Ambushed!

 

Chapter 1: The Ambush

Billy Benson downshifted the pickup as they rounded the bend on the back road to the south pasture. Jake sat in the passenger seat, both brothers wearing their white cowboy hats and Texas belt buckles, discussing tomorrow's cattle count.

The truck that blocked the road ahead appeared out of nowhere.

"What the hell?" Billy hit the brakes hard, gravel spraying as they skidded to a stop.

Three men emerged from behind the truck, rifles raised. Two more came out of the brush on either side.

"Out! Now!" The leader gestured with his weapon toward Billy behind the wheel.

Billy and Jake exchanged a quick glance as they climbed out slowly, hands visible.

"You're gonna drive where we tell you," the leader barked at Billy. "My boys will be right behind you. Try anything stupid and your brother gets a bullet."

One kidnapper climbed into the passenger seat where Jake had been, pressing a gun to Billy's ribs. "Drive."

For thirty minutes, Billy followed the shouted directions through back roads he'd never seen, the kidnappers' truck trailing close behind in his rearview mirror. Finally they reached some kind of abandoned warehouse.

"Get out. Both of you."

Inside the warehouse, they stood facing their captors.

"So what are you fuckers going to do, tie us up?" Jake sneered, sleeves of his burgundy Wrangler shirt rolled up to his shoulders, thumbs hooked in his pockets.

Billy stood beside him, arms folded across his chest, the sleeves of his blue work shirt also rolled up to his shoulders, muscles flexed.

"That's right, boys. And hold you for ransom. See those arms of yours? We're going to tie them so tight you'll cry for your mama!"

"You better tie us up tight," Jake shot back, "because when we get out, you boys are fucking dead!"

The kidnappers forced them closer together. Then they ripped open both shirts, the fabric tearing down the front. Jake's undershirt was cut away with a knife, leaving both brothers' chests bare.

Soon very coarse hemp rope was binding their arms behind their backs - wrists, forearms, and elbows lashed tight. They forced the brothers back-to-back, tying their elbows and wrists to each other. More rope lashed their biceps together on both sides, then circled around their necks.

The hemp rope bit deep as it was wrapped around their bare chests and guts, the coarse fibers burning into their skin. They were forced to sit cross-legged while their ankles were tied together and their shins bound to their thighs over their jeans.

Their cowboy hats were knocked off. Duct tape circled around each head, blinding and gagging them. With a wide Sharpie marker, one kidnapper wrote "ODDS" across Billy's chest and "EVENS" across Jake's.

"If your family doesn't pay what we demand," the voice said, "one of you gets tortured at the toss of a dice - odd or even."

In the darkness behind the tape, Billy felt Jake's hand against his. Slowly, carefully, Jake traced a single letter on Billy's palm: "F-I-G-H-T."

Billy squeezed back once. I know.

Chapter 2: The Call

Billy Jr. was stretched out on a hay bale in the Benson barn, shooting the breeze with his three best friends - Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez, and Billy Renzo - about tomorrow's algebra test and whether Anna Nelson would go to the spring dance with him.

"Dude, she's totally into you," Ryan was saying when Billy Jr.'s phone buzzed.

The caller ID showed "Billy" - his uncle's contact. Strange. Uncle Billy usually just hollered across the ranch when he needed something.

"Hey Uncle Billy, what's up?"

"Listen carefully," a rough voice said. It definitely wasn't his uncle. "We have your boys. Billy and Jake Benson. If you want to see them alive, you'll need to raise two million dollars."

Billy Jr.'s blood went cold. The voice continued: "We'll send you photos so you know we're serious. No cops, or they're dead."

The line went silent. Within seconds, his phone chimed with incoming images.

Billy Jr.'s hands shook as he opened the photos. His uncles - bound with thick rope, bare-chested, "ODDS" and "EVENS" scrawled across their skin, duct tape over their eyes and mouths.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his ranch radio and slammed the red emergency button. "RED ALERT BILLY JR! RED ALERT BILLY JR! RED ALERT BILLY JR!" the mechanical voice announced three times across the entire consortium radio network.

Then Billy Jr. keyed the radio mic. "This is Billy Jr. My uncles Billy and Jake have been kidnapped and are being held for ransom. I repeat - Billy and Jake Benson have been taken."

His three friends immediately started calling their parents while Billy Jr. stayed on the radio, his voice cracking but determined: "They're hurt bad. We need everyone at the ranch house now."

Ryan Mattern looked up from his phone. "My dad and my older brothers are coming. So is Sheriff Nelson."

Daniel Rodriguez nodded. "Mine too. And my dad's bringing his truck."

Billy Renzo was already pulling up tracking apps on his iPad. "Dude, if they used Jake's phone, we can trace that. And your uncle's truck - it's got GPS, right?"

Within twenty minutes, pickups were roaring up the Benson ranch driveway. The Mattern family, the Rodriguez family, the Renzo family - along with Sheriff Wade Nelson and his deputy sons, Pops with a cigar clenched in his teeth, Tom and Sarah Benson, the entire Beaumont family.

But it was the four fifteen-year-olds, huddled around their iPads and laptops in the kitchen, who were already making the real progress.

"Got the phone signal," Billy Renzo announced. "It's about forty miles southwest."

"And I'm linking into the ranch drone network," Ryan added. "If we can get close, we can scout the area."

Billy Jr. looked up at the room full of worried adults. "We're going to find them."

Pops took the cigar out of his mouth and looked down at his great-grandson. "Damn right we are, son."

Chapter 3: The Struggle

Back at the warehouse, Billy and Jake immediately began testing their bonds. Despite the duct tape blinding and gagging them, their cowboy pride refused to accept defeat.

Billy threw his weight forward, trying to loosen the ropes around his chest. The hemp bit deeper, burning into his bare skin, but he kept struggling. Behind him, Jake was doing the same, both brothers straining against their restraints with everything they had.

The coarse rope sawed back and forth across their chests and arms as they fought the bindings. Sweat mixed with the rope burn as they twisted and pulled, desperate to find any weakness.

Jake managed to trace on Billy's palm between struggles: "G-E-T. F-R-E-E."

Billy squeezed back and traced: "T-R-Y."

Their struggles grew more frantic. Billy arched his back, trying to slip his arms free. Jake threw himself sideways, nearly toppling them both. The hemp rope burned like fire across their skin, leaving angry red welts, but they didn't stop fighting.

The kidnappers watched with amusement.

"Look at these two go," one laughed. "Like a couple of broncos trying to buck their riders."

