had carried them into captivity was now carrying them toward freedom—and delivering their enemies straight into the hands of justice.

None of them had any idea they were about to drive straight into their own rescue party.

Chapter 7: The Reunion

Jake was navigating the back roads carefully, trying to avoid the worst of the potholes that had been bouncing them around for hours. The trailer felt different now that they were in control—still bumpy, but heading toward home instead of away from it.

"How far you think we are from the main highway?" Celab asked, cradling his injured arm.

"Maybe ten minutes," Jake replied, downshifting as they approached a hill. "Once we hit Highway 287, it's straight shot back to—"

"Hold up," Billy interrupted, pointing through the windshield. "You see those lights?"

In the distance, coming over the next hill, they could see flashing emergency lights—red and blue strobes cutting through the darkness, accompanied by the wail of sirens.

"Shit," Jake muttered, slowing down. "You think they called in the cavalry?"

"Only one way to find out," Billy said. "Pull over and let's see what happens."

Jake brought the trailer to a stop on the shoulder of the narrow farm road. The three young men climbed out, their rope-burned wrists and arms clearly visible in the headlights of the approaching convoy. Instead of running or hiding, they sat casually on the truck's tailgate, arms folded across their bare chests, grinning despite everything they'd been through.

The lead vehicle—Wade Nelson's sheriff SUV—screeched to a halt, followed by the two rescue trucks. Doors flew open and armed men poured out, expecting a fight.

Instead, they found Billy, Jake, and Celab sitting there like they were waiting for a ride home from a fishing trip.

"Looking for somebody?" Billy called out with a tired but triumphant smile.

For a moment, there was complete silence. Then chaos erupted.

"Jesus Christ!" Josh yelled, running toward his nephews. "Are you boys okay?"

"Billy! Jake!" Tom shouted, his voice cracking with emotion.

Wade Nelson stood there shaking his head in amazement. "Well, I'll be damned."

Billy Jr. was already out of the SUV, camera in hand. "Hold that pose, guys!" he called out, snapping pictures of the three heroes sitting on their hijacked truck. "This is definitely going in the frat house!"

"How the hell did you—" Ray started to ask, but Celab pointed toward the back of the trailer with his good arm.

"Why don't you check out our cargo?" he suggested with a grin.

Wade Nelson approached the trailer doors suspiciously, hand on his weapon. When he threw them open, his flashlight beam revealed two men bound and gagged exactly as Billy, Jake, and Celab had been hours earlier.

"Well, I'll be double-damned," Wade laughed. "You boys turned the tables on them."

The next few minutes were a blur of hugs, backslapping, and rapid-fire questions. The families wanted to know everything—how they escaped, how they overpowered their captors, how they'd managed to drive the trailer.

"Celab's the hero," Jake said, clapping his friend on the back and making him wince. "Took a hell of a fall when his chair broke, but that's what got us free."

"Just glad my busted arm was good for something," Celab said, rotating his shoulder carefully.

Billy Jr. was documenting everything with his camera—the rope burns on their wrists, Celab favoring his injured arm, the two bound kidnappers being hauled out of the trailer.

Wade Nelson and Ryan began loading the prisoners into the sheriff's SUV. "Wilson, you drive their truck back," Wade instructed. "I'm taking these two to county lockup personally."

"What about us?" Billy asked.

"Hospital," Josh said firmly. "All three of you. Those rope burns need looking at, and Celab needs that arm x-rayed."

"We're fine," Jake protested, but Tom cut him off.

"Hospital. No arguments. You've earned medical attention, and your mothers are going to want to see you checked out properly."

As Wade's SUV pulled away with the kidnappers, the three heroes climbed into the two remaining trucks—Billy and Jake with their father and grandfather, Celab with Robert and the other men.

Billy Jr. settled into the passenger seat of his father's truck, reviewing the photos on his camera. "These are going to be the best pictures in the whole frat house," he said with satisfaction.

"Just wait until we get home and tell your great-grandfather what you boys pulled off," Josh said, shaking his head in amazement. "Pops is going to be proud as hell."

The convoy headed toward the hospital, sirens silent now, carrying three young men who'd proven that the bonds of brotherhood were stronger than any rope their captors could tie.

Chapter 8: Celebration and Revenge

The smell of barbecue smoke drifted across the Benson ranch as the three families gathered to celebrate the safe return of their boys. The evening air was filled with laughter, the clink of beer bottles, and the sizzle of steaks and pork chops on the massive outdoor grill.

Celab sat in a lawn chair, his right arm secured in a temporary sling, grinning as family members kept coming over to pat him on the back—carefully—and congratulate him on his heroics.

"Just a bad sprain," he assured everyone who asked. "Doc said two weeks in the sling and I'll be good as new."

Billy and Jake were holding court near the beer cooler, their upper arms and wrists still marked with angry red rope burns that stood out starkly against their tanned skin. Edna Nelson was hovering close to Billy, clearly proud of her boyfriend's courage and barely able to keep her hands off him.

"I can't believe how brave you were," she kept saying, gently touching the rope marks on his arms. "You could have been killed."

Every few minutes, Rebecca would appear with antiseptic and cotton swabs. "Hold still," she commanded, dabbing at Jake's wrists. "These need to stay clean or they'll get infected."

"Ow! Rebecca, that stings worse than when we were tied up," Jake complained, but he held still.

"Good," Rebecca replied with a sister-in-law's lack of sympathy. "Maybe next time you'll think twice before getting yourselves kidnapped."

Billy Jr. was the star of the evening, moving between family groups with a folder of glossy 8x10 prints he'd made that morning. The photos from the rescue scene were incredible—the three heroes sitting casually on the truck tailgate, rope burns visible, smiling despite everything they'd endured.

Anna Beaumont was practically glued to Billy Jr.'s side, her eyes shining with admiration as he showed off his rescue photography.

"Billy Jr., these pictures are amazing!" she gushed. "You're like a real hero yourself, tracking them down and everything. I'm so proud of you."

"Look at this one," Billy Jr. said, showing the photos to his uncles and great-grandfather. "You can see exactly how beat up they were, but look at those grins. They knew they'd won."

Even Billy, Jake, and Celab were amazed when they saw the pictures. "Damn, Jr.," Billy said, studying his own image. "We look like we went through hell."

"You did," Billy Jr. replied, with Anna nodding enthusiastically beside him. "But you came out the other side looking like heroes."

As the evening wound down and the families began cleaning up, the four roommates retreated to their "frat house." Billy Jr. had already hung the new rescue photos in places of honor, right next to the original cowboy pose that had started it all.

"Speaking of pictures," Jake said with a grin, "we got you something."

Celab reached behind his bunk with his good arm and pulled out a wrapped box. "For saving our asses," he said, handing it to Billy Jr.

Billy Jr. unwrapped it eagerly and gasped. Inside was a top-of-the-line digital camera with a massive telephoto lens—easily twice as expensive as his birthday camera.

"Holy shit, guys! This is incredible!"

"Now you can torture us with photos from even farther away," Billy laughed.

"The telescopic lens means no hiding from you anywhere on the ranch," Jake added with mock horror.

Billy Jr. was examining the camera when he noticed his three roommates exchanging glances. "What's that look for?"

"Well," Celab said, standing up and flexing his good arm, "we figured it was time for a little payback."

Before Billy Jr. could react, all three of them jumped him. Despite Celab's injured arm, they managed to wrestle Billy Jr. to the floor and pin his arms behind his back.

"Hey! What the hell—" Billy Jr. started to protest, but Jake was already stuffing a bandanna in his mouth.

"Shut up, camera boy," Jake grinned, securing the gag with duct tape. "Time you learned what it feels like to be tied up."

They bound his hands behind his back with the same type of rope that had held them captive, then carried him—protesting through his gag—out to the barn.

"Remember this chair?" Billy asked, indicating the same sturdy wooden chair where Billy Jr. had been sent to clean up after his photo session. "Seems fitting."

They tied him to the chair exactly as they had been—wrists crossed behind the back, arms bound to his sides, torso secured with rope in an "X" pattern across his chest.

"How's it feel, hotshot?" Celab asked, despite having to favor his injured arm. "Not so fun being the one who can't move, is it?"

Jake leaned in close. "Here's the deal, Jr. You figure out how to get free, just like we did. Consider it... advanced education."

"And don't worry," Billy added with a grin, "we'll be taking plenty of pictures of you tied up. See how you like being on the other side of the camera."

They spent several more minutes taunting him, taking photos with his new camera, and reminding him of all the times he'd made them hold uncomfortable poses.

"This is for the fourteenth photo session yesterday," Jake said.

"And for all the times you made us wait while you got the 'perfect shot,'" Celab added.

"And for generally being a pain in the ass with that camera," Billy finished.

Finally, they headed for the barn door. "We'll check on you in a couple hours," Jake called back. "Try not to tip your chair over like Celab did. You're not as tough as we are."

Billy Jr. was left alone in the barn, tied to the chair, working furiously against his bonds and trying not to laugh despite his gag. His three "brothers" had finally gotten their revenge, and he had to admit—he probably deserved it.

The only question now was whether he could escape as cleverly as they had.