Chapter 1: 5:30 AM
The banging on the door started at exactly 5:30, same as every morning.
"Get your asses up! Daylight's burning and you shitheads are still in your bunks!"
Pops didn't wait for an answer. He never did. The door swung open and there he stood, seventy-six years old in worn Wranglers and a flannel shirt, a cigar already clamped between his teeth even though Sarah had told him a thousand times no smoking in the house before breakfast.
"I said UP!"
Jake groaned from the top bunk, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Pops, the sun ain't even up yet."
"Sun's been up for ten minutes, you lazy bastard. Billy, you awake?"
Billy was already sitting up in the bottom bunk, rubbing his face. "I'm up, I'm up."
"Good. You're the only one with any sense." Pops jabbed the cigar toward the other bunks. "Celeb, Jr., Colton—you boys got thirty seconds to hit the floor or I'm dumping water on you."
Celeb sat up fast, his hair sticking up in six directions. "We're up, we're up."
Billy Jr. swung down from his bunk with the ease of someone who'd been doing it his whole life, landing with a thud that shook the floorboards. "Morning, Pops."
"There's my great-grandson. You boys get dressed and get downstairs. Your mama's got breakfast ready and Josh has got assignments. We got a full day."
"When don't we?" Jake muttered, climbing down.
Pops grinned around his cigar. "You want a day off, join the goddamn circus. This is a ranch." He turned and headed back toward the stairs, calling over his shoulder, "Five minutes or I'm eating your bacon!"
The door slammed shut.
Colton sat up on his mattress between the bunks, blinking. "Does he ever just... knock?"
"Nope," Billy said, pulling on his jeans. "You been here fourteen months. You should know that by now."
"I keep hoping."
Jake yanked a t-shirt over his head. "Hope in one hand, shit in the other. See which fills up first."
"Poetry," Celeb said, grinning. "You should write that down."
"Fuck off."
Billy Jr. was already dressed, lacing up his boots. The kid moved fast—probably had Anna on his mind and wanted to get through the day so he could see her later. "Come on, let's go. You know Pops wasn't kidding about the bacon."
Downstairs, the kitchen smelled like coffee, eggs, and frying sausage. Sarah stood at the stove, her hair pulled back, already looking like she'd been up for an hour. Rebecca was at the counter pouring orange juice, and Tom sat at the head of the long table with the newspaper spread out in front of him, steam rising from his mug.
Pops was already in his chair with a plate piled high, whisky bottle on the table next to his coffee. Sarah shot him a look.
"It's five-thirty in the morning, Dad."
"And I'm seventy-six years old. I'll drink what I damn well please."
She shook her head but didn't argue. You didn't win arguments with Pops.
The boys filed in—Billy, Jake, Celeb, Jr., and Colton—grabbing plates and loading up. Ray came in from the office, looking like he'd already been on the computer for an hour. Josh arrived last, boots heavy on the floor, and poured himself coffee before sitting down.
"Alright," Josh said, setting his mug down. "Listen up. We got a lot to cover today."
Everyone quieted down. Josh was the General Manager—when he talked, you listened.
"Ray, you're handling the feed delivery this morning and meeting with the livestock buyer at ten. Dad, you and I are checking the south fence line after I get the paperwork done. Celeb, you're with Colton on equipment maintenance—that damn tractor's been running rough and needs attention before we lose another day on it."
He looked at Billy Jr. "Jr., you're helping Anna's dad with their irrigation system today. He called yesterday and said he needs an extra pair of hands."
Jr. nodded, grinning. Any excuse to be over at the Nelson place with Anna.
Josh turned to Billy and Jake. "You two—northern barn. Big Red busted through the fence last night and Wade called it in early this morning. Fence is down, and the bull's somewhere in the scrub. You need to find him, get him back, and fix that fence."
Billy set his fork down. "How the hell did Big Red get out?"
"Who knows. He's a stubborn son of a bitch. Probably wanted some grass on the other side."
Jake groaned. "That's gonna take all day."
"Then you better get started," Tom said from behind his paper.
"Your mama's making pot roast tonight," Sarah called from the stove. "Friday night special. So don't be late."
"And I got a surprise for dessert," Rebecca added with a smile.
"See?" Jake said to Billy. "There's your motivation. Pot roast and mystery dessert."
Billy grinned. "And cold beer in the frat house before dinner."
"Language," Sarah said without looking.
Pops laughed and raised his whisky. "That's my boys."
Josh stood, draining his coffee. "Alright, let's move. Daylight's burning."
Chairs scraped back. Plates hit the sink. Billy and Jake grabbed their hats off the rack by the door and headed out into the cool morning air, the sun just starting to break over the horizon.
"Long day ahead," Billy said.
"Yeah," Jake said, climbing into the truck. "But at least it's just a fence and a bull. What's the worst that could happen?"
Chapter 2: Long Fuckin' Day
The northern barn sat at the edge of the property, where the Benson land met a stretch of scrub and mesquite that nobody had bothered to clear in twenty years. Billy brought the mule quad to a stop next to the fence line and killed the engine.
"Well, shit," Jake said, looking at the mess.
The fence was down, alright. A whole section of it—posts snapped, wire tangled in the dirt like some kind of metal tumbleweed. And no sign of Big Red anywhere.
Billy climbed off, walked over to the busted fence, and crouched down. "He didn't just knock this over. He went through it like a damn freight train."
"That bull's got anger issues."
"That bull's got two thousand pounds and a bad attitude." Billy stood up, shading his eyes and scanning the scrub. "Question is, where'd he go?"
Jake pulled out his binoculars and climbed up on top of the quad. He swept the horizon, slow and methodical. "There," he said after a minute, pointing west. "About half a mile out. I can see him near that old dried-up creek bed."
"Of course he is." Billy grabbed his hat and settled it on his head. "Alright. Let's go get the bastard before he decides to wander into the next county."
It took them two hours to track Big Red down, another hour to coax him back toward the barn with a bucket of feed and a whole lot of patience, and then another three hours to fix the fence. By the time they were done, the sun was still high but starting to sink toward the horizon, and both of them were drenched in sweat.
Jake wiped his face with his bandana and looked at the repaired fence. "You think that'll hold?"
"It'll hold," Billy said, testing the tension on the wire. "At least until Big Red gets pissed off again."
"Should've been done two hours ago if that damn bull hadn't taken off to go sightseeing."
Billy grinned. "Yeah, well. That's ranching."
They loaded the tools back into the storage box on the quad, and Billy jerked his head toward the barn. "Come on. Let's get out of this heat for a minute."
Inside the barn it was cooler, the air still and thick with the smell of hay and old wood. Jake grabbed his water bottle and drained what was left, then flopped down on a hay bale near the door.
"Long fuckin' day," he said.
Billy sat down across from him, pulling off his hat and wiping the sweat from his forehead. He pulled out his vape and took a long drag, exhaling slowly. "Yeah. What time is it?"
Jake checked his watch. "Five o'clock."
"Perfect. We get back in twenty minutes, the other boys should already be in the frat house. We can grab a cold beer with them before dinner."
Jake grinned. "Now you're talking. Celeb and Jr. are probably already up there with their feet up."
"And Colton's probably already cracked his first beer." Billy took another hit off his vape. "Your mama said pot roast, right? That means seven, maybe seven-thirty by the time everybody sits down. We got plenty of time."
"Mystery dessert too. Rebecca said she's got a surprise."
"Even better." Billy stood up, pocketing his vape and stretching. "Alright. Let's get out of here before Big Red decides to test that fence again."
They walked out of the barn toward the mule quad. Billy was reaching for the keys when three men stepped out from behind the barn—like they'd been waiting.
All of them wore masks. Plain black cloth tied around their faces, ball caps pulled low.
Billy's hand moved instinctively toward his belt, but he wasn't carrying. They never brought guns out for fence work.
"Shit," Jake muttered.
The first man—tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a faded denim jacket—pulled a gun and aimed it at them. "Hands behind your heads. Now."
Billy raised his hands slowly, lacing his fingers behind his head. Jake did the same, his jaw tight.
"What the hell do you want?" Billy said.
"Shut up," the tall one said.
The other two moved fast. One of them—shorter, wiry, in a dirty Carhartt jacket—came up behind Billy and yanked his arms down, holding them in place. Before Billy could react, duct tape was pressed across his mouth. Then it was wrapped around his head—once, twice, three times—tight, pulling at his hair and skin. He tried to shake his head, but the guy holding him didn't let go.
Then more tape across his eyes. Wrapped around again and again, so tight Billy could feel the pressure against his temples. Everything went black.
He heard Jake struggling next to him, muffled grunts and the sound of tape being pulled and wrapped. Then rough hands were pulling Billy's wrists behind his back. Rope bit into his skin, tight and deliberate, binding his wrists together.
"Don't move," a voice said close to his ear.
Billy heard an engine in the distance, getting closer. A truck. It pulled up next to them, tires crunching on gravel, and the engine idled.
Hands grabbed him under the arms and hauled him forward. He stumbled, couldn't see, couldn't get his balance, and then he was lifted and thrown hard onto something metal—a truck bed. A second later Jake landed next to him with a grunt.
The tailgate slammed shut. The engine roared to life.
And then they were moving.
Chapter 3: Cold Beer and Cigars
Celeb popped the cap off his beer and leaned back against the wall in the frat house, feet stretched out in front of him. "I'm telling you, that tractor's gonna need a whole new transmission if Josh keeps pushing it like that."
"Nah," Colton said from his mattress on the floor, already halfway through his own beer. "Just needs a new clutch. I can fix it."
Billy Jr. grinned from his bunk. "You say that about everything."
"Because I can fix everything."
Jr. shook his head and took a sip from his bottle. "Where the hell are Billy and Jake? They should've been back by now."
Celeb checked his watch. "It's five-thirty. They're probably still dealing with Big Red."
"That bull's a pain in the ass," Colton said. "Remember last month when he got into the feed storage?"
"Don't remind me," Jr. said. "Took us three hours to get him out."
Downstairs, the front door slammed, and they heard boots on the hardwood floor. Then Pops' voice, loud and irritated: "Tom! Where the hell's my whisky?"
"In the cabinet where it always is, Dad," Tom called back from somewhere in the house.
"Well, it ain't there now!"
Jr. looked at Celeb. "Ten bucks says Sarah moved it again."
"I'm not taking that bet."
A minute later, Pops' voice boomed up the stairs: "Jr.! Get your ass down here and bring me my cigars!"
Jr. groaned and set his beer down on the floorboard. "Why's it always me?"
"Because you're his favorite great-grandson," Celeb said, grinning.
"I'm his only great-grandson."
"Exactly."
Jr. climbed down from his bunk and the other two followed him downstairs. The kitchen smelled amazing—pot roast simmering in the slow cooker, something sweet baking in the oven. Sarah was at the counter chopping vegetables, and Rebecca was setting the table.
Tom stood near the stove, arms crossed, looking hungry. "What time's dinner?"
"Seven," Sarah said without looking up. "Like always."
Pops was already in his chair at the head of the table, whisky bottle in front of him—Sarah must've found it for him—and a cigar between his fingers, unlit. He looked at Jr. "Where's my box?"
"I'm getting it, Pops."
Jr. grabbed the cigar box from the sideboard and handed it to him. Pops nodded, satisfied, and bit the end off his cigar.
"Where's Billy and Jake?" Tom asked, glancing toward the door.
"Still at the northern barn," Celeb said. "Probably just finishing up."
Pops struck a match and lit his cigar, ignoring Sarah's pointed look. "Big Red give 'em trouble?"
"Most likely," Jr. said.
Tom frowned and checked his watch. "It's almost five-thirty. They should've radioed in by now."
"Want us to go check on them?" Jr. asked.
Tom hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Go see what's taking so long. Dinner's in an hour and a half, and your mama's not gonna hold it if they're late."
Jr., Celeb, and Colton grabbed their hats and headed out the back door. The quad was parked near the barn, and they piled on—Jr. driving, Celeb behind him, Colton standing on the back rack.
The sun was sinking low as they drove north, the air starting to cool. It took them fifteen minutes to reach the northern barn, and when they came around the corner, Jr. hit the brakes.
The mule quad was sitting right where it should be. But no sign of Billy or Jake.
"That's weird," Celeb said, climbing off.
Jr. killed the engine and they walked over to the quad. The tools were put away, everything looked normal. Except the brothers were gone.
"Billy! Jake!" Jr. called out.
Nothing.
Colton walked around the side of the barn, and then he stopped. "Guys. Over here."
Jr. and Celeb jogged over. On the ground near the quad were pieces of duct tape—torn strips, sticky side up—and a few short lengths of rope, discarded in the dirt.
Jr.'s stomach dropped.
"What the hell..." Celeb said quietly.
Jr. didn't hesitate. He yanked the emergency radio off his belt and hit the 911 button.
The mechanical voice blasted out immediately: "911. Billy Junior. 911. Billy Junior. 911. Billy Junior."
All across the ranch—and across the entire consortium—the radios crackled to life.
Chapter 4: The Command Center
The radio traffic exploded.
"Billy Junior, this is Tom. What's your location?"
Jr. pressed the transmit button, his hand shaking. "Northern barn. The mule quad's here but Billy and Jake are gone. There's duct tape and rope on the ground."
A pause. Then Tom's voice, harder now: "Say again."
"They're gone, Grandpa. The quad's here, tools are put away, but they're not here. We found evidence—looks like they were taken."
"Wade Nelson, you copy?"
"I copy, Tom. I'm rolling now. Ryan, Horse, gear up."
"Josh Benson here. What do you need, Tom?"
"Get to the ranch house. We need everyone."
"Ray Benson here from the survey office. I'm heading back now."
"Billy Renzo here. I'm picking up Ryan Mattern and Daniel Rodriguez now. We're coming."
Jr. looked at Celeb and Colton. "We need to stay here until Grandpa Wade arrives."
Celeb nodded, but he looked pale. "This is bad."
"Real bad," Colton said quietly.
Back at the ranch house, Tom was already moving. He grabbed his gun belt off the hook, buckled it on, and looked at Sarah.
"What happened?" she asked, her voice tight.
"I don't know yet. But Billy and Jake are missing." He grabbed his keys. "Josh is on his way here. I'm going to the northern barn."
Pops stood up, cigar clenched between his teeth. "I'm coming with you."
"Dad—"
"Don't even try, Tom. Those are my boys."
Sarah gripped the edge of the counter. "Find them."
"We will." Tom looked at Rebecca. "Call the Beaumonts. Tell them what's happening."
Rebecca nodded, pulling out her phone.
Wade's truck came barreling up to the northern barn, dust flying. Ryan and Horse jumped out, both armed, eyes scanning the perimeter.
Wade walked straight to Jr. "Show me everything. Don't leave anything out."
Jr. led him to the evidence near the mule quad. Wade pulled on gloves and crouched down, examining the pieces of duct tape and rope scattered on the ground.
"This was planned," Wade said. "They came prepared."
Horse was walking the perimeter. "Got tire tracks here. Looks like a truck pulled in behind the barn. Recent."
Wade bagged the evidence carefully. "They were ambushed right here. Gagged, blindfolded, tied up, then loaded into a vehicle."
Tom's truck pulled up, Pops in the passenger seat. Both of them climbed out, and Tom walked over to Wade.
"How many?" Tom asked.
"At least two, probably three." Wade stood up, holding the evidence bags. "Professionals. They knew what they were doing."
Pops stared at the duct tape in Wade's hand, his face like stone. "Where'd they take them?"
"That's what we need to figure out." Wade looked at Tom. "Your surveillance system—we need to pull every camera feed from this afternoon."
"Let's get back to the ranch."
Wade looked at Jr., Celeb, and Colton. "You boys ride with me. I need statements from all three of you."
When they pulled back into the ranch, three more mule quads were parked out front. Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez were standing near the porch, all three of them looking serious.
Billy Renzo stepped forward as Jr. climbed out of Wade's truck. "We got your 911. What do you need?"
"Command center," Jr. said. "Now."
The six boys headed inside and up the stairs. Josh was already at one of the computer stations, pulling up camera feeds.
"Got something," Josh said as the boys filed in.
Tom and Wade came in right behind them. Pops followed, still smoking his cigar.
Josh pointed at the screen. "Northern access road. Five-fifteen. Look."
On the monitor, a beat-up pickup truck—dark blue or black, hard to tell—drove past one of the perimeter cameras, heading toward the northern barn.
"Can you get a plate?" Wade asked.
Jr. leaned in and zoomed the image. He shook his head. "Covered. Mud or tape, can't tell. But they knew where the cameras were."
"Keep going," Tom said. "When does it leave?"
Jr. fast-forwarded the footage. At 5:47, the same truck passed the camera again, heading south toward the county road.
"That's them," Josh said quietly.
The radio crackled. "Ray Benson to command center."
Tom grabbed the radio. "Go ahead, Ray."
"I'm at the survey office pulling property records for the south county road corridor. If they headed that direction, there's about forty abandoned properties within a fifty-mile radius. Sending the list to Jr.'s tablet now."
"Good work," Tom said.
Billy Renzo leaned over Jr.'s shoulder, pulling up a map on his iPad. "If they left at 5:47 and headed south, they could be anywhere in a seventy-five-mile radius by now."
"We need the drones up," Daniel Rodriguez said, already pulling out his phone.
"Wait," Wade said. "Before we do anything, we need to—"
Tom's phone buzzed.
Everyone stopped.
Tom pulled it out, looked at the screen. His jaw tightened. "Unknown number."
He opened the message.
The photo loaded. And when it did, the room went cold.
Billy and Jake. On a dirt floor somewhere—looked like an old barn or shed. Billy was shirtless, his chest and shoulders covered in sweat and dust. Jake still had on his white undershirt, soaked through and clinging to him.
Their arms were bound behind their backs in a way that made everyone in the room wince—forearms pushed together, elbows to wrists, wrapped tight with rope. More rope was woven between their upper arms, keeping their shoulders pulled back and separated by just a few inches. The position looked agonizing. Their ankles were tied together separately, tight enough that neither of them could move their legs.
Duct tape was wrapped around their heads—layer after layer over their mouths, then over their eyes, so tight you could see the indentations in their skin.
They were lying on their sides, and even through the photo you could see the strain in their bodies, the exhaustion, the pain.
Sarah appeared in the doorway and saw the photo on Tom's phone. Her hand went to her mouth, and she made a sound like she'd been hit.
Pops stared at it, his cigar trembling between his fingers. "I'm gonna kill every last one of them."
Rebecca was crying quietly, one hand pressed against the doorframe to steady herself.
Below the photo, a message:
$2 million. Cash. Instructions coming. No cops or they die.
Wade looked at the phone, then at Tom. "We need to trace this."
"I'm on it," Ryan Mattern said, already connecting his laptop.
Jr. stared at the photo, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. "We're getting them back."
Tom's voice was low and dangerous. "Damn right we are."
Chapter 5: Sixteen Hours
Billy couldn't see. Couldn't talk. Could barely breathe through his nose with how tight the tape was wrapped around his head.
His shoulders screamed. The rope binding his forearms together behind his back pulled everything into an unnatural position—elbows to wrists, no give, no slack. The rope woven between his upper arms kept his shoulders locked back, separated just enough that he couldn't find any relief no matter how he shifted.
His ankles were tied tight, and every time he tried to move his legs the rope bit deeper into his skin.
The floor was dirt. Cold and hard. He could feel it against his bare chest, gritty and damp.
Next to him, Jake made a muffled sound through the tape. Frustrated. Angry.
Billy tried to respond, but all that came out was a grunt. The tape over his mouth was so tight he could barely move his jaw.
They'd been like this for—how long? An hour? Two? Billy had lost track after the truck finally stopped and they'd been dragged out and dumped on this floor. The kidnappers had checked the ropes, tightened a few knots, then stepped back.
One of them had pulled out a phone. Billy heard the camera click. Once. Twice.
Then they'd left.
And Billy and Jake had been alone in the dark ever since.
Billy's wrists were numb. His fingers tingled. He tried to flex them, but the rope was too tight. His shoulders felt like they were on fire.
Jake shifted next to him, and Billy heard him grunt again—this time it sounded like frustration mixed with pain.
Billy wanted to say something. Wanted to tell Jake they'd be okay. That the family would find them. That they just had to hold on.
But he couldn't.
So he just lay there in the dark, breathing through his nose, and waited.
Back at the ranch, the command center was a hive of activity.
Jr. had all six drones in the air within twenty minutes, each one equipped with thermal imaging and night vision. The monitors showed live feeds from each drone, scanning grid patterns across the southern corridor.
"Sector three, clear," Billy Renzo said, eyes locked on his screen.
"Sector five, nothing yet," Daniel Rodriguez added.
Ryan Mattern was still working on tracing the phone that sent the photo. "It's a burner. Bouncing off three different towers. Whoever sent this knew what they were doing."
"Keep trying," Wade said.
Tom stood at the main monitor, arms crossed, watching the drone feeds. Pops was in the corner, cigar dead between his fingers, staring at nothing.
Josh was on the phone with the Beaumonts, coordinating additional search parties. Sarah and Rebecca were downstairs, trying to keep busy, but neither of them could focus on anything.
The radio crackled again. "Ray Benson to command center."
"Go ahead, Ray," Tom said.
"I've narrowed the list to eighteen properties. All abandoned, all within fifty miles of the ranch, all accessible by the south county road. Sending coordinates now."
Jr.'s tablet lit up with the data. He pulled up the map, plotting each location. "Got it. Redistributing the drones to prioritize these sites."
"How long?" Tom asked.
Jr. looked at the map, did the math in his head. "If they're at one of these locations... could be anywhere from two to sixteen hours to find them. Depends on where they are."
"Then we start now," Tom said. "And we don't stop until we bring them home."
Chapter 6: Rotors
Billy was drifting—not sleeping, just somewhere in between awake and exhausted—when he heard it.
A sound. Faint. High-pitched.
He went still, listening.
There it was again. A buzz. Like an insect, but louder. Mechanical.
Next to him, Jake shifted. He'd heard it too.
The sound got closer. Louder. And then Billy realized what it was.
A drone.
His heart kicked hard in his chest. The family. They were looking.
The buzzing grew louder, circling overhead, then seemed to hover. Billy wanted to yell, to move, to do something—but the tape and rope held him silent and motionless.
Then he heard voices outside. The kidnappers.
"What the hell is that?"
"It's a drone. They're looking for them."
"How the hell did they find us this fast?"
"I don't know, but we need to move. Now."
Footsteps. Running. The sound of things being grabbed, thrown into bags or boxes.
"What about them?"
"Leave them. We'll send new instructions once we're clear."
"But—"
"I said leave them! We don't have time!"
More footsteps. A door slamming. Then an engine starting—a truck, the same one from before. Tires on gravel, moving fast.
And then silence.
The drone was still there, buzzing overhead, but the kidnappers were gone.
Billy's breath came fast through his nose. They were alone. Still tied, still blind, but alone.
Next to him, Jake was already moving—twisting, pulling at the ropes, grunting through the tape.
Billy did the same, yanking at his wrists, trying to find any slack in the rope. His shoulders screamed in protest, but he didn't stop. They had to get free. Had to get out of here before the kidnappers came back.
Or before the drone left.
Chapter 7: Blood and Rope
Jake was thrashing like a caught animal, pulling hard at the ropes, twisting his body, not caring if he tore skin or broke something. Billy could hear him—muffled grunts of rage and frustration through the tape, the scrape of his body against the dirt floor.
Billy forced himself to slow down. Think. The rope around his wrists was tight, professional, but there had to be a way. He felt for the knot with his numb fingers, trying to find where it started, where it ended.
Jake made another sound—this one sharper. Pain.
Billy tried to say something through the tape. It came out garbled, but Jake seemed to understand. He stopped thrashing for a second, breathing hard through his nose.
Then Billy had an idea.
He started moving, inching across the floor toward where he'd heard Jake. His shoulders screamed, but he kept going. When he felt Jake's body next to him, he shifted, turned, positioned himself back-to-back with his brother.
Jake understood immediately. Billy felt him move, felt Jake's bound hands find his wrists, fumbling at the rope.
The drone was still buzzing outside. Circling. Waiting.
Jake's fingers worked at the knot—clumsy, desperate, but determined. Billy could feel him pulling, twisting, trying to find the end of the rope. Billy did the same, reaching back for Jake's wrists, feeling for the knot.
His fingers were numb, barely responding, but he found it. Started pulling.
It felt like forever. The rope was tight, the knots professional, and neither of them could see what they were doing. Billy's shoulders were on fire from the angle, and he could hear Jake's breathing getting faster, more frustrated.
Then—give. Just a little. Billy's fingers found a loop and he pulled harder, ignoring the pain.
More give.
Jake grunted through the tape, urgent, encouraging.
Billy kept working. His wrists were slick—blood, sweat, he didn't know—but the rope was loosening. He felt Jake doing the same behind him, both of them working simultaneously.
Then suddenly Jake's hands were free.
Billy heard him ripping at the tape around his head, tearing it off his mouth first, then his eyes. Jake sucked in air like he'd been underwater.
"Hang on," Jake rasped, his voice raw. "I got you."
Hands on Billy's shoulders, then at his wrists. Jake's fingers working the knot Billy had loosened, pulling it the rest of the way free.
The rope gave. Billy's arms fell to his sides and he nearly cried out from the pain of moving them after so long in that position.
Jake was already tearing the tape off Billy's head—not gentle, just fast. The tape pulled at Billy's hair and skin, but then his mouth was free and he could breathe, and then his eyes were open and he could see.
They were in some kind of old barn. Dirt floor, rotting wood walls, daylight coming through gaps in the boards. And Jake—face red from the tape, hair wild, blood on his wrists—was untying Billy's ankles.
"You good?" Jake asked.
Billy flexed his hands, trying to get feeling back. "Yeah. You?"
"Been better." Jake got the ankle ropes off and stood up, wobbling. He reached down and pulled Billy to his feet.
Billy's legs almost gave out, but Jake caught him. They stood there for a second, both of them breathing hard, looking at each other.
"The drone," Billy said.
"I know."
They stumbled toward the door.
Chapter 8: Run
The door was old, half-rotted, and it took both of them to shove it open. Sunlight hit Billy's eyes and he squinted, blinking hard. His eyes had been covered for so long everything looked too bright, washed out.
They stumbled outside into scrub and dust. Billy looked around, trying to get his bearings. The barn was old, abandoned—probably had been for years. Nothing but mesquite and dried grass for as far as he could see.
No road. No landmarks. No idea where they were.
At least they still had their boots. The kidnappers hadn't bothered taking them.
Jake was already moving, one hand shading his eyes, looking up. "There. You hear it?"
Billy listened. The buzz was closer now, louder.
"Hey!" Jake yelled, waving his arms over his head. "HEY! DOWN HERE!"
Billy joined him, jumping, waving both arms. His shoulders screamed in protest, but he didn't care.
The drone banked hard, circling back toward them, descending.
"They see us!" Billy shouted.
Back at the command center, Jr. was staring at his screen when the thermal image changed.
"Wait—" He leaned forward. "I got movement. Two heat signatures. They just came out of the structure."
Billy Renzo was next to him in a second. "Where?"
"Sector twelve. The old Hutchins property." Jr. zoomed in. "They're waving. Oh my God, they're waving at the drone."
"That's them!" Daniel Rodriguez shouted. "That's Billy and Jake!"
The room erupted.
"Tom!" Jr. yelled. "Grandpa, we got them! They're alive!"
Tom was at Jr.'s shoulder, staring at the screen. Two figures, arms moving, jumping. "Where?"
"Sending coordinates to your phone now." Jr.'s fingers flew across the tablet. "Seventy-three miles south. I'm bringing the drone down closer."
"Keep visual on them," Tom said. "Wade, let's move. Everyone—trucks, now!"
The drone dropped lower, hovering maybe thirty feet above them now. Billy could see the camera, could see it adjusting, focusing on them.
He waved again, and the drone dipped—almost like a nod.
Then it started moving, heading east, but slower this time. Deliberate.
"It wants us to follow," Jake said.
"They're coming for us. The drone's showing us which way."
Jake looked at Billy. Both of them were a mess—Billy shirtless and covered in dirt and blood, Jake's white undershirt torn and filthy. Their wrists were raw and bleeding from the ropes. They could barely stand.
But they were free.
"Can you run?" Jake asked.
Billy nodded. "Can you?"
"Let's find out."
They started moving, following the drone. Their boots pounded against the hard-packed dirt, each step sending jolts of pain through Billy's shoulders, but he kept going.
The drone stayed with them, circling back whenever they fell too far behind, guiding them east.
Billy's lungs burned. His legs were shaking. Next to him, Jake was limping slightly but keeping pace.
"How far you think?" Jake asked between breaths.
"Don't know. Just keep moving."
Then Billy heard it. Engines. Multiple trucks. Distant but getting closer.
The drone banked hard, heading toward the sound.
"That's them," Billy said. "That's the family."
Jake grinned, blood on his teeth from where he'd bit his lip. "Told you they'd find us."
They kept running.
Chapter 9: Reunion
Billy's vision was starting to blur. The sun, the pain, the exhaustion—it was all catching up. His legs felt like lead.
"There," Jake said, pointing.
Dust on the horizon. Getting closer.
Then Billy saw them—trucks, four of them at least, coming fast across the scrub.
The lead truck was Tom's. Billy would recognize that F-250 anywhere.
"They're here," Billy said, and his voice cracked.
The trucks skidded to a stop fifty yards away, and doors flew open. Tom was out first, then Pops right behind him. Josh. Wade. Horse and Ryan.
Billy and Jake tried to run but their legs gave out. They stumbled, caught themselves, kept moving.
Tom met them halfway.
"Dad—" Billy started, but Tom grabbed him, pulled him into a fierce hug. Billy's shoulders screamed but he didn't care.
Pops had Jake, one hand on the back of his head, the other gripping his shoulder. "You boys okay? You hurt?"
"We're okay," Jake said. "We're okay."
Josh was there, checking them over with Wade right behind him. "Your wrists—"
"Rope burns," Billy said. "We're fine."
"The hell you are," Pops said. "Look at you."
Tom stepped back, his hands still on Billy's shoulders, and Billy saw his father's eyes—red, furious, relieved. "Who did this?"
"Three guys. Masked. They took us from the northern barn." Billy looked around. "Where are they?"
"Gone," Wade said. "Heard the drones and ran. Left you behind."
"Good," Jake said. "Because I want another shot at them."
"You'll get it," Tom said. "But first we're getting you home."
Horse brought water bottles from the truck. Billy drank half of one in three gulps, the cool water like heaven on his throat. Jake did the same.
"Can you walk?" Wade asked.
"Yeah," Billy said. "We can walk."
Tom put an arm around Billy's shoulders—careful, gentle—and led him toward the truck. Josh did the same with Jake. Pops walked alongside them, cigar back between his teeth, eyes scanning the horizon like he was daring the kidnappers to come back.
The command vehicle pulled up and Jr. jumped out with the other wiz kids. Billy saw his nephew—looking pale and scared but trying to hold it together.
"Jr.," Billy said.
Jr. ran over and grabbed Billy in a hug, careful of his shoulders. "We found you. The drones worked."
"You did good, kid. All of you."
They loaded into the trucks. Billy climbed into the back of Tom's F-250, Jake next to him. Pops got in on the other side, wedging them in like he wasn't letting either of them out of his sight.
Tom looked at Wade through the window. "We going after them?"
Wade nodded. "Drones already tracked their truck heading west. They're not getting far."
"Good," Tom said, starting the engine.
Billy leaned his head back against the seat, eyes closed. Every part of him hurt.
"You did good, boys," Pops said quietly. "Real good."
Jake managed a grin. "Told you Big Red was gonna make it a long fuckin' day."
Chapter 10: Payback
At the reunion site, the convoy split.
Josh looked at Tom. "I'm taking the boys home. Sarah needs to see them."
Tom nodded. "Wade and I will handle the kidnappers. Pops, you coming with us?"
"Damn right I am," Pops said, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "Those bastards put hands on my boys."
Robert Beaumont stepped forward, his face hard. "I'm coming too. Celeb's like family now. This is consortium business."
Wade looked at both of them. "Fine. But I do the arresting. Understood?"
Pops grinned. "Whatever you say, Sheriff."
Billy and Jake climbed into Josh's truck with Jr., Celeb, and Colton. As they pulled away, Jr. handed Billy his iPad.
"Drone feed's still live," Jr. said. "All six drones are tracking them."
Billy took the tablet, Jake leaning over to see. On the screen, they could see the convoy heading west—Tom's truck, Wade's patrol vehicle, two more trucks with Horse, Ryan, and the Beaumont crew.
"Where are they going?" Jake asked.
Jr. pulled up another screen. "Drone three tracked the kidnappers to an abandoned gas station twelve miles west. They're still there."
Billy and Jake watched as the convoy approached, three angles from different drones showing the whole scene.
"Here we go," Colton said quietly.
On screen, the trucks came in from three directions, boxing in the old gas station. They could see the kidnappers' truck parked behind the building.
Wade's voice came through the iPad speaker—Jr. had the audio feed patched in. "This is Sheriff Wade Nelson. You're surrounded. Come out with your hands up."
A pause. Then the back door opened and three men stumbled out, hands raised. No masks this time.
Horse and Ryan moved in, weapons drawn, and had them on the ground in seconds. Wade zip-tied their hands.
Then Pops walked into frame. And Robert Beaumont.
Billy sat up straighter. "Oh shit."
Pops stood over the tall one—the one who'd held the gun on them. He took a long drag on his cigar, then pulled the guy up by his shirt collar.
"You boys made a mistake," Pops said. His voice was calm, which made it somehow more terrifying. "You took my grandsons."
His fist connected with the man's face. Hard. The guy went down.
Robert grabbed the second one. "And you took my nephew's best friends." Another punch, clean and brutal.
Jake was grinning now, watching the screen. "That's for the barn."
Pops kicked the third one in the ribs—not hard enough to break anything, but hard enough to hurt. "That's for the tape and the ropes."
Wade stepped in, pulling Pops back. "Alright, that's enough. I've got it from here."
Pops straightened his shirt, put the cigar back in his mouth. "Just making a point, Sheriff."
"Point made," Wade said, hauling the three men to their feet. "You're all under arrest for kidnapping, assault, and extortion..."
Billy handed the iPad back to Jr., leaning his head against the seat. "Pops is a badass."
"Seventy-six years old and still throwing punches," Jake said. "That's goals."
Jr. was grinning. "Wait till you see the replay. I'm saving this footage."
Josh glanced in the rearview mirror. "You boys good?"
"Yeah," Billy said. "We're good."
"Then let's get you home. Your mama's been waiting long enough."
The truck headed east as the sun sank lower, painting the sky orange and red. Billy closed his eyes, the adrenaline finally starting to wear off. Every part of him hurt, but they were safe.
And the kidnappers had gotten what they deserved.
"Think your mama still has that pot roast?" Jake asked.
Billy smiled without opening his eyes. "Only one way to find out."
Chapter 11: Breakfast Pot Roast
They rolled into the ranch just after midnight. The porch lights were on, and Sarah was standing at the door before Josh even cut the engine. Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez were on the porch with her, all three of them looking relieved.
Jr., Celeb, and Colton jumped out of the truck first and ran straight to where Billy and Jake were climbing out slowly.
"Yes!" Jr. threw his hand up for a high five. Billy grinned and slapped it, then Celeb's, then Colton's.
Jake got the same treatment, all three of them grinning like idiots.
"That was insane," Colton said. "You guys are legends."
"Nah," Jake said. "You guys are the legends. Those drones saved our asses."
Sarah was there now, taking one look at them—Billy shirtless and covered in rope burns, Jake's undershirt torn and filthy—and her hand went to her mouth.
"Oh, boys—"
Then she was hugging them, careful but fierce, and Rebecca was right there too, crying and laughing at the same time.
"We're okay, Mama," Billy said. "We're okay."
"You're not okay. Look at you." She pulled back, wiping her eyes. "Get inside. I'm reheating the pot roast and you're both eating whether you like it or not."
"Yes, ma'am."
Billy Renzo stepped forward and grabbed Billy in a quick hug. "Good to see you, man."
"You too. Thanks for the drones."
"Anytime."
Twenty minutes later, the kitchen was full. Tom and Wade had arrived with Pops and Robert, all of them looking satisfied. The whole crew was there—Jr., Celeb, Colton, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez—crowded around the long table.
Sarah and Rebecca moved between the stove and the table, loading up plates. Pot roast, potatoes, carrots, fresh bread. The mystery dessert turned out to be peach cobbler, still warm.
Billy ate like he hadn't seen food in a week. Next to him, Jake was doing the same.
"Slow down," Sarah said. "You're gonna make yourself sick."
"Can't help it," Jake said through a mouthful of pot roast. "This is the best thing I've ever tasted."
Pops raised his whisky glass. "To Billy and Jake. Toughest sons of bitches in Kings County."
"Dad," Sarah said, but she was smiling.
"Language," Rebecca added, but nobody was listening.
Everyone raised their glasses—coffee cups, water glasses, didn't matter.
"To Billy and Jake," Tom said.
They drank.
Billy looked around the table at his family, his chest tight. Twelve hours ago he'd been tied up in a barn, not sure if he'd ever see any of them again. And now here they were, all of them, together.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "For coming for us."
"Always," Tom said. "That's what we do."
An hour later, the adults finally headed to bed. Sarah made Billy and Jake promise to see a doctor in the morning, and they agreed just to get her to stop worrying.
The boys headed upstairs to the frat house. All eight of them—Jr., Celeb, Colton, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez, plus Billy and Jake.
And Pops.
The old man followed them up the stairs, a fresh cigar between his teeth and a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. He pulled a stack of plastic cups out of his pocket and grinned.
"Figured you boys earned this."
Jr. laughed. "Pops, you're gonna get us in trouble."
"Your mama's asleep. What she don't know won't hurt her." He started pouring, passing cups around. "Besides, this is a celebration."
Billy took a cup, wincing as the movement pulled at his shoulders. Jake did the same, settling onto his bunk with a groan.
"To the wiz kids," Pops said, raising his cup. "Best damn drone operators in Texas."
"Hell yeah," Colton said, and they all drank.
The whisky burned going down, but Billy didn't care. He was home. He was safe. And he was surrounded by his brothers.
Jr. pulled up his iPad. "You guys want to see the replay? I got the whole thing—drones spotting you, the chase, Pops punching that guy..."
"Absolutely," Jake said.
They crowded around the screen, passing the iPad between them, replaying the footage. Every time Pops' fist connected with the kidnapper's face, someone cheered.
"Seventy-six years old," Billy Renzo said, shaking his head. "That's legendary."
Pops just grinned around his cigar. "You boys did good too. All of you. Those drones saved Billy and Jake's lives."
"It was Jr.'s idea to launch all six at once," Daniel Rodriguez said. "Grid pattern with thermal imaging."
"Teamwork," Jr. said. "That's what the consortium's about."
Billy looked at his nephew—sixteen years old, already thinking like a leader. "You did real good, Jr. All of you."
"Just glad you're home," Jr. said quietly.
They sat there for a while, passing the bottle, talking and laughing. Celeb told the story of finding the duct tape at the barn. Ryan Mattern bragged about tracking the burner phone. Colton demonstrated how he'd reprogrammed the drone cameras for better thermal resolution.
Pops just sat in the corner, smoking his cigar, watching them all with something like pride in his eyes.
Eventually, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez headed home on their quads, promising to come back tomorrow. Jr., Celeb, and Colton started getting ready for bed.
Billy climbed into his bunk—the bottom one he'd slept in since he was a kid—and Jake took the top. For the first time in what felt like forever, Billy's shoulders started to relax.
"Long fuckin' day," Jake said from above him.
Billy smiled in the dark. "Yeah. But we made it."
"Because of them. The family. The consortium."
"Yeah."
Pops stood up, stretched, and headed toward the door. He paused, looked back at all of them.
"Sleep well, boys. You earned it."
"Night, Pops," they all said.
The door closed. The room went quiet except for the sound of breathing and the occasional creak of the bunks.
Billy closed his eyes. He was home. He was safe.
And tomorrow, he'd wake up at 5:30 to Pops banging on the door, ready to do it all over again.
That's what family was.