"Twenty bucks says the one marked 'Odds' gets the worst rope burn," another chuckled.

"You're on. That 'Evens' boy is really tearing his chest up."

For an hour they struggled, their bare chests and arms now raw from the hemp rope. Sweat poured down their faces behind the duct tape. Their breathing came in desperate gasps through their noses.

Jake traced weakly: "C-A-N-T."

Billy traced back: "T-I-R-E-D."

The kidnappers grew bored watching their futile escape attempts.

"Alright, that's enough of this shit." The leader walked over. "Time to teach you boys some respect."

The first kick caught Billy square in the groin. He doubled over as much as the ropes allowed, a muffled scream behind the duct tape. Jake's body tensed, feeling his brother's agony through their connected bonds.

Then Jake took a vicious kick that made him convulse against the ropes.

Another kick to Billy. Then Jake. Back and forth until both brothers were whimpering, their earlier defiance completely shattered.

"Not so tough now, are you?" the leader sneered. "Just a couple of crying ranch boys."

Billy and Jake sat trembling against each other, their fight completely gone. When Jake's shaking hand found Billy's palm, all he could manage to trace was: "H-U-R-T."

Billy squeezed back weakly, both brothers finally understanding that they were truly helpless.

Chapter 4: The Negotiations

The Benson ranch house had been transformed into a command center. Pickup trucks filled the driveway as families poured in – some who'd known each other for years, others meeting for the first time.

"Jesus Christ, where are my manners," Tom Benson said, shaking hands with Daniel Rodriguez's father. "Miguel, right? Hell of a way to meet."

"Don't worry about it, amigo. Your boys, they're good kids. Daniel talks about Billy Jr. all the time."

Sarah Benson was pouring coffee for everyone while Mary Nelson organized sandwiches. "I can't just sit here doing nothing," Sarah said, her hands shaking as she filled another cup. "Those boys..."

"Honey, you keep us all fed and caffeinated," said Caroline Beaumont, putting an arm around Sarah's shoulders. "That's not nothing. That's everything right now."

Meanwhile, Pops was holding court by the gun cabinet with the men, a cigar clenched between his teeth. "Goddamn cocksucking bastards picked the wrong fucking family to mess with," he growled, pulling out rifles. "Miguel, you any good with a rifle?"

"Army, two tours in Iraq," Miguel Rodriguez replied.

"Well, shit, why didn't you say so? Ray, get this man the good scope."

Ray Benson and Celeb were already laying out weapons on the dining room table. "We've got twelve rifles, plenty of ammo," Ray announced. "Josh, you take the .308. Celeb, you're good with the—"

"Hold on," interrupted a new voice. Ryan Mattern's father stepped forward. "Name's Mike Mattern. Afghanistan, three tours. Sniper."

Pops grinned wickedly. "Well, fuck me sideways. Looks like we got ourselves a goddamn army."

"Mike," his wife Linda said sharply, "you promised you were done with that."

"Linda, those boys are family now. You see how our Ryan looks at Billy Jr.? Like brothers."

In the corner, the four teenagers were deep in their technical work, but the adults could hear their urgent whispers.

"Signal's getting stronger," Billy Renzo muttered. "They're definitely using Jake's phone."

"GPS on the truck is holding steady," Ryan Mattern added. "Thirty-eight miles southwest."

"Boys," Sheriff Wade Nelson called over, "you sure about that location?"

"Sheriff, we're tracking three different signals," Billy Jr. replied, not looking up from his screen. "Phone, truck GPS, and I hacked into the cell tower data. They're at the old Mackenzie warehouse complex."

"Jesus Christ," whispered Deputy Wilson Nelson. "I know that place. It's been abandoned for years."

Tom Benson's phone rang. Everyone went silent as he put it on speaker.

"You got our photos?" the rough voice demanded. "Two million dollars. You have twelve hours."

Tom cleared his throat. "That's... that's a lot of money. I need to talk to the bank. Can't exactly write a check for—"

"I don't give a shit about your problems. Find the money."

"Look, the banks are closed. It's evening. Even if I could liquidate assets, I need until morning just to start the paperwork—"

"You got six hours now. Figure it out."

The line went dead. The room stayed silent for a moment.

"Good job, Tom," Sheriff Wade said quietly. "Every minute we buy them..."

"Is another minute Billy and Jake are getting tortured," Sarah Benson said, her voice breaking.

Mary Nelson squeezed Sarah's hand. "We're going to get them back, honey."

"Damn fucking right we are," Pops snarled. "Mike, you still remember how to put a bullet through someone's skull from 500 yards?"

Mike Mattern looked at his wife, then back at Pops. "Like riding a bicycle."

Two hours later, the second call came. More stalling, more delays. Tom played his part perfectly, acting desperate and confused about banking procedures.

But the third call was different.

"You're playing games with us," the voice snarled through the speaker. "Time to show you we're serious about this shit."

They could hear dice rattling in the background.

"Even. Looks like Jake's up first."

The phone stayed connected this time. The room full of families heard Jake's muffled cries through the duct tape, then his agonized screams as the knife cut into his chest.

Sarah Benson collapsed into a chair, sobbing. Caroline Beaumont knelt beside her while Mary Nelson held her other hand.

Miguel Rodriguez crossed himself. "Dios mío," he whispered.

"Those fucking animals," Pops roared, slamming his fist on the table. "Wade, I'm sorry, but we ain't waiting for your bureaucratic bullshit anymore. Those boys are getting carved up like Christmas fucking turkeys."

Sheriff Wade Nelson looked around the room – at his own deputy sons, at Mike Mattern clutching his wife's hand, at Miguel Rodriguez already checking his rifle, at the four teenagers who'd stopped their technical work to stare at the phone in horror.

"You're right," he said quietly. "Fuck protocol. Let's go get our boys."

Billy Jr. looked up from his iPad, tears streaming down his face but his voice steady: "We've got them. Warehouse compound, GPS coordinates locked. Drones confirm two vehicles, multiple heat signatures."

"Then we ride," Pops said, stubbing out his cigar. "Time to show these cocksuckers what happens when you mess with Texas fucking families."

Chapter 5: Desperation

Back at the warehouse, Billy and Jake sat in the darkness, Jake's chest wounds still bleeding onto the ropes that bound them together. The hemp had rubbed their skin raw from hours of struggling, and now every breath sent fresh pain through their rope burns.

Jake's hand trembled as he found Billy's palm. He traced slowly: "D-Y-I-N-G."

Billy squeezed back, then traced: "N-O."

But even as he wrote it, Billy could feel his brother's strength fading. Jake's breathing was shallow, labored. The cuts on his chest were deeper than Billy had realized, and the blood loss was taking its toll.

We're really going to die here, Billy thought. Those cocksuckers are going to kill us both.

Jake traced again: "S-O-R-R-Y."

Sorry? For what? Billy wondered. For getting us into this? For not being strong enough to get us out?

Billy traced back: "L-O-V-E."

The word said everything. All those years sharing a room, competing over everything, backing each other up in every fight. All the times they'd joked about being buried in the same grave someday - it wasn't supposed to be this soon.

Jake's response came even weaker: "S-C-A-R-E-D."

Billy closed his eyes behind the duct tape. I'm scared too, brother. I'm fucking terrified.

He traced: "M-E. T-O-O."

Hours seemed to pass. The kidnappers were getting antsy, pacing around, arguing about whether the family would really pay up. Billy could hear them making plans about what to do if the money didn't come.

"We might have to cut our losses," one said. "Get rid of the evidence."

Jake's body tensed against Billy's back. His hand found Billy's palm again: "H-E-A-R?"

Billy squeezed once. Yeah, I heard.

Jake traced: "E-N-D?"

Is this the end? Billy thought about their family - Pops with his cigars and foul mouth, Billy Jr. probably worried sick, Tom and Sarah not knowing if they'd ever see their boys alive again.

Billy traced back: "T-O-G-E-T-H-E-R."

At least we're together. At least I won't die alone. At least Jake won't die alone.

Jake's response was so faint Billy could barely feel it: "G-O-O-D."

They sat in silence after that, both brothers accepting what seemed inevitable. The rope burns had stopped hurting - they were numb now. Jake's breathing was getting more and more shallow.

Billy started to trace one more word, then stopped. What's the point?

But Jake's finger moved against his palm: "B-I-L-L-Y?"

Billy squeezed back as hard as he could with his weakened hands. I'm here, brother. I'm still here.

Jake traced his final message: "T-H-A-N-K-S."

Thank you? For what? For failing to save you? For getting us both killed?

But Billy understood. Thank you for twenty years of brotherhood. Thank you for never leaving me behind. Thank you for being with me at the end.

Billy traced back: "A-L-W-A-Y-S."

Always brothers. Always together. Even in death.

In the warehouse darkness, tied back-to-back and bleeding, the Benson boys waited for whatever came next.

Chapter 6: Mobilization

The Benson ranch house buzzed with controlled chaos as the militia prepared to move out. Pops stood in the living room with the gun cabinet wide open, handing out weapons like a quartermaster.

"Miguel, you take the AR-15 with the night scope," he barked, cigar smoke curling around his head. "Mike, Sheriff Wade's got that fancy fucking sniper rifle in his SUV for you. Ray - you boys know your way around the shotguns."

"What about us?" Billy Jr. asked, stepping forward with his three friends.

Pops pulled out four pistols. "You boys earned your place. Check your weapons."

The four teenagers handled the sidearms like the experienced hunters they were, checking chambers, safeties, and grips with practiced ease. Years of hunting and target practice showed in their smooth, professional movements.

"Good," Josh Benson said, watching his son and the other boys. "I'll keep an eye on them. Wilson, they ride with us."

"You got it, Josh."

The convoy formed up in the driveway. Sheriff Wade Nelson's command SUV took point, with Mike Mattern riding shotgun, the military-grade sniper rifle secured in the back. Miguel Rodriguez sat in the rear with night vision equipment.

Josh's truck carried the tech crew - Billy Jr. and his three buddies with their iPads and radio equipment spread across the bench seat, Josh keeping watch over them. "Drone network is active," Ryan Mattern reported. "We've got eyes on the target."

The third truck loaded up with Ray Benson, Celeb, Deputy Wilson Nelson, and several other fathers. Some climbed into the truck bed, rifles ready.

"Alright, you cocksucking bastards," Pops called out from the porch, "bring our boys home!"

As the convoy pulled out, the women gathered around the central radio in the kitchen. Sarah Benson sat with Mary Nelson and Caroline Beaumont, while Linda Mattern and Elena Rodriguez pulled up chairs.

"Those boys know what they're doing," Mary Nelson said confidently. "Been hunting together since they were kids."

"My Ryan's been outhooting his father since he was twelve," Linda Mattern added with pride.

Back on the porch, Pops was holding court with the younger kids who'd shown up - cousins, neighbors, friends drawn by the emergency radio calls.

"You kids want to hear about real war?" Pops said, settling into his chair with a fresh cigar. "Back in Vietnam, we had to rescue our own boys too. No fancy fucking drones or GPS bullshit. Just balls and good shooting."

The convoy raced through the darkness, radio chatter crackling between the vehicles. In Josh's truck, Billy Jr. coordinated the approach.

"Drones show five heat signatures in the main warehouse," he reported over the radio. "Two moving around, three stationary. That's got to be Billy and Jake with a guard."

"Copy that," Sheriff Wade's voice crackled back. "Mike, you getting all this?"

"Roger. I need a clear line of sight, 200 yards minimum."

In the kitchen, the women listened to every transmission, confident their men and boys would bring Billy and Jake home safe.

"Almost there," Sarah Benson said, gripping the radio. "Our family's coming home."

Chapter 7: The Rescue

The convoy pulled up 300 yards from the warehouse complex, headlights cut. The militia spread out with military precision, everyone armed and ready. Even the four teenagers had their pistols cocked and loaded, moving with the same quiet confidence they'd learned hunting.

Sheriff Wade Nelson and Mike Mattern crept forward through the darkness, Mike carrying the laser-scoped sniper rifle. Miguel Rodriguez flanked them with his own scoped rifle from the Benson arsenal.

A guard outside the warehouse spotted their movement and opened fire. Sheriff Wade dropped him with two quick shots.

"Contact!" Wade radioed back. "Outside guard down."

Through a grimy warehouse window, Mike Mattern and Miguel could see the scene inside - Billy and Jake bound back-to-back on the floor, two kidnappers standing over them with pistols pressed to their heads.

Mike held up two fingers to Miguel, then pointed left and right. Miguel nodded, adjusting his scope. They'd take the shot simultaneously - Mike on the left kidnapper, Miguel on the right.

Hand signals. Three... two... one...

Two scoped rifles fired as one. Both kidnappers dropped instantly, clean headshots.

"All clear!" Mike shouted.

Celeb and the four teenagers rushed forward with Josh Benson, followed by the sheriff and both snipers. Billy Jr. was first through the door, immediately dropping to his knees beside his bound uncles.

"Get this fucking tape off them!" he yelled, his hands shaking as he worked at the duct tape around Billy's head. Ryan Mattern tackled Jake's bindings while Daniel Rodriguez and Billy Renzo cut rope with their hunting knives.

"Easy, boys," Mike Mattern said gently, helping support Jake as they freed him. "They've been through hell."

The hemp ropes had burned deep welts into both brothers' chests and arms. Jake's knife wounds were still bleeding, soaking his torn shirt.

When the last of the ropes fell away, Billy and Jake collapsed forward, barely conscious. Billy Jr. threw his arms around his Uncle Billy while Celeb held Jake upright.

"We got you," Billy Jr. whispered. "You're safe now."

By the time the rest of the militia arrived, the medevac helicopter was already thundering overhead. Sheriff Wade had called it in the moment they confirmed the rescue.

At Kings County General Hospital, Rebecca Nelson-Benson was waiting in scrubs, having been alerted by the radio network. As Josh's wife and Billy Jr.'s mother, she was also a nurse practitioner who knew both injured men well.

"Jesus Christ," she whispered, examining Jake's chest wounds and both brothers' rope burns. "What did those animals do to you?"

After two hours of treatment - cleaning Jake's knife cuts, treating both brothers' rope burns, checking for infection - Rebecca made the call. "They can go home. Jake's wounds are clean, no major damage. The rope burns will heal. But they need rest and monitoring."

"I'll watch them," Rebecca told the gathered families. "They'll be safer at home anyway."

Back at the ranch house, Sarah Benson and the other women were waiting with open arms and plates of leftover food. Billy and Jake were helped inside, weak but alive, immediately surrounded by family embraces.

Rebecca re-examined their wounds and applied fresh bandages. "These will heal fine," she said. "Just need rest and care."

As the other families finally departed - the Matterns, Rodriguez, and Renzos heading home after hugs and promises to check in tomorrow - the four roommates made their way upstairs to the "frat house."

Billy and Jake collapsed onto their bunks, still weak but home. Celeb flopped onto his bed while Billy Jr. waited until the house grew quiet below.

Then Billy Jr. grinned and pried up the loose floorboards. He pulled out several bottles of beer from their hidden stash, still cold from the concealed cooler system they'd rigged.

"Welcome home," Billy Jr. said, handing bottles to his uncles and Celeb.

Jake managed a weak smile as he accepted the contraband beer. "Goddamn right, kiddo."

Billy raised his bottle with a shaking hand. "To family."

"To family," they all echoed, and the nightmare was finally over.

Chapter 8: The BBQ Heroes

Two days later, the Benson ranch was transformed into the biggest Texas BBQ Kings County had seen in years. Pickup trucks filled every available space as families arrived with covered dishes and coolers full of beer. Classic rock blasted from Jake's truck stereo - Lynyrd Skynyrd and ZZ Top echoing across the ranch.

The whole consortium was there: Bensons, Nelsons, Beaumonts, plus the Mattern, Rodriguez, and Renzo families who'd earned their place in the brotherhood. Tables groaned under the weight of cornbread, coleslaw, baked beans, potato salad, and every kind of casserole imaginable.

At the center of it all, a whole hog and half a steer turned slowly on massive spits, tended by Ray Benson and Miguel Rodriguez, who'd discovered a shared passion for barbecue technique.

"The secret," Miguel was explaining to a circle of interested fathers, "is keeping the temperature steady for twelve hours minimum."

"Goddamn right," Pops chimed in, pouring generous shots of Jack Daniel's for anyone with the balls to keep up with him. "And none of that pussy gas grill bullshit either."

Billy and Jake, their rope burns still visible but healing, held court near the beer table with a crowd of younger kids firing questions at them.

"Did you really tell them they better tie you up tight?" asked one wide-eyed ten-year-old.

"Hell yes we did," Jake grinned, back to his old swagger. "Told those cocksuckers we'd kill 'em when we got loose."

"Language, Jake," Sarah Benson called out half-heartedly, but she was smiling.

Nearby, the four fifteen-year-olds had their own audience of adults trying to understand how four kids with iPads had coordinated a military-style rescue operation.

"See, the GPS tracking was easy," Billy Jr. was explaining to Sheriff Wade. "But syncing the drone network with real-time cell tower data - that's where it got complicated."

"Jesus Christ," Wade shook his head admiringly. "In my day, we had to follow footprints."

The party was in full swing when Tom Benson climbed onto a picnic table and whistled loudly. "Hey! Everyone listen up!"

The crowd quieted as Pops joined his son, cigar in one hand, whiskey in the other.

"We got some business to attend to," Tom announced. "These four boys - Billy Jr., Ryan, Daniel, and Billy Renzo - they saved our family. Hell, they saved this whole community."

Josh Benson, Ray, and Deputies Wilson and Ryan Nelson emerged from the house carrying four large wooden boxes.

"So the consortium got together," Pops said, his voice carrying across the yard, "and we decided these boys earned themselves some proper equipment."

Billy Jr. stepped forward to the first box. Inside, nestled in custom foam, lay a tactical rifle with "BILLY JR. BENSON" laser-engraved on the walnut stock. Beside it sat military-grade night vision goggles, an encrypted GPS unit, tactical vest, and a professional drone controller.

"Holy shit," Billy Jr. breathed, then caught his mother's glare. "Sorry, Mom. This is... this is incredible."

His younger cousin Tommy stared with open jealousy. "How come Billy Jr. gets all the cool stuff?"

Ryan Mattern opened his box next, revealing identical gear with his name engraved. "Dad, this scope costs more than your truck," he said, holding up the night vision attachment.

Mike Mattern grinned proudly. "You earned it, son."

Daniel Rodriguez's hands shook as he lifted his custom rifle. "Papá, mira esto," he said in amazement. "This is military grade."

Miguel Rodriguez nodded approvingly. "Sí, mijo. Real men get real tools."

Billy Renzo was the last to open his box. The tactical gear gleamed in the afternoon sun. "Dude, we're like a real tactical team now," he said, strapping on the vest. "This is badass."

The younger siblings crowded around, touching the equipment with reverence and envy.

"When do we get stuff like this?" demanded Ryan's twelve-year-old brother.

"When you save someone's life," Pops said simply, taking a swig of whiskey.

As the four boys stood with their new gear, their fathers looked on with a mixture of pride and slight jealousy - some of that equipment was better than what they'd carried in the military.

"You boys proved you're men," Pops declared, raising his whiskey. "Welcome to the brotherhood."

As the sun set over the ranch and families began loading leftover barbecue into their trucks, Billy Jr. found himself standing with his three friends, their new gear carefully packed away.

"Think we'll ever need this stuff again?" Ryan Mattern asked.

Billy Jr. looked across the ranch at his uncles Billy and Jake, laughing with Celeb by the dying fire, then at all the families who'd become one big extended clan.

"Hope not," he said. "But if we do, we'll be ready."

The last truck pulled out around midnight, and the Benson ranch settled back into peaceful quiet - until the next time family needed family.

The Hunting Trip

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Chapter 1: Loading Up

The morning sun cast long shadows across the Benson Ranch as Billy Jr. hefted his hunting pack into the back of the mule quad. At fifteen, he stood nearly as tall as his father Josh, but today felt different—today he was heading out as one of the men.

"You boys got everything?" Pops called from the porch, bourbon already warming his coffee despite the early hour. His weathered hands gripped the rail as he watched his great-great-grandson and the three other boys load their gear.

Billy Renzo adjusted the straps on his pack, grinning. "Yes sir, Mr. Benson. Licenses, tags, everything's legal."

Ryan Mattern and Daniel Rodriguez exchanged glances, the excitement barely contained. Four high school juniors with off-road licenses, treated like young adults in Kings County, Texas—this was their weekend.

Rebecca stood near the quad, trying not to let her tears show. Her boy looked so much like Josh at that age, all confidence and barely restrained energy. The other mothers had gathered too, Mary Nelson and the Rodriguez and Mattern families, watching their sons prepare for what everyone understood was a rite of passage.

"Y'all stick together out there," Rebecca managed, her voice catching slightly.

Billy Jr. nodded solemnly. "We will, Mom. Promise."

Jake and Billy—Josh's younger brothers—appeared from the barn, their own hunting days still fresh in memory. "Bring back some meat, boys," Jake called out with a grin. "Don't come home empty-handed."

"And don't do anything we wouldn't do," Billy added, earning a sharp look from Sarah.

As the boys settled into the quad, Billy Jr. felt something solid shift under his seat. His eyes found Pops, who was watching with that familiar knowing smile. The old Vietnam vet gave the slightest nod—their secret safe.

"Alright then," Billy Jr. called out, firing up the engine. "We're burning daylight."

The quad rumbled to life, and the four boys waved to their families, their voices carrying back across the yard as they pulled away toward the thick forest land that bordered the Nelson property.

Pops watched until they disappeared into the tree line, then turned to the gathered families and younger cousins, some showing their own tears now that the boys were gone.

"Well," he said, his voice gravelly with emotion and something that might have been pride, "I'd say this calls for a drink."

He headed inside to fetch the bourbon, knowing full well those four boys were about to discover what being young men in Texas really meant. And everybody had a morning drink, the Texas way.Chapter 2: Wrong Turn

"Holy shit, Billy Jr.!" Billy Renzo's eyes went wide as Billy Jr. lifted the cooler seat and revealed a full case of Lone Star nestled underneath. "Your great-great-granddad is a legend."

"Pops said every man needs provisions for the wilderness," Billy Jr. grinned, popping open four cans. "But if any of y'all tell your parents..."

"Are you kidding? My mom would ground me until I'm thirty," Daniel Rodriguez laughed, taking a long swig. "Speaking of moms, did you see Mrs. Mattern crying when we left? Thought she was gonna chain Ryan to the porch."

Ryan Mattern nearly choked on his beer. "Shut up, man. Your mom was worse. 'Mijo, be careful, mijo, call us every hour.'" He mimicked Mrs. Rodriguez's accent perfectly.

"At least your parents trust you with a rifle," Billy Renzo complained. "My dad still makes me prove I know which end the bullets come out of every single time."

They'd set up camp in a perfect clearing, deep enough in the Nelson forest to feel like real wilderness. The fire crackled between them as they passed around stories and complaints about teachers, parents, and the eternal struggle of being almost-adults trapped in high school.

"Coach Henderson is still pissed about the state playoffs," Ryan said. "Keeps saying if I hadn't fumbled that pass in the fourth quarter..."

"Dude, that was like two months ago," Daniel shook his head. "Let it go."

"Tell that to Coach. He's got me running extra laps until graduation."

Billy Jr. stretched out by the fire, feeling the easy rhythm of friendship that came from years of sleepovers and shared adventures. "My grandpa Josh keeps asking when I'm gonna get serious about ranch work. Like, I'm fifteen, Pop. Give me a minute to figure out algebra first."

"Mrs. Patterson's algebra is impossible anyway," Billy Renzo groaned. "I swear she makes up problems just to watch us suffer."

"You think that's bad? Try AP History with Mr. Garrison. Dude assigns like fifty pages of reading every night. When am I supposed to have a life?"

They talked until the fire burned down to embers—about Anna Nelson and how Billy Jr. was planning to ask her to prom, about Ryan's truck that kept breaking down, about Daniel's little sister who kept trying to follow them around, about whether they'd all end up at Texas A&M or if Billy Renzo would really try for UT like he kept threatening.

Normal stuff. High school stuff. The kind of easy conversation that happens when you've been friends since elementary school and still think the biggest problems in life involve homework and curfews and whether your parents will let you borrow the good truck on Friday night.

By the time they settled into their tent, the beer cans buried in the fire pit and their stories exhausted, they felt like kings of the world. Four boys with hunting licenses and off-road permits, trusted with a weekend of independence in the deep woods.

"Tomorrow we're gonna bag the biggest buck Kings County's ever seen," Billy Renzo announced, already half-asleep in his sleeping bag.

"You couldn't hit a barn from the inside," Daniel Rodriguez shot back, earning muffled laughter from Ryan Mattern.

Billy Jr. lay quiet, listening to his friends' familiar banter. The weight of the radio clipped to his belt felt reassuring. Even out here, miles from home, he was still connected to the network Pops and the others had built. Still part of something bigger.

The attack came at 3 AM.

Billy Jr. woke to rough hands yanking him from his sleeping bag, a flashlight beam blinding him. Voices—men's voices, unfamiliar and harsh with excitement.

"Well, well. Look what we got here."

"Four little rich boys playing camping."

In the chaos of being dragged from the tent, Billy Jr.'s hand found his radio. His fingers hit the emergency button just as boots kicked him in the ribs.

"911 Emergency. 911 Emergency."

The mechanical voice cut through the night air, and everything stopped.

"What the hell was that?" The largest of the three men spun around, wild-eyed.

"Shut it off! Shut it off now!"

Billy Jr. tried to roll away, but a boot caught him in the shoulder. Someone ripped the radio from his belt and smashed it against a tree. The other boys' cell phones followed—Daniel's iPhone, Ryan's Samsung, Billy Renzo's cracked Android—all destroyed in seconds of frantic stomping.

"Goddamn kids got some kind of tracking device," the thin one muttered, rifling through Billy Jr.'s pack until he found the boy's cell phone. "This one's still good. We can use this."

The next few minutes blurred together—rough rope cutting into wrists, duct tape slapped over mouths, the boys dragged and shoved into the back of a rusty pickup truck. Billy Jr. tried to struggle, but his hands were bound behind his back, arms pinned so tight he couldn't move anything but his fingers.

As the truck bounced down an old logging road, Billy Jr. caught glimpses of his friends in the darkness—all of them tied up, all of them gagged, eyes wide with the kind of fear they'd never felt before.

One of the kidnappers was already scrolling through his phone.

"Benson Ranch," the man read aloud, squinting at the contact list. "Well ain't that convenient. Daddy's right there in the favorites."

Billy Jr. closed his eyes and tried to remember everything Pops had taught him about staying calm under pressure. But this wasn't a tornado or a cattle emergency or any of the disasters they'd prepared for.

This was something else entirely.

The truck hit another pothole, and Billy Jr.'s head bounced against the tailgate. Somewhere in the darkness ahead, he could hear one of the men talking about money. About how much four rich ranch boys might be worth.

About how easy this was going to be.Chapter 3: All Hands

The mechanical voice cut through the pre-dawn darkness like a blade.

"911 BILLY Jr. 911 BILLY Jr. 911 BILLY Jr."

At the Benson Ranch, Tom bolted upright in bed, Sarah already reaching for the lamp. The voice repeated the sequence once more before the radio fell silent, leaving only the sound of their racing hearts and the distant rumble of engines starting up across the valley.

"Billy Jr.," Sarah whispered, her face white in the lamplight. "Something's happened to Billy Jr."

Tom was already pulling on jeans, his mind racing through possibilities. Tornado? Accident? The emergency alert system was Pops' design—it only activated for real trouble. And it had specifically identified his son's unit.

By the time Tom made it to the kitchen, headlights were cutting through the darkness outside. Sheriff Wade Nelson's patrol car led the convoy, followed by Robert Beaumont's truck and then the rest of the Nelson clan. The Beaumont family wasn't far behind.

Pops emerged from his room fully dressed, as if he'd been expecting this. In his hand was the master radio unit, still crackling with static.

"Nothing since the alert," he said grimly. "Whatever happened, it happened fast. Billy Jr.'s unit activated at 0200 hours."

Sheriff Wade burst through the front door without knocking, his uniform hastily thrown over pajamas. "Status report. What do we know?"

"Boys hit their emergency button at 0200 hours," Pops replied, falling back into military speak. "Billy Jr.'s radio specifically. No communication since."

Mary Nelson appeared behind her husband, Rebecca close on her heels. The young mother looked stricken. "Where are they? What's happened to Billy Jr.?"

"We don't know yet," Tom said, trying to keep his voice steady. But his hands shook as he picked up his cell phone. "I need to call the other parents."

The next twenty minutes were the longest of Tom's life. Three phone calls, three families jolted from sleep with news no parent ever wants to hear. Your son might be in trouble. We don't know what kind. Get here now.

The Mattern family arrived first—parents and two younger siblings piling out of their sedan, still in pajamas and robes. Mrs. Mattern was crying before she reached the porch.

The Rodriguez family pulled in minutes later, followed by the Renzos. Nine adults and half a dozen younger kids, all crowded into the Benson kitchen at 2:30 in the morning, everyone talking at once.

"Have you called the police?"

"We are the police," Sheriff Wade snapped, then caught himself. "Sorry. We're treating this as a missing persons case until we know more."

"Shouldn't we call the FBI?" Mrs. Rodriguez asked. "If something's happened to four boys..."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Robert Beaumont said quietly. He'd been through enough corporate crises to recognize panic when he saw it. "What do we actually know?"

Pops set the master radio on the kitchen table. "Boys activated emergency protocol at exactly 0200. Billy Jr.'s unit. Radio went dead immediately after. That tells us they were in immediate danger and couldn't maintain communication."

The room fell silent except for the quiet sobbing of some of the mothers.

"We need to start searching," Billy said, appearing in the doorway with Jake and Celeb behind him. All three young men were fully dressed and armed. "They were heading for the Nelson forest land. We can start there."

"I have the three drones of the consortium used for cattle up in the air with the heat sensors flying over the Nelson back woods," Jake added, holding up a tablet. "If they're out there, we'll find them."

Sheriff Wade nodded. "Good. Billy, take your brothers and the Beaumont boy. Start with a grid search from where they were supposed to make camp. I'll coordinate with my deputies."

"What about the state police?" Mr. Renzo asked. "Shouldn't we—"

"Not yet," Pops interrupted, his voice carrying the authority of a man who'd seen real combat. "We handle this ourselves until we know what we're dealing with. Too many outsiders could spook whoever's got our boys."

The families split into action—some heading out with the search teams, others staying behind to man the phones and radios. Rebecca and the other mothers, along with Anna Nelson and Edna Nelson, took charge of the nine younger boys and girls, ages 5 to 12, gathering them in the living room and trying to keep them calm while the adults worked. Sarah and Mary Nelson coordinated the communication center, their voices steady despite their fear.

At 3:15 AM, Tom's cell phone rang.

Unknown number.

The kitchen went dead silent as Tom stared at the screen. Sheriff Wade motioned for him to answer, already signaling for someone to start recording.

Tom's hand trembled as he swiped to accept the call.

"Hello?"

"You Tom Benson?" The voice was rough, unfamiliar, with an edge that made Tom's blood run cold.

"Yes."

"Well, Tom, seems like you got yourself a problem. Got something that belongs to you. Four something's, actually."

The kitchen erupted in gasps and muffled sobs. Sheriff Wade was already on his radio, trying to get a trace started.

"Let me talk to my son," Tom said, surprised by the steadiness in his own voice.

"Boys are fine. For now. But that's gonna depend on you, Tom. You listening real good?"

"I'm listening."

"One hundred thousand. Cash. Each boy. You got twenty-four hours."

The line went dead.

Tom stared at his phone as it buzzed with an incoming text. Four photos. His hands shook as he opened the first one.

Billy Jr., hands tied behind his back, ankles bound and hogtied to his wrists, duct tape across his mouth. His eyes were wide but defiant.

The second photo showed Billy Renzo in the same position. Then Ryan Mattern. Then Daniel Rodriguez. All four boys trussed up like animals, helpless but alive.

Tom held up the phone so everyone could see. The effect was immediate and devastating.

Jake's fist went through the kitchen wall with a sound like thunder. "Those fucking bastards!"

The younger boys in the room started crying, while the 12-year-olds pushed forward. "We can shoot too!" young Tommy Mattern shouted. "Let us come! We want to help get Billy Jr. back!"

"No way in hell," Sheriff Wade barked at the angry 12-year-olds who were reaching toward the gun safe. "Y'all stay put and help your mothers. That's an order."

"But Sheriff Wade, we can handle rifles!" protested little Carlos Rodriguez. "We've been hunting since we were eight!"

"I said NO!" Wade's voice cut through their protests.

Celeb was already moving toward the gun safe, pulling out sidearms and checking magazines while the frustrated 12-year-olds glared at the sheriff.

"Goddamn motherfucking pieces of shit!" Pops roared, his face purple with rage. "I'll skin those cocksuckers alive!"

"Wade," Tom said, his voice deadly quiet. "Fuck your badge. We're taking charge."

Sheriff Wade looked around the room—at the armed young men, at the parents pushed beyond reason, at Pops who looked ready to declare war. He unbuttoned his uniform shirt.

Ray Benson, the family's finance manager, had taken charge of coordination. "I've got teams covering sectors A through D. Billy and Jake's group found something twenty minutes ago."

The radio crackled to life. "Command, this is Team Alpha. We found the quad. Half mile from the original campsite. Signs of a struggle."

"Copy that. What else?"

"Another vehicle was here. Truck by the tire tracks. And Command... there's an old hunting cabin about two clicks north. Chimney's still warm."

Every man in the room was already reaching for weapons.

"Mount up," Pops growled. "Time to bring our boys home."

The convoy that left the Benson Ranch wasn't a search party anymore. It was an army.

Chapter 4: Turning Tables

4:00 AM came with the sound of snoring.

Billy Jr. had been working on his bonds for the better part of an hour, using every trick he and his friends had learned during countless sleepovers playing capture and escape games. The kidnappers had done a thorough job with the rope, but they'd made one critical mistake—they'd underestimated four ranch boys who'd been tying and untying knots since they could walk.

The thin kidnapper was passed out in a chair by the cold fireplace, an empty whiskey bottle at his feet. The big one was snoring on a ratty couch, his rifle propped carelessly against the wall. The third man had wandered outside to take a piss twenty minutes ago and hadn't come back.

Billy Jr. caught Ryan Mattern's eye and nodded toward his hands. Ryan had worked one wrist free and was carefully loosening the rope around his ankles. Daniel Rodriguez was already sitting up, duct tape hanging loose around his neck, working on Billy Renzo's bonds.

They'd done this dance a hundred times in Jake and Billy's room, in the barn, during camping trips. The difference was, this time it wasn't a game.

Billy Jr. slipped his hands free and immediately went for Daniel, who was still struggling with the rope around his ankles. Within minutes, all four boys were loose, crouched behind an overturned table in the corner of the decrepit hunting cabin.

"Weapons first," Billy Jr. whispered, pointing toward the rifles leaning against the far wall.

Ryan Mattern, the lightest and quietest, crept across the room like he was stalking deer. He grabbed two rifles and passed them back, then went for the handgun tucked in the sleeping man's waistband.

The big kidnapper stirred on the couch.

Ryan froze, gun halfway out of the holster.

The man mumbled something and rolled over.

Ryan slipped the pistol free and made it back to the group, grinning despite everything.

"Now what?" Daniel whispered.

"Now we show these assholes what happens when you mess with Kings County boys," Billy Jr. said quietly.

The assault was swift and coordinated. Billy Renzo and Daniel took the sleeping man on the couch, using rope to bind his hands before he was fully awake. Ryan and Billy Jr. handled the thin kidnapper by the fireplace, who came to with Billy Jr.'s rifle barrel pressed against his forehead.

"Move and you die," Billy Jr. said with the kind of cold calm that would have made Pops proud.

The third kidnapper chose that moment to stumble back through the cabin door, zipping up his pants and cursing the cold. He stopped dead when he saw four teenagers pointing weapons at him.

"What the—"

"Shut up," Daniel Rodriguez said, chambering a round. "Get on your knees. Now."

Twenty minutes later, all three kidnappers were trussed up tighter than Christmas turkeys, bound hand and foot with their own rope, duct tape across their mouths. The boys had even hogtied them the same way they'd been tied—a little payback seemed appropriate.

Billy Jr. found his phone in the thin kidnapper's jacket pocket and hit his dad's number.

The phone barely rang once.

"Billy Jr.? Jesus Christ, son, are you—"

"We're fine, Dad. All of us. We got 'em."

Silence on the other end.

"You got them?"

"All three. Tied up like hogs. We're at some old hunting cabin about two miles north of where we were camping. I'm sending you the GPS coordinates now."

Billy Jr. worked his phone, sending the location pin.

"Son," Tom's voice was shaky with relief and something that might have been pride, "are you telling me you boys—"

"Hold on, Dad. Let me put this on speaker. Everyone needs to hear this."

"Wait, Billy Jr. Let me conference in the other families. They're all in separate trucks."

Tom's voice came back a minute later. "Okay, son. I've got the Renzos, Matterns, and Rodriguez families all on the line. You're talking to everybody now."

The phone erupted with voices before any parent could say a word.

"We kicked their asses!" Billy Renzo shouted into the phone. "You should have seen Billy Jr. put that rifle right up against the skinny one's head!"

"And I got the gun right out of the big guy's pants while he was sleeping!" Ryan Mattern added, laughing. "Dude never even knew what hit him!"

"We used all those rope tricks from the frat house!" Daniel Rodriguez chimed in. "These idiots had no idea we knew how to escape!"

"Boys, boys—are you hurt?" Mrs. Rodriguez's worried voice came through from her truck. "Did they hurt you? Are you bleeding? Do you need—"

"Mom, we're fine!" Daniel interrupted, sounding annoyed. "We're warriors! We handled the situation like professionals!"

"Ryan, baby, are you okay?" Mrs. Mattern's voice was shaking. "We were so scared, we thought—"

"Ma, we're not babies anymore!" Ryan cut her off. "We neutralized the threat and secured the area. We're good to go!"

"Billy Renzo, your father wants to know—" Mrs. Renzo started.

"Tell Dad we completed the mission!" Billy Renzo announced in his toughest voice. "No casualties, all objectives achieved!"

"Daniel, mijo, I need to know if you're really okay—" Mrs. Rodriguez tried again.

"Mom, quit worrying! We're Marines now!" Daniel declared. "These losers never had a chance against Kings County boys!"

"BOYS!" Sheriff Wade's voice boomed through the conference call. "Are you hurt? Any injuries at all?"

"Negative, Sheriff!" Billy Jr. responded in military style. "All personnel accounted for and operational. Enemy combatants secured!"

"Billy Jr., son, your mother is crying here—" Tom's voice was strained.

"Tell Mom we're heroes, Dad! Mission accomplished! No prisoners taken, except these three idiots are our prisoners now!"

The sound of clinking beer cans and triumphant laughter filled the phone line.

"I learned from Pops!" Billy Jr. announced proudly. "All that military stuff paid off! We're like a special ops unit!"

Tom finally managed to break through the celebration. "You boys drink your beer. We'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Roger that, Command!" Billy Jr. replied. "We'll maintain security until you arrive!"

"Bring cameras!" Billy Renzo shouted. "We want pictures with these idiots all tied up!"

"And more beer!" Ryan added. "Marines deserve to celebrate!"

The line went quiet for a moment, then erupted in relieved laughter from all the trucks.

Billy Jr. hung up and looked around at his friends, all of whom were grinning like they'd just won the state championship and the lottery on the same day.

"Well," he said, raising his Lone Star, "guess we really are men now. Marines, even."

Outside, three convoys of armed ranchers were racing through the pre-dawn darkness, expecting to find a hostage situation.

Instead, they were about to discover the proudest four teenagers in Kings County, celebrating the greatest victory of their young lives with cold beer and the kind of swagger that comes from knowing you've just outmaneuvered three grown men who thought you were easy prey.

The hunt was over. And the boys had won.

Chapter 5: Heroes' Dawn

The four exhausted heroes collapsed in the frat house still wearing their muddy clothes from the rescue, grinning in their sleep. Downstairs, three families had essentially moved into the Benson house. Parents sprawled across couches and chairs, some still in their tactical gear from the middle-of-the-night rescue mission. The Matterns had claimed the guest room, the Rodriguez family had taken the den, and the Renzos were scattered between the kitchen and living room.

Sheriff Wade was passed out in his patrol car in the driveway, his uniform shirt still unbuttoned from when he'd chosen family over badge.

Around 3 AM, Pops had gathered up all nine younger kids—ages 5 to 12—who were getting restless in the crowded house. "Come on, you little rascals," he'd said. "Let's go sleep in the barn and let everyone rest."

The kids followed him out to the barn, where Pops made beds for them in the sweet-smelling hay. They'd curled up in blankets while Pops settled in nearby, keeping watch over his youngest charges.

At first light, the ranch rooster let out his usual crow from right outside the barn.

"Shut the hell up, you goddamn feathered bastard!" Pops growled from his spot in the hay.

All nine kids erupted in giggles, their sleepy faces lighting up at hearing Pops curse at the rooster.

"Do it again, Pops!" little Tommy Mattern whispered.

"Yeah, tell him off!" Carlos Rodriguez added through his laughter.

"Fuck yourself, bird," Pops muttered, which sent the kids into fresh fits of giggles as they settled back down to sleep.

It wasn't until noon that the smell of bacon finally roused the house. Somehow, despite having maybe three hours of sleep total, Rebecca, Sarah, Mary Nelson, and the other mothers had managed to coordinate the biggest breakfast spread Kings County had ever seen. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, biscuits, and enough coffee to wake the dead.

"How in the world could these ladies make a breakfast?" Billy muttered, stumbling into the kitchen with Jake and Celeb behind him.

"Well, they did," Sarah said, flipping another batch of pancakes with the kind of efficiency that only comes from feeding ranch families for decades.

The four heroes finally made their appearance around 12:30, showered and clean but still high as kites about their experience. Billy Jr. walked different—shoulders back, head up, with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing you've been tested and didn't break.

"Gentlemen," Pops announced, standing up with his coffee cup raised after herding the nine kids back from the barn, "I present to you four men. Not boys. Men."

Tom, Josh, and the other fathers nodded solemnly. "They earned it," Tom said quietly. "Every bit of it."

The kids—all the younger ones who'd spent the night giggling at Pops' cursing—went absolutely crazy. The 12-year-olds who'd wanted to grab rifles were suddenly looking at Billy Jr. and his friends like they were war heroes.

"Can we hear the story again?" little Carlos Rodriguez asked for probably the tenth time.

"How'd you get the gun out of his pants?" Tommy Mattern wanted to know.

Billy Jr. and his crew were more than happy to oblige, acting out the whole escape with increasingly dramatic flourishes.

"You know what?" Jake said, grinning at the celebration. "These men need to finish what they started. Hunt's still on. Three o'clock."

"Hell yes!" Billy Jr. whooped. "We came to get buck, and we're getting buck!"

By 3 PM, the four newly minted men were loaded back into the mule quad—this time with Jake, Billy, and Celeb following in their own vehicles, not as babysitters but as hunting partners. Equals.

The ladies spent the afternoon setting up what would go down in Kings County history as the biggest BBQ celebration ever. Grills, tables, decorations, enough food to feed both counties, and beer. Lots of beer.

At 6 PM, the hunting party returned in triumph.

Billy Jr. stepped out of the quad first, dragging behind him a beautiful 8-point buck. Ryan Mattern had his own 8-pointer. So did Daniel Rodriguez. So did Billy Renzo. Four perfect shots, four perfect kills, four young men who'd proven themselves in every way that mattered.

Josh looked at his son—really looked at him—and saw not the boy who'd left yesterday morning, but the man who'd come home. Tom felt the same pride swelling in his chest that his father must have felt watching him grow up.

Jake and Billy couldn't stop grinning. Their little brother Billy Jr. wasn't so little anymore.

"Well," Pops said, surveying the four bucks and the four young men who'd brought them home, "I'd say that calls for a drink."

"Dad," Rebecca said, laughing despite herself, "you say that about everything."

"Damn right I do," Pops replied, already heading for the bourbon. "But this time, these boys drink with us. As men."

The celebration lasted until well past midnight, with four 8-point bucks hanging proud in the barn and four new men holding court in the frat house, telling their story to anyone who'd listen.

It had been, by any measure, the perfect hunting trip.