Jake and Billy Benson stood there, wrists tied behind their backs, arms roped, sweating in the hot Texas sun of the northern part of the Benson Cattle ranch. "Put them in the fuckin' truck and hogtie them!!" They pushed Jake and Billy into an old dirty pickup, tied their boots and hogtied them to their wrists. Then they took off, one sitting in the back with them tracing the barrel of his semi-automatic rifle on their sweaty gagged faces and laughing as the boys looked at him with a look to kill!
Chapter 1: The Assignments at Breakfast
Pops Benson stood in the doorway of the frat house at 5:47 a.m., coffee mug in one hand—brandy already mixed in—cigar stub clamped between his teeth. He'd been up since 5:15, same as every morning for the last fifty years.
"Alright you sorry sonsabitches, daylight's burnin' and you're burnin' my patience! Up! NOW!"
A groan came from the bottom bunk on the left. Jake.
"I said UP! You think those cattle are gonna feed themselves?"
Billy's head popped up from the top bunk. "Pops, it's not even six—"
"It's 5:47, which means you're late. Move your asses!"
Celab swung his legs off the top bunk on the right, grinning. "Morning, Pops."
"Morning, Celab. At least one of you boys has some sense." Pops took a long sip of his coffee. "Where's Colt?"
A muffled voice came from the mattress on the floor between the bunks. "Right here, sir."
"Can't see you under that blanket, son. You hibernating?"
Colt sat up, his Cajun drawl thick with sleep. "Nah, just trying to avoid your cheerful personality this early."
Pops barked a laugh. "Smart mouth. I like that. Now get dressed and get downstairs. Your mommas got breakfast ready and Josh has assignments. Billy, Jake—you two are hauling feed to the northern section today."
Billy Jr. stirred in the bunk above Celab. "What about me, Pops?"
"You're on fence repair with your daddy. And before you whine about it, remember—you're lucky to be on payroll at all at sixteen."
"Yes sir."
Jake sat up, squinting. "Pops, you didn't touch our floorboard stash, did you?"
Pops' eyes twinkled. "Now why the hell would I touch it when I'm the one who keeps it stocked? You boys ran through those Coors faster than I expected. I put six more under there yesterday."
"You're the best, Pops," Billy said, grinning.
"Damn right I am. Now don't let your momma find out or we're all screwed. Five minutes. Move it."
Downstairs, the kitchen was already alive with the smell of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and strong coffee. Sarah Benson stood at the stove alongside Mary Nelson and Rebecca, all three women moving in practiced rhythm.
"Boys finally up?" Sarah asked without turning around.
"They're moving," Pops said, settling into his chair at the head of the table. "Slow as molasses but they're moving."
Tom Benson walked in from the back door, boots muddy. "Checked the south pasture. Fence is holding but we'll need to reinforce it by end of week."
"Add it to the list," Josh said, walking in behind him with a clipboard. He was already dressed for the day, sleeves rolled up, all business. "We've got a full slate today."
The frat house boys thundered down the stairs—Billy and Jake shoving each other, Celab and Colt laughing, Billy Jr. trailing behind still pulling on his shirt.
"Sit down before you break something," Sarah said, not looking up from the stove.
They settled into their chairs just as the ladies began setting plates down. Bacon, scrambled eggs, biscuits with butter and jam, hash browns. The kind of breakfast that fueled a full day's work.
Pops grabbed a biscuit and tore it open. "Sarah, these biscuits get better every damn day."
"Language, Pops," Mary Nelson said, but she was smiling.
"I'm seventy-six years old. I'll say whatever the hell I want."
The boys snickered. Billy Jr. leaned over to Celab. "Told you he'd drop an F-bomb before breakfast was over."
"Bet's still on," Celab whispered back. "He hasn't said 'fuck' yet."
"Alright, listen up," Josh said, standing at the end of the table with his clipboard. "Ray's handling the books today, so he's in the office. Dad and I are meeting with the Renzos at ten about the feed contract. Billy Jr., you're with me on fence repair after that."
Billy Jr. nodded, mouth full of biscuit.
"Celab, Colt—you're helping Ray move equipment in the barn. Pops, you're on light duty."
Pops snorted. "Light duty. I'm seventy-six, not dead."
"You're seventy-six and you just had your hip replaced," Rebecca said firmly. "Light duty means supervising, not lifting."
"Fine. I'll supervise these jackasses so they don't kill themselves."
Billy Jr. grinned. Celab elbowed him. "That's two."
Josh turned to Billy and Jake. "You two are hauling feed to the northern ranch. Six pallets. Should take you most of the morning. Radio in when you're done."
Billy grinned at Jake. "Hear that? We get the fun job."
"Fun job?" Jake shot back. "You mean the job where I do all the work while you sit on your ass?"
"Boys," Sarah warned.
"I'm just saying, last time we hauled feed, Jake spent half the time complainin' about his back."
"That's 'cause you loaded the pallets wrong, dumbass."
"I loaded them perfect. You just don't know how to lift."
Celab laughed. "Y'all gonna argue or actually get the job done?"
"Both," Billy and Jake said in unison.
Tom shook his head, smiling. "Just get it done without killing each other. And check in on the cattle while you're up there."
"Yes sir," they both said.
Pops leaned back in his chair. "Those two are gonna get in trouble one of these days."
"They always do," Sarah said. "But they figure it out."
Josh looked at his watch. "Alright, let's move. Daylight's burning."
Billy and Jake scarfed down the rest of their breakfast, grabbed their hats, and headed for the door.
"Take the Chevy!" Tom called after them. "And drive careful on those dirt roads!"
"We got it, Dad!" Jake yelled back.
As they left, Billy Jr. leaned toward Pops. "You really restocked the beer?"
Pops winked. "What do you think, kid? Now finish your breakfast before your grandma smacks me for teaching you bad habits."
Billy Jr. grinned and took another bite.
Outside, Billy and Jake climbed into the old Chevy pickup, Billy behind the wheel. The engine roared to life.
"Think we can get this done in three hours?" Billy asked.
"If you don't drive like an old lady," Jake said, grinning.
Billy hit the gas, kicking up dust as they headed toward the northern section of the ranch.
Neither of them saw the black pickup truck idling on the ridge a half-mile out, watching them go.
Chapter 2: The Binding
The northern section was quiet. Too quiet.
Billy pulled the Chevy to a stop near the feed storage shed, dust settling around them. Jake hopped out first, stretching his back.
"Told you we'd make good time," Billy said, killing the engine.
"Yeah, yeah. Let's just load up and get back. I'm already sweating my ass off."
They walked toward the shed, boots crunching on gravel. The six pallets were stacked inside, just like Josh said. Billy pulled the shed door open wider while Jake grabbed the hand truck.
"You take the first three, I'll get the rest," Jake said.
"Since when do you volunteer to do more work?"
"Since I don't want to be out here all damn day."
Billy laughed and turned back toward the truck—
A rifle barrel pressed cold against the back of his neck.
"Don't move."
Billy froze. His breath caught. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jake go rigid, another man behind him with a gun to his head.
"Hands up. Slow."
Billy raised his hands. His heart hammered. "What the hell do you want?"
"Shut up." The voice was flat, emotionless. "On your knees. Both of you."
Jake's jaw clenched. "Like hell—"
The man behind Jake slammed the rifle butt into his shoulder, dropping him to one knee. "I said DOWN."
Billy dropped too, hands still raised. "Alright, alright. We're down."
A third man appeared from behind the shed, holding coils of rope. He was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with a bandana covering his face. He moved fast, yanking Billy's wrists behind his back.
"Don't fight it," the first man said. "Make this harder and you'll regret it."
The rope bit into Billy's wrists, wrapped tight in rough loops. Then the man wound more rope around his arms from elbow to wrist, cinching everything together, locking his arms in place.
Jake grunted as they did the same to him. "You sons of bitches are gonna pay for this."
"Big talk for someone on his knees." The man behind Jake kicked him forward. "Shut your mouth."
They hauled Billy to his feet, then Jake. Both of them stood there, sweating in the hot Texas sun, wrists tied behind their backs, arms roped tight.
"What do you want?" Billy asked again, voice steadier this time. "Money? The ranch? What?"
"You'll find out soon enough." The first man—clearly the leader—gestured toward an old dirty pickup idling near the tree line. "Put them in the fuckin' truck and hogtie them!"
"Wait—" Jake started, but they shoved him forward, rough hands gripping his shoulders.
They dragged both of them toward the truck, boots scraping in the dirt. Billy's mind raced. Radio. We left the radio in the Chevy. No one knows we're here.
The back of the pickup was rusted, the bed filthy with mud and oil stains. They threw Billy in first, then Jake, both landing hard on the metal.
"Tie their boots," the leader barked.
The younger one pulled more rope and looped it around Billy's ankles, yanking it tight. Then he connected it to the rope around Billy's wrists, pulling his body into an arch. Hogtied.
Jake cursed under his breath as they did the same to him. "You're dead. You hear me? My family's gonna—"
One of the men stuffed a rag in Jake's mouth, then tied a bandana around it to hold it in place. Jake's eyes burned with rage, but he couldn't speak.
They gagged Billy next. He tried to turn his head, tried to resist, but the man grabbed his jaw and forced it in.
"Comfortable?" the leader asked, smirking.
Billy glared at him, chest heaving.
The leader climbed into the bed with them, rifle resting across his lap. The other two got in the cab. The engine roared to life.
"Let's go."
The truck lurched forward, bouncing over the rough terrain. Billy's body slammed against the bed with every bump, his shoulders screaming from the angle. Beside him, Jake grunted through the gag, eyes locked on the man with the rifle.
The man leaned down, tracing the barrel of his semi-automatic rifle slowly across Billy's sweaty gagged face, then Jake's. He laughed—a cold, ugly sound.
Billy and Jake both looked at him with a look to kill.
The truck sped away from the northern section, kicking up dust.
High on a pole near the feed shed, hidden in the shadow of the roof, a small surveillance camera silently recorded everything.
The lens captured the Chevy sitting empty. The shed door open. The scattered rope on the ground.
And the black pickup disappearing into the distance.
No one at the ranch knew yet.
But the footage was already uploading.
Chapter 3: The Arrival
The truck bounced over rutted roads for what felt like an hour. Billy lost track of time. Every jolt sent pain shooting through his shoulders and hips. The hogtie rope dug deeper with each mile. Beside him, Jake's breathing was heavy through the gag, his eyes never leaving the man with the rifle.
Finally, the truck slowed. Billy heard gravel crunching under the tires, then the squeal of rusted metal—a gate, maybe. The engine cut off.
Silence.
Then footsteps. The tailgate dropped with a clang.
"Get 'em out," the leader said.
Rough hands grabbed Billy by the ropes and dragged him to the edge of the truck bed. He hit the ground hard, unable to break his fall. Pain exploded through his shoulder. He grunted through the gag.
They did the same to Jake, who landed with a thud beside him.
Billy blinked against the sun and tried to get his bearings. Through the sweat stinging his eyes, he saw it: an old, massive building. Concrete walls streaked with rust and grime. Broken windows. Faded letters on the side: KINGS COUNTY MEAT PROCESSING.
Abandoned. Probably for years.
"Inside," the leader said. "Move 'em."
They grabbed Billy and Jake by the ropes again and dragged them across the gravel lot toward a loading dock. Billy's boots scraped uselessly against the ground. He couldn't get leverage. Couldn't fight.
The inside of the plant was dark and stank of rot and decay. The air was thick, humid. Billy's eyes adjusted slowly. He saw conveyor belts rusted in place, old machinery covered in dust, and—
Meat hooks.
Dozens of them, hanging from chains attached to an overhead rail system. Some were corroded. Some still gleamed dully in the dim light filtering through the broken roof.
Billy's stomach dropped.
They dumped him and Jake on the concrete floor in the center of the room. The cold surface bit into Billy's cheek. He could hear Jake's labored breathing beside him, could see the fury still burning in his eyes.
The leader walked over and crouched down between them. He pulled the bandana away from his face. Billy didn't recognize him. Hard features, maybe forty, scar running down his left cheek.
"You boys know why you're here?"
Billy shook his head, unable to speak through the gag.
The man smiled. "Your family's got money. Lots of it. We're gonna make sure they share."
Jake thrashed against the ropes, trying to yell something through the gag. The man backhanded him across the face.
"Save your energy. You're gonna need it."
He stood and gestured to the other two men. "Hook 'em up."
Billy's heart pounded. Hook them up? What the hell does that mean?
One of the men pulled a heavy chain down from the rail above, a large meat hook attached to the end. The hook was thick, rusted at the edges, the kind used to hang sides of beef.
The younger man knelt beside Billy and grabbed the few inches of rope connecting his hogtied wrists and ankles. He slipped the hook through the loop.
Billy realized what they were doing.
He tried to fight, tried to twist away, but the ropes held him tight. The man double-checked the hook, making sure it was secure.
"Same with the other one," the leader said.
They did the same to Jake, hooking him through the rope between his bound wrists and ankles.
Then they pulled the chains.
Billy felt himself lifting off the ground. The pressure on his wrists and ankles was immediate and excruciating. His body arched as the rope pulled tighter, suspending him in the air. His hands pointed downward, arms stretched painfully behind him, blood rushing to his head.
He was hanging upside down.
Jake was hoisted beside him, suspended the same way. His face was red, sweat dripping from his forehead onto the concrete below.
Billy's shoulders screamed. His wrists burned. Every breath was harder than the last.
The leader stepped back and looked at them, satisfied. "That's perfect."
One of the men pulled out a phone and aimed it at them.
"Smile for the camera, boys."
The flash went off. Once. Twice. Three times.
Billy closed his eyes, dizzy, the blood pounding in his skull. Sweat dripped from his face and hit the floor in steady drops.
The leader looked at the photos on the phone, nodding. "Yeah. That'll do it. Let's send these and see how fast Daddy Benson pays up."
He turned and walked toward the door, the other two following. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space.
Then the door slammed shut.
And Billy and Jake were left hanging in the dark.
Chapter 4: The Discovery
Billy Jr. pulled off his work gloves and tossed them in the back of his dad's truck. The fence repair had taken longer than expected—nearly four hours in the blazing sun. His shirt was soaked through with sweat.
"Good work today," Josh said, loading the last of the tools. "Head back to the house and grab some water. You earned it."
"Thanks, Dad." Billy Jr. glanced at his watch. 2:47 p.m. "Billy and Jake check in yet?"
Josh frowned slightly. "Not that I heard. Why?"
"Just wondering. They left this morning, should've been done by now."
"They're probably just screwing around. You know how those two are."
Billy Jr. nodded, but something nagged at him. Billy and Jake always checked in. Always. It was one of Pops' rules—radio in when the job's done.
"I'm gonna take the quad up there and check on them," Billy Jr. said.
Josh looked at him. "You sure? It's a long ride in this heat."
"I'm sure. Besides, if they're slacking off, I want to give 'em hell for it."
Josh grinned. "Alright. Radio me when you get there."
Billy Jr. climbed onto the quad and fired it up. The engine roared to life, and he took off toward the northern section, kicking up dust behind him.
Twenty minutes later, Billy Jr. pulled up to the feed shed. The Chevy was still there, doors open, keys in the ignition.
His stomach tightened.
"Billy? Jake?" he called out.
No answer.
He walked toward the shed, boots crunching on gravel. The door was wide open. The pallets were still stacked inside, untouched.
They never loaded the feed.
Billy Jr.'s pulse quickened. He turned back toward the Chevy and saw it—rope, cut and scattered on the ground. Boot prints in the dirt. Tire tracks leading away from the site, heading east.
"What the hell...?"
He pulled the radio from his belt and hit the emergency button three times.
"911 Emergency. Billy Junior. 911 Emergency. Billy Junior. 911 Emergency. Billy Junior."
The encrypted frequency crackled to life immediately. Voices flooded in—Tom, Josh, Ray, Sheriff Wade, Robert Beaumont, Billy Renzo's dad, all the consortium families.
"Billy Jr., what's your status?" Tom's voice, sharp and urgent.
"I'm at the northern feed shed, Granddad. Billy and Jake's truck is here but they're gone. There's cut rope on the ground and tire tracks heading east. Something's wrong."
A pause. Then Tom's voice again, harder. "Stay where you are. Do NOT follow those tracks. Josh and I are on our way. Sheriff, you copy?"
"Copy," Sheriff Wade said. "I'm rolling now with Ryan and Wilson. ETA fifteen minutes."
"I'm not staying here," Billy Jr. said, already climbing back on the quad. "I'm heading to the command center. We've got surveillance on this site."
"Billy—" Tom started.
"I'll be careful. Out."
Billy Jr. killed the radio, gunned the engine, and tore across the ranch toward home.
He burst through the back door of the house ten minutes later, taking the stairs two at a time. The command center door was already open—Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, and Daniel Rodriguez were inside, hunched over the monitors.
"We heard the 911," Billy Renzo said, not looking up. "We're pulling the northern section feeds now."
Billy Jr. dropped into the chair beside him, his hands shaking. "Find it. Find them."
Ryan's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Got it. Northern feed shed, this morning. Starting at... 9:32 a.m."
The footage loaded on the main screen.
Billy Jr. watched as Billy and Jake pulled up in the Chevy. Watched them get out, walk toward the shed. Then—three men with rifles. Billy and Jake on their knees. Hands tied behind their backs. Roped. Hogtied. Thrown into a truck.
Billy Jr.'s fists clenched. "Sons of bitches."
"There," Daniel said, pointing. "Black pickup. No plates. Heading east."
"Can we track it?" Billy Jr. asked.
"Not from this feed. But I'm pulling satellite data now. If they stayed on dirt roads, we might be able to—"
The radio crackled to life. Tom's voice, tight with controlled fury.
"Command center, this is Tom. We just received ransom photos. All consortium members got them simultaneously. I'm transferring them to your system now."
Billy Jr.'s stomach dropped. "Copy that, Granddad. Standing by."
Ryan pulled up the secure transfer protocol. A file loaded on the main screen.
Billy Jr. opened it.
Billy and Jake, hanging upside down from meat hooks, wrists and ankles hogtied together, faces red and sweating, gagged. The photo was taken from below, their hands pointing toward the concrete floor.
A message followed:
$5,000,000. Cash. 48 hours. Instructions to follow. No police or they die.
Billy Jr. stared at the screen, his breath caught in his throat.
"Jesus Christ," Ryan Mattern whispered.
The radio exploded with voices. Tom, Josh, Pops, Sheriff Wade, Robert Beaumont, all the consortium men talking at once.
"QUIET!" Pops' voice cut through the chaos like a whip. "Billy Jr., you see the photos?"
Billy Jr. grabbed the radio, his voice steady despite the fury building in his chest. "Yes sir, Pops. They're hogtied and hanging from meat hooks. Upside down. Ransom is five million, forty-eight hours."
A long silence.
Then Pops again, his voice low and deadly calm. "Listen to me, all of you. We are getting those boys back. I don't care what it takes. Tom, Josh, Ray—get to the command center now. Sheriff, I want every deputy you've got on this. Robert, get the Renzos, Matterns, and Rodriguez families on alert. Billy Jr., you and your boys stay on those monitors and do not stop until you find where they are. Understood?"
"Yes sir," Billy Jr. said.
"Good. Now move."
Downstairs, Billy Jr. could hear footsteps pounding through the house. Doors slamming. Voices shouting. The entire ranch—the entire consortium—was mobilizing.
Billy Jr. turned back to the monitors, his jaw set.
"Let's find them," he said.
Ryan nodded. "Already on it."
The hunt had begun.
Chapter 5: The Search
The command center was packed within twenty minutes.
Tom and Josh arrived first, still in their work clothes, dirt on their boots. Ray came right behind them, laptop already open. Sheriff Wade Nelson pulled up with his sons Wilson and Ryan, all three in uniform, weapons at their hips. Robert Beaumont and the other consortium heads filed in—Billy Renzo's father, Ryan Mattern's father, Daniel Rodriguez's father. The room was designed for four people. Now it held fifteen.
Pops was the last to arrive, moving slower than usual but his eyes sharp as ever. He surveyed the room, then settled into the chair beside Billy Jr.
"Show me everything," Pops said.
Billy Jr. pulled up the surveillance footage on the main monitor. Everyone watched in silence as Billy and Jake were ambushed, tied, hogtied, and thrown into the truck.
"Run it again," Sheriff Wade said. "Slower this time."
Ryan Mattern adjusted the playback speed. They watched frame by frame.
"There," Wilson Nelson said, pointing. "That one's got a tattoo on his forearm. Can you zoom in?"
Daniel Rodriguez enlarged the frame. A snake coiled around a dagger, partially visible under the man's sleeve.
"I've seen that before," Sheriff Wade said quietly. "Garza crew. East Texas cartel affiliate."
The room went silent.
"Garza?" Robert Beaumont said. "I thought they stayed out of Kings County."
"They do. Usually." Sheriff Wade crossed his arms. "This is bigger than a simple ransom. They're making a statement."
Tom's jaw tightened. "Statement or not, we're getting my boys back."
"Agreed," Sheriff Wade said. "But if it's Garza, we need to be smart. They don't negotiate. They execute."
Pops leaned forward. "Then we don't negotiate either. We find them first."
Billy Jr. turned to his friends. "What've we got on satellite?"
Billy Renzo pulled up a second monitor. "We tracked the black pickup for about twelve miles east from the northern section. Then it goes off-road through the canyon pass. We lose visual under the tree cover for about four miles."
"Can we pick it up again?" Josh asked.
"Working on it," Ryan Mattern said, typing rapidly. "I'm cross-referencing abandoned structures within a fifty-mile radius east of the last known position. Filtering for buildings large enough to... to do what they're doing."
He didn't need to say more. Everyone had seen the photos.
Daniel Rodriguez pulled up a third screen. "I've got twelve possible locations. Warehouses, processing plants, old factories. Most are condemned."
"Narrow it down," Tom said. "Which ones have overhead rail systems? They're using meat hooks."
Daniel's fingers flew. "That leaves four. Two old slaughterhouses, one meat processing plant, and one cold storage facility."
Sheriff Wade studied the map. "The cold storage is too close to Highway 9. Too much traffic. They wouldn't risk it."
"Agreed," Robert Beaumont said. "Cross that off."
"The slaughterhouses are both near residential areas," Wilson added. "Garza wouldn't operate there. Too many eyes."
Billy Jr. zoomed in on the remaining location. "Kings County Meat Processing. Abandoned since 2014. Forty-three miles east of the ranch, accessible by dirt roads through the canyon."
Pops leaned closer, studying the satellite image. "That's it."
"We don't know for sure," Ray cautioned.
"I know," Pops said flatly. "That's where they are."
Sheriff Wade pulled out his phone. "I'll get a warrant and—"
"No." Tom's voice was ice. "No warrants. No official involvement. The message said no police or they die."
Sheriff Wade stiffened. "Tom, I can't—"
"You're not here as sheriff," Pops interrupted. "You're here as family. As consortium. Your badge stays in your truck."
Wade looked at his sons, then back at Tom. A long pause.
"Alright," Wade said quietly. "We do this off the books."
Billy Renzo pulled up thermal imaging from one of their drones. "I'm launching Drone 3 now. ETA to the meat processing plant is eighteen minutes. If they're there, we'll see heat signatures."
"Do it," Tom said.
The drone feed appeared on the main screen—live footage from 800 feet up, racing east across the darkening Texas landscape.
"What about the ransom?" Ray asked. "They said instructions would follow. When?"
As if on cue, Tom's phone buzzed. Then Sheriff Wade's. Then Robert's.
All the consortium men.
Tom opened the message and read aloud:
"Drop location will be sent at 0600 tomorrow. One person. Unarmed. Any deviation and they die. You have 47 hours."
"They're giving us time to get the money together," Josh said.
"And time to make mistakes," Sheriff Wade added. "They're watching us. Guaranteed."
Pops stood, his voice cutting through the tension. "Then we don't make mistakes. Billy Jr., you and your boys stay on that drone. Find them. Tom, Josh, Ray—start liquidating assets. