Chapter 1: The Grab
The radio crackled to life at 5:47 AM, Josh's voice cutting through the pre-dawn darkness of the frat house.
"Jake, you copy?"
Jake groaned and fumbled for the radio on the shelf between the bunk beds. "Yeah, I copy."
"Need you on the south fence line. Cattle got through again near the creek crossing."
"Roger that."
"Celab?"
From the top bunk across the room, Celab's hand appeared, giving a thumbs up before his voice followed. "I'm here."
"Irrigation system in the east field. Pump's acting up again."
"On it."
"Jr?"
Billy's nephew was already up, pulling on his boots. The kid was always up first. "Yes sir."
"Help your grandpa with the equipment shed inventory. He's waiting for you."
"Copy."
There was a pause, then Josh's voice came back through. "Billy?"
Billy cracked one eye open from the bottom bunk. The room smelled like old beer, boot leather, and teenage boy. Home.
"I'm awake," he muttered.
"Need you at the fresh cut tree pile off County Road 12. We need that wood split and stacked before the weather turns. Should take you most of the morning."
Billy sat up, running a hand through his hair. Solo job. Quiet morning. He could handle that. "Got it. I'll head out now."
"Take the mule quad. Splitter's already out there from yesterday."
"Roger."
The radio went silent. Around him, his brothers and nephew were already moving—pulling on jeans, lacing boots, grabbing hats. Jr. tossed Billy his work gloves from the hook by the door.
"Wood splitting," Jr. grinned. "You got the easy job today."
"Better than crawling around in irrigation ditches," Billy shot back, standing and stretching.
Jake was already halfway out the door. "Last one to breakfast buys beer this weekend."
They thundered down the hallway toward the kitchen, the old ranch house groaning under their boots. Sarah was already at the stove, coffee brewing, bacon sizzling. Pops sat at the head of the table with his mug, looking like he'd been up for hours. Probably had been.
Twenty minutes later, Billy was on the mule quad, the morning air cool against his face as he drove out toward County Road 12. The sun was just starting to break over the horizon, painting the Texas sky in shades of orange and pink. He had his sidearm holstered at his hip, radio clipped to his belt, phone tucked in his back pocket. Standard gear.
The wood pile came into view—a massive stack of fresh cut logs waiting to be split. The portable wood splitter sat beside it, right where Josh said it would be.
Billy pulled the quad close and killed the engine. He set his sidearm and radio on the seat—didn't need them getting in the way while he worked—and walked toward the splitter, already planning his approach. Get the first log positioned, start the hydraulic press, establish a rhythm. He'd be done by lunch easy.
He bent down to grab a log when he heard the footsteps behind him.
Billy straightened and turned.
Two men stepped out from behind the wood pile, both holding semi-automatic rifles pointed at his chest.
"What the fuck do you want?" Billy asked, his mind already calculating. His sidearm was on the quad. The radio was on the quad. The quad was fifteen feet away. His phone was in his back pocket, but he'd never reach it. He was exposed, no cover, two guns on him.
Outnumbered. Outgunned.
"Put your fuckin' arms behind your back and cross your wrists, Benson," the taller one said. "We're taking you and holding you for ransom."
Billy's heart slammed against his ribs. "You're fuckin' kidnapping me?"
"That's right, dumbass. And now my buddy is going to tie you up."
Billy didn't move. His eyes flicked between the two men, looking for an opening, an advantage, anything.
"Turn around. Now."
The rifles didn't waver.
Billy turned slowly, crossing his wrists behind his back. He felt the rough bite of rope as the second man wrapped it around his wrists, pulling it cruelly tight. Billy grunted, testing the bonds. No give.
"Open your mouth."
Before Billy could respond, a knotted bandanna was shoved between his teeth and tied hard at the back of his head. He tried to curse but it came out muffled. Another bandanna wrapped around his eyes, plunging him into darkness.
Hands grabbed his arms, rough and impatient. They marched him forward—he could feel the uneven ground under his boots—and then around the wood pile. He heard a truck door open.
"Get in."
They shoved him forward and he stumbled, falling hard into the bed of a pickup truck. His shoulder hit metal and pain shot through his arm. Before he could orient himself, hands grabbed his ankles, yanking them together. More rope, tight above his work boots. Then the unmistakable sound of duct tape ripping, pressed over the bandannas covering his mouth and eyes.
The phone in his back pocket pressed against him as he lay there, a small piece of hope buried beneath layers of rope and tape.
The truck engine roared to life.
Billy lay in the darkness, bound and gagged, feeling the truck lurch into motion. The wood pile, the mule quad with his radio and gun sitting there in plain sight—all of it disappearing behind him as they drove him toward an unknown fate.
Chapter 2: The Barn
The truck bounced over rough terrain for what felt like hours but was probably only twenty minutes. Billy counted the turns—left, right, another right—trying to map the route in his mind. Not that it would help. He had no idea where he'd started or where he was going.
The truck finally lurched to a stop. The engine cut off.
Doors opened. Boots hit gravel.
"Get him out."
Hands grabbed Billy's shoulders and hauled him up. He tried to get his feet under him but with his ankles bound, he stumbled. They dragged him over the tailgate and he hit the ground hard, knees first. Pain shot up his legs.
"On your feet, asshole."
They yanked him upright. Billy could smell old wood, dust, and something musty. A barn, maybe. Abandoned by the smell of it.
They half-dragged, half-walked him forward. His boots scraped across dirt and debris. A door creaked open—the sound echoing in what had to be a large empty space.
"Right here."
They dropped him. Billy hit the ground on his side, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped against the gag, trying to breathe through his nose.
"Make sure he can't go anywhere," the taller one said. "We need to get back and ditch this truck. Someone's gonna notice it missing."
Billy felt hands on him again, rough and efficient. They rolled him onto his stomach. More rope. They pulled his ankles up toward his wrists behind his back, bending him backward. A hogtie. Billy grunted and tried to resist but it was useless. They cinched the rope tight, connecting his bound wrists to his bound ankles.
"Not done yet," one of them muttered.
They grabbed his elbows, forcing them together behind his back. Billy's shoulders screamed in protest as they wrapped rope around his elbows, pulling them closer and closer until they nearly touched. He tried to yell through the gag but it came out as nothing but a muffled groan.
Then came more rope around his torso, looping around his biceps and lashing them tight to his sides. They wrapped it again and again, frapping the coils together until his arms were completely immobilized.
"That'll hold him."
Billy lay there, bent backward in the hogtie, barely able to move. Every muscle in his body was pulled taut. His shoulders burned. His wrists and ankles were going numb from the tight rope.
"What about the ransom?" the shorter one asked.
"We call in a few hours. Let 'em sweat. Let this asshole sweat too."
Footsteps. The door creaked open, then slammed shut. A lock clicked into place.
Billy was alone.
He lay there in the darkness behind the blindfold, breathing hard through his nose, his heart pounding. The phone was still in his back pocket, pressed against him, but it might as well have been on the moon. His hands were tied to his feet. His elbows were crushed together. His arms were lashed to his sides. He couldn't reach anything.
He tested the ropes. Pulled against them. Tried to find any give, any slack, anything he could work with.
Nothing.
The hogtie was tight. Professional, almost. These guys knew what they were doing.
Billy forced himself to breathe slowly, to think. Jake would notice he was missing. Josh would check in. Someone would come looking. He just had to wait.
But as the minutes dragged on and the rope bit deeper into his skin, waiting felt like the hardest thing he'd ever done.
His shoulders screamed. His back ached. The position was brutal, bending him backward, putting pressure on every joint.
He tried again to work the ropes. Twisted his wrists. Flexed his arms. Nothing moved.
Come on, he thought. Someone call my phone. Someone figure it out.
But the barn stayed silent except for his own labored breathing and the occasional creak of old wood settling.
Billy closed his eyes behind the blindfold and tried not to panic.
Someone would come.
They had to.
Chapter 3: Lunchtime
The Texas sun was high and merciless by noon, baking the ranch in waves of shimmering heat. One by one, the boys returned from their morning work—dusty, sweaty, ready for lunch.
Jake came in first, stripping off his work gloves and tossing them on the porch rail. Celab followed, wiping his face with a bandanna. Jr. appeared from the equipment shed with Pops, both of them talking about inventory numbers.
Sarah had set up lunch on the back deck—thick sandwiches made from last night's pot roast, potato salad, sweet tea sweating in tall glasses. Rebecca had already left for her shift at Kings County Hospital, her scrubs swapped for the nurse's uniform she wore with quiet pride.
Pops settled into his chair at the head of the table, a tumbler of whiskey already in his gnarled hand despite the early hour. "Damn hot out there," he muttered, his Vietnam-weathered face creased with satisfaction. "Reminds me of Da Nang in July."
"Everything reminds you of Da Nang," Jake said, grinning as he grabbed a sandwich.
"That's 'cause Da Nang was a shithole and so is this heat," Pops shot back.
Jr. laughed, reaching for the potato salad. The kid was getting more like Pops every day—same irreverent humor, same comfort with profanity that drove Sarah crazy.
Tom came out from the house, Josh behind him. They settled into chairs, the general rhythm of lunch falling into place. The banter flowed easy—Jake ribbing Celab about the irrigation pump, Jr. telling a story about something Pops said that morning that had them all laughing.
Sarah brought out another pitcher of sweet tea. "Y'all are gonna drink me dry today."
"Worth it, Mama," Jake said, raising his glass.
It was Celab who noticed first. He looked around the table, then frowned. "Where's Billy?"
The question hung in the air for a beat.
Jake looked up. "Probably still at the wood pile. That's a lot of logs."
Tom checked his watch. "He should've radioed in by now if he was running behind."
Josh reached for his radio, clicked it on. "Billy, you copy?"
Static.
"Billy, this is Josh. What's your status?"
Nothing.
A thread of unease wound through the group. Tom pulled out his phone, dialed Billy's number. It rang. And rang. And rang. Then went to voicemail.
"That's not like him," Sarah said quietly.
Jake was already on his feet. "Something's wrong."
"Could be his radio died," Josh offered, but his voice lacked conviction. "Phone could be out of range—"
"Bullshit," Jake said. "County Road 12 has coverage. I'm going out there."
"I'm coming," Celab said, standing.
Jr. was already moving toward the door. "Me too."
Tom nodded. "Take the truck. Radio back as soon as you get there."
The three of them were gone in under a minute, the truck kicking up dust as it tore down the ranch road toward County Road 12.
Pops took a slow sip of his whiskey, his eyes distant. "Something ain't right."
"Don't say that," Sarah said, but her hand was trembling as she set down her glass.
Josh stared at his radio like it had betrayed him.
The wood pile came into view and Jake felt his stomach drop.
The mule quad sat exactly where Billy would've parked it. The wood splitter was there, untouched. The massive pile of logs—still whole, unsplit.
No work done.
Jake killed the engine and they piled out. Jr. reached the quad first.
"His gun," Jr. said, picking up the sidearm from the seat. "His radio."
"He wouldn't leave those," Celab said, scanning the area. "Not willingly."
Jake walked toward the wood pile, his boots crunching on gravel. Something caught his eye—a flash of color against the dirt.
A long strip of rope.
He picked it up. It was cut, frayed at one end. Used.
"Fuck," Jake breathed.
Jr. was beside him in an instant, staring at the rope. His young face had gone pale.
"Someone took him," Jr. said, his voice tight.
Celab grabbed his radio. "Josh, you copy?"
"I copy. What'd you find?"
"The quad's here. Billy's gun and radio are here. Billy's not. There's no work done and we found rope. Cut rope."
The silence on the other end spoke volumes.
Jr. didn't wait for a response. He pulled the emergency radio from his belt—the one with the 911 button—and pressed it hard.
The mechanical voice activated immediately, broadcasting across the encrypted consortium frequency:
"911 EMERGENCY. 911 EMERGENCY. 911 EMERGENCY. BILLY BENSON JUNIOR."
Jr.'s voice came through, steady despite the fear in his eyes. "I think somebody has taken Billy."
Chapter 4: The War Room
The 911 emergency broadcast hit every radio, every phone, every device connected to the consortium network. Within seconds, responses flooded in.
"This is Wade Nelson. I copy. En route to Benson Ranch now."
"Robert Beaumont. We copy. What do you need?"
"Renzo family copies. Standing by."
"Mattern family. We're here."
"Rodriguez. What's the situation?"
Jr., Jake, and Celab were back at the ranch in under ten minutes. By the time they pulled up, the command center—the room next to the frat house—was already buzzing with activity.
Jr. burst through the door with Colt right behind him. The other wiz kids were already there: Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez, all sixteen, all moving with practiced efficiency. The $50,000 worth of high-tech equipment hummed to life—satellite phones, encrypted tablets, drone controls, thermal imaging displays.
Wade Nelson arrived moments later, still in his sheriff's uniform, his face grim. He was Jr.'s grandfather through Rebecca, Tom's son-in-law, and Kings County Sheriff. The weight of family and duty hung heavy in the room. But right now, he was all business.
"What do we have?" Wade asked, stepping up to the main display.
"Billy's phone is still active," Jr. said, pulling up tracking data on one of the iPads. "Last ping was twenty-three minutes ago, still moving. It's southeast of County Road 12."
Colt was already pulling up surveillance camera feeds. "We've got ranch cameras covering the main roads. Let me scan back to this morning."
The room fell silent except for the clicking of keys and the hum of electronics. Tom stood near the door, arms crossed, jaw tight. Josh was beside him, pale, his hands shaking slightly.
Sarah appeared in the doorway. "I made coffee. And I'm not leaving, so don't ask."
Nobody argued.
"Got something," Colt said suddenly. All eyes turned to his screen. "There. 6:14 AM. Dark pickup truck, older model, heading toward County Road 12."
He zoomed in, enhanced the image. The truck was grainy but visible.
"Can you get the plate?" Wade asked.
"Too far, wrong angle. But—" Colt switched to another camera. "Here's the same truck leaving at 6:52 AM. Heading southeast."
"That's our window," Wade said. "Billy was grabbed between 6:15 and 6:50."
Jr. was already cross-referencing data. "His phone pinged at the woodpile location at 6:41 AM, then went dark for eight minutes, then started moving at 6:49."
"They grabbed him, tied him up, threw him in the truck," Jake said, his voice cold and flat. "Took less than ten minutes."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. Without warning, Jake turned and slammed his fist into the wall. The drywall cracked, splintering around his knuckles. Blood welled up on his hand.
"Jake—" Tom started.
"They took my brother," Jake said through gritted teeth. "They fucking took Billy."
Sarah handed him a kitchen towel without a word. Jake wrapped his bleeding knuckles, his chest heaving.
Across the room, Josh stood frozen, his face ashen. His hands trembled at his sides.
"This is my fault," Josh said quietly. "I didn't encrypt the frequency this morning. I forgot to—" His voice broke. "They heard me send him out there. They were listening."
The room went silent.
Tom turned to look at his oldest son, but it was Pops who moved first.
The old man stood from his chair, walked over to Josh, and put a gnarled hand on his shoulder. His whiskey-rough voice was surprisingly gentle.
"Son, you made a mistake. A human mistake. You think I didn't make mistakes in Nam that got good men hurt? You think your father never made a call on this ranch that went sideways?" Pops squeezed Josh's shoulder. "You didn't kidnap Billy. Those assholes out there did. You hear me?"
Josh's eyes were red. "But if I had just—"
"No," Pops said firmly. "We don't do that. We don't tear ourselves apart while the enemy's still out there. You want to make this right? Then you help us get your brother back. That's how you fix it."
Josh nodded, swallowing hard.
Tom stepped forward and pulled Josh into a brief, hard embrace. "Pops is right. We get Billy back. That's all that matters."
Wade's radio crackled. "Sheriff, this is dispatch. We've got units standing by. What do you need?"
Wade looked at Tom, then at the wiz kids working the screens, then back at his radio. "Stand by. We're coordinating here first."
He turned to the consortium men gathering in the hallway. Word had spread fast. Robert Beaumont was there, along with men from the Renzo, Mattern, and Rodriguez families. They were checking rifles, loading magazines, strapping on sidearms.
"We're armed and ready," Robert said. "Just point us in the right direction."
Wade nodded. "Let's find him first. Then we move."
Jr. looked up from his screen, his young face set with determination that made him look years older.
"We'll find him," Jr. said. "I promise you, we'll find him."
Chapter 5: The Dumbass Move
"His phone's still pinging," Jr. said, tracking the signal on his iPad. "But it's not moving anymore. Stopped about six minutes ago."
Wade leaned over Jr.'s shoulder, studying the map. "Where?"
"Old Barrett property, looks like. Been abandoned for years. About twelve miles southeast."
Celab stood near the window, his jaw clenched, arms crossed. He'd been quiet since they'd found the wood pile, but his mind was racing. Billy was out there. Billy, who'd become like a brother to him over the past fourteen months. Billy, who'd made room for him in the frat house, shared his beers, had his back on every job.
Celab pulled out his phone.
"What are you doing?" Jake asked.
"Calling him," Celab said simply.
"Celab, if they hear it ring—" Tom started.
"Good," Celab said. "Maybe Billy can answer. Maybe we can hear something. Maybe—"
He hit the call button before anyone could stop him.
The phone rang once. Twice.
Then someone answered.
"Yeah?" A male voice, rough, cautious.
The room went dead silent. Jr. immediately started recording, tracing the signal.
Celab's eyes went wide. "Where's Billy?" he demanded.
"Who the fuck is this?"
"Where is he?" Celab's voice rose.
There was a pause, then muffled voices in the background. "Shit, it's them. They're tracking this."
"Is he alive?" Celab shouted.
The line went dead.
Jr. was already typing furiously. "Got it. Three-second ping, full signal. Location confirmed—Barrett barn, twelve miles southeast on Old Mill Road."
"Stupid ass," Wade muttered, but there was a hint of admiration in his voice. "You just scared the hell out of them."
Colt pulled up aerial imagery of the location. "That's it. Old barn, single structure, no other buildings nearby."
At the Barrett barn, the taller kidnapper stared at Billy's phone in his hand like it had just bitten him.
"They're tracking this, you dumbass!" the shorter one hissed. "Why'd you answer it?"
"I didn't think—"
"That's right, you didn't think! They know where we are now. We gotta move. Now."
They both turned to look at Billy, still hogtied on the barn floor, his body arched backward, wrists bound to ankles.
"We need more insurance," the taller one said.
They grabbed more rope from their bag. Billy felt hands on him again, and he tried to thrash, to fight, but the hogtie made it impossible. They wrapped additional rope around his already-bound wrists, then looped it through the rope connecting to his ankles, pulling everything even tighter. Billy groaned against the gag, his shoulders screaming.
"That'll hold him even if he gets loose from the first tie," the shorter one said.
They added another length of rope around his chest, cinching the existing bindings even tighter, frapping the coils until Billy could barely breathe.
"Let's go. Leave the phone. They'll find him eventually, but we'll be long gone."
They dropped Billy's phone on the ground a few feet away from him—close enough to see but impossibly far to reach—and ran for the door.
Billy heard the truck engine roar to life, then the sound of tires on gravel, fading into the distance.
Silence.
Billy lay there in the darkness behind the blindfold, his body screaming in pain. The additional ropes had made everything worse. His wrists were numb. His elbows felt like they might pop out of their sockets. His back was on fire from the severe arch.
He tried again to work the ropes. Twisted. Pulled. Flexed.
Nothing.
The hogtie was even tighter now, the new ropes layered over the old ones, creating a web of restraint he couldn't break.
His phone was somewhere nearby—he could almost sense it—but he couldn't see it, couldn't reach it, couldn't do anything but lie there and wait.
Come on, he thought desperately. You know where I am now. Come get me.
The barn creaked in the wind.
Billy forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose, fighting the rising panic.
They were coming.
They had to be coming.
Chapter 6: The Drone
"We've got the location," Jr. announced, his fingers flying across the tablet. "Barrett barn. Twelve miles out."
"Deploying drone now," Billy Renzo said, already at the controls. The high-pitched whine of the drone's rotors filled the command center as it lifted off from the launch pad outside.
Wade grabbed his radio. "All units, we have a location. Old Barrett property, Old Mill Road. Do not approach until we confirm the situation."
On the main screen, the drone's camera feed appeared—racing over fields and fence lines, the landscape blurring beneath it.
"Switching to thermal," Ryan Mattern said.
The image shifted to blues and greens, heat signatures standing out in orange and red.
"There," Daniel Rodriguez pointed. "The barn. I've got a heat signature inside. Single person, on the ground."
Tom leaned in close to the screen. "That's him. That's gotta be him."
"No other signatures in or around the structure," Jr. confirmed. "He's alone."
Jake was already moving toward the door. "Let's go get him."
"Wait," Wade said, his sheriff's training kicking in. "Could be a trap. Let me get eyes on—"
"Fuck that," Jake said. "That's my brother."
Celab was right behind him. "We're going."
Tom looked at Wade, then nodded. "We're going. All of us."
Jr. was already grabbing equipment. "We're coming too. Jake's truck has internet—we can run everything mobile from there."
"Load up," Wade said. "But you boys stay in the vehicles when we make entry."
Pops appeared with his flask. "I'm coming too. Billy's gonna need this."
The wiz kids grabbed their iPads, portable monitors, and the drone controls. Within two minutes, four trucks were loaded—armed consortium men in the lead vehicles, Wade and his deputies coordinating, Tom and Josh in one truck, Jake driving with Pops in the passenger seat and the four sixteen-year-olds crammed in the back seat and truck bed with their equipment.
Jr. had his iPad connected, streaming data. "Sending feeds to everyone now," he said, his fingers moving quickly. "Sarah, Rebecca, Mary—you all should have video on your iPads."
Sarah's voice came through the radio. "We see it. We're watching. Bring him home."
"Drone's holding position," Jr. said as Jake's truck roared down the ranch road. "Heat signature hasn't moved. Whoever's in there isn't moving much."
Jake's hands gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white. Celab rode in Tom's truck, his rifle ready.
In Jake's truck bed, the wiz kids had their screens glowing—drone feeds, GPS tracking, thermal imaging all running simultaneously.
The barn came into view—weathered wood, half-collapsed roof, surrounded by overgrown weeds.
The trucks skidded to a stop. Wade was out first, weapon drawn. "Sheriff's department! Anyone inside, make yourself known!"
Silence.
Jake didn't wait. He hit the barn door at a run, Tom and Celab right behind him.
"Billy!"
The barn was dim, dusty light filtering through gaps in the walls. And there, in the middle of the floor, was Billy.
Still hogtied. Still blindfolded and gagged. But moving—testing the ropes, working against them.
"Billy!" Jake was on his knees beside his brother in seconds, his hands already working at the knots. "We got you. We got you, brother."
Billy jerked at the touch, then went still as he recognized Jake's voice. A muffled sound came from behind the gag—relief mixed with frustration.
Celab pulled out his knife and started cutting ropes. "Hold still, let me get these."
Tom grabbed Billy's shoulder. "Easy, son. We're getting you out."
The ropes fell away—first the connection between wrists and ankles, releasing the hogtie. Billy straightened with a groan of relief. Then the ropes around his torso, his elbows, his biceps.
Jake pulled the duct tape and blindfold off. Billy blinked in the dim light, his eyes sharp and angry.
Celab removed the gag last. Billy spat it out and sucked in a deep breath.
"About fucking time," Billy said, his voice rough but strong. "They took off maybe fifteen minutes ago."
Jake helped him to his feet. Billy's wrists had rope burns and red marks circled his arms, but he was steady. He'd only been tied up for about an hour—painful as hell, but he was good.
Pops stepped into the barn, flask in hand. "Here, boy. You earned this."
Billy took the flask and knocked back a long pull of whiskey. The burn felt good. He handed it back and rolled his shoulders, wincing.
"Thanks, Pops."
"You good?" Jake asked.
"I'm good," Billy said, and he meant it. "Now let's go catch those assholes."
He spotted his phone on the ground and grabbed it, checking it. "Dark pickup, same one from this morning. They panicked when Celab called and added more rope before they ran."
Back at Jake's truck, Jr. was already on it. "Grandpa, we've got the drone tracking them. They're five miles southeast, heading toward the county line."
Sarah's voice came through everyone's radios and iPads. "Thank God. Is he okay?"
"He's fine, Mama," Billy called back, walking out of the barn under his own power. "Just pissed off."
Billy climbed into Wade's truck, Pops right behind him with the flask. Wade looked at Billy—rope marks on his wrists, dirt on his clothes, but eyes clear and angry.
"You sure you're good for this?" Wade asked.
"Hell yes," Billy said. "They grabbed me, hogtied me, and ran like cowards. I want to see their faces when we catch them."
The wiz kids in Jake's truck had their screens lit up, tracking everything in real time.
Jr.'s voice came through the radio, calm and precise. "Suspects are slowing down. Looks like they're pulling off onto a side road. Sending coordinates to everyone's iPads now."
Back at the house, Sarah, Rebecca, and Mary watched the feeds on their tablets, seeing Billy walk out of that barn alive and ready for payback.
The chase was on.
Chapter 7: Justice
The convoy of trucks tore down Old Mill Road, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. In Jake's truck, the wiz kids were locked in, eyes glued to their screens.
"They stopped," Jr. announced. "Pulled off at an old service road about two miles ahead. Looks like they're ditching the truck."
"Can you see them?" Wade asked over the radio.
"Thermal's got two signatures. They're on foot now, heading into the tree line."
Billy Renzo adjusted the drone controls. "I'm bringing it lower. Getting visual."
On the screens, the drone descended through the trees. Two men, scrambling through brush, looking back over their shoulders.
"They know we're coming," Daniel Rodriguez said.
"Good," Billy muttered from Wade's truck, his voice crackling through the radio. "Let 'em run."
Jake pushed his truck harder. "How far?"
"One mile. Take the next left."
The trucks swung onto a narrow dirt road. Ahead, the dark pickup sat abandoned, driver's door still open.
Wade's voice was all business. "All units, suspects are on foot in the woods northeast of this position. We're setting up a perimeter. Nobody goes in alone."
The trucks stopped and men poured out. The consortium members fanned out, rifles ready. Wade coordinated his deputies. Tom, Josh, Jake, and Celab moved as a unit.
Billy climbed out of Wade's truck, Pops beside him.
"You're staying here," Wade said.
Billy's jaw tightened. "The hell I am."
"Billy—"
"They tied me up and left me in that barn. I'm going."
Wade looked at Tom, who nodded once. "He's going."
The wiz kids stayed with the trucks, tracking from their screens. "They're circling back," Jr. called out. "Heading west toward the ravine."
The men moved through the woods, practiced and quiet. Jake was in front, Celab on his right. Billy followed behind Tom, his body still aching but adrenaline pushing him forward.
"I've got visual," Ryan Mattern said through the radio. "Two hundred yards ahead, near the creek bed."
The men closed in.
The kidnappers broke from cover, running hard. But they were panicked, clumsy. One stumbled over a root and went down hard. The other tried to keep running but found himself facing a wall of armed men.
"Freeze! Sheriff's department!" Wade's voice boomed through the trees.
The taller kidnapper raised his hands. The shorter one, still on the ground, did the same.
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"
Jake and Celab reached them first, rifles trained. Wade moved in with handcuffs, but Billy stepped forward.
"Wait," Billy said, his voice cold.
He walked up to the taller one, the one who'd shoved the gag in his mouth. The man's eyes went wide.
"You," the man breathed.
"Yeah. Me." Billy's fist came up fast, connecting with the man's jaw. The kidnapper's head snapped back and he dropped like a stone.
"Billy!" Wade started.
"He resisted," Billy said flatly.
Jake grinned. Celab laughed outright.
Wade sighed. "Turn around. Both of you. Hands behind your back."
But Billy wasn't done. He pulled rope from his belt—the same rope they'd used on him, that Jake had grabbed from the barn.
"Let me," Billy said.
Wade looked like he wanted to argue, then stepped back. "Make it quick."
Billy tied the first kidnapper's wrists, pulling the rope tight. Real tight. The man grunted.
"Too tight?" Billy asked, his voice dripping with mock concern. "Huh. Imagine that."
He moved to the second man, Jake helping him roll the guy onto his stomach. Billy tied his wrists the same way, then for good measure, he grabbed more rope and bound their ankles.
"There," Billy said, standing back. "Now you know how it feels."
Celab helped him haul both men to their feet. They stumbled, off-balance with their hands and feet bound.
Wade stepped forward. "You're both under arrest for kidnapping, assault, and about six other charges I'm gonna enjoy writing up." He looked at the taller one. "And you're getting an additional charge for resisting arrest and assaulting an officer."
"I didn't—"
"Shut up," Wade said.
Robert Beaumont and the other consortium men emerged from the trees, weapons lowered but ready. The message was clear: nobody messed with their people.
Jr.'s voice came through the radio. "We got it all on drone footage. Every second."
"Good," Wade said. "Load 'em up."
Jake and Celab dragged the two men back toward the trucks, Billy walking alongside them. The kidnappers stumbled and complained about the ropes, but nobody loosened them.
At the trucks, Wade's deputies took custody, loading the men into the sheriff's vehicle. Wade stood with Tom, watching.
"That was quick work," Wade said.
"Good kids," Tom replied, nodding toward Jr. and the wiz kids, who were already packing up their equipment.
Billy stood with Jake and Celab, watching the sheriff's truck pull away with the kidnappers in the back.
"You good?" Jake asked.
Billy rolled his shoulders, testing the soreness. "Yeah. I'm good."
Celab clapped him on the back. "Let's go home."
Pops appeared with his flask again. "One more for the road, boys."
They passed it around—Billy, Jake, Celab, even Jr. when Pops wasn't looking.
The sun was starting to set as the convoy headed back to the ranch. In the back of Jake's truck, the wiz kids were uploading footage, documenting everything, already talking about system improvements.
Sarah's voice came through the radio, warm with relief. "Dinner's in an hour. Y'all better be hungry."
Billy leaned back in his seat, feeling the aches in his body but also the satisfaction of justice served.
They were going home.
Chapter 8: Dinner and Payback
The trucks rolled back into the ranch just as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the Texas sky in shades of orange and purple. Sarah, Rebecca, and Mary were waiting on the porch, and the relief on their faces was palpable.
Sarah pulled Billy into a tight hug the moment he stepped out of Wade's truck. "Thank God you're okay."
"I'm fine, Mama," Billy said, hugging her back. "Just a little rope burn."
Rebecca hugged her father Wade, then Jr., her eyes wet with tears she refused to shed. Mary stood beside Wade, her hand finding his.
"Dinner's ready," Sarah announced. "And I don't want to hear any arguments about washing up first. Y'all can eat dirty for once."
The deck was set with platters of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, cornbread, and fresh rolls. The consortium families started arriving—the Beaumonts, the Renzos, the Matterns, the Rodriguezes—all wanting to see Billy with their own eyes, to confirm he was safe.
Pops took his seat at the head of the table, whiskey tumbler already refilled. "Well, that was one hell of a day."
"Could've been worse," Billy said, settling into his chair and reaching for the chicken.
"Could've been better if you'd just escaped on your own," Jake said with a grin.
The table went quiet for a beat, then Jr. snorted.
"What?" Billy said, defensive.
"Come on, man," Celab said, loading his plate. "You were tied up for like an hour and you couldn't get out."
"They had me hogtied with my elbows together," Billy shot back. "Let's see you try it."
"I'm just saying," Jake said, his grin widening, "all that talk about how tough you are, and you're just lying there waiting for us to rescue you like some damsel in distress."
"Fuck you," Billy said, but he was grinning too.
"Billy in distress," Jr. said, laughing. "We should make that a movie."
Even Tom was smiling. "You did good, son. You stayed calm, kept your head."
"Yeah, well, next time maybe don't send me to a wood pile that kidnappers are camping out at," Billy said, looking at Josh.
Josh's face fell slightly, but Billy clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm messing with you. It wasn't your fault."
Pops raised his glass. "To Billy. Kidnapped before breakfast, rescued by lunch, home for dinner. That's efficiency."
Everyone raised their glasses. "To Billy!"
The meal continued with the usual banter and ribbing, the families sharing stories and laughter well into the evening. When the consortium families finally headed home and the dishes were cleared, Jake looked at Billy, Celab, and Jr.
"Frat house?" Jake said.
"Hell yes," Celab said.
They filed into their room—the frat house—where the wiz kids were already gathered: Jr., Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez, and Colt. Someone had already pried up the loose floorboards and pulled out the contraband: ice-cold beer in a hidden cooler.
"To a successful rescue operation," Billy Renzo said, passing out bottles.
"To the wiz kids," Jake said, cracking his open. "You guys were badass today."
"We know," Jr. said with a grin, settling onto the bottom bunk.
They sprawled across the bunks and the mattress on the floor, the room filled with the comfortable chaos of teenage boys and young men who'd just lived through something intense.
"Seriously though," Ryan Mattern said, "you really couldn't get out of those ropes?"
"Here we go again," Billy muttered, taking a long pull from his beer.
"No, I'm genuinely curious," Ryan pressed. "Like, was it the hogtie that made it impossible, or the elbow tie?"
"Both," Billy said. "Together, you can't move anything. Your hands can't reach your feet, your feet can't reach your hands, your elbows are crushed together so you can't get leverage—"
"Sounds like bullshit to me," Daniel Rodriguez said.
"It's not bullshit," Billy said. "It's physics."
"Physics," Jake repeated, grinning. "Listen to the expert over here."
"I am an expert," Billy shot back. "I spent an hour hogtied this morning. That makes me more qualified than any of you assholes."
"He's got a point," Celab said, laughing.
"Still," Jr. said, "seems like you should've been able to do something."
"Like what?" Billy demanded. "Teleport? Dislocate my shoulders? You want to try it?"
"Hell no," Jr. said quickly.
"That's what I thought," Billy said, taking another drink.
"But seriously," Colt said, "what was it like? Being tied up like that, not knowing if we'd find you?"
The room went quieter. Billy looked at his beer for a moment.
"Honestly? It sucked. The position hurts like hell after about ten minutes. Your shoulders feel like they're gonna pop. Your back's on fire. And yeah, there was a minute where I wondered if you guys would figure it out in time." He looked up at them. "But I knew you would. I knew you'd come."
Jake reached over and punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Damn right we did."
"The drone footage was insane," Ryan said. "Watching you in there on thermal, then seeing you walk out—"
"Watching those assholes run through the woods," Daniel added. "That was satisfying."
"Not as satisfying as Billy punching that guy in the face," Celab said.
"That was pretty good," Billy admitted with a grin.
"Pretty good?" Jr. said. "That was legendary. Grandpa tried so hard not to laugh."
"And then you tied them up with the same rope," Billy Renzo said. "Chef's kiss."
They laughed, passing around more beers, the tension of the day finally melting away into the easy comfort of brotherhood.
"You know what the worst part was?" Billy said after a while.
"What?" Jake asked.
"My phone was in my back pocket the whole time. I could feel it pressing against me. But I couldn't reach it. Couldn't do anything but lie there and hope someone would call it."
"And Celab did," Jr. said. "Dumbest smart move ever."
"Hey, it worked," Celab said defensively.
"It did work," Billy agreed. "Scared the shit out of them. So thanks for that."
"Anytime, brother," Celab said.
They sat there in the frat house, drinking their contraband beer, trading insults and stories, the way they always did. The day had been intense—terrifying, even—but they'd handled it. Together.
Outside, the Texas night settled over the ranch, stars brilliant in the dark sky. Tomorrow they'd be back to work, back to the routine. But tonight, they were just brothers and friends, safe in their room, with cold beer and good company.
Life on the Benson Ranch went on.
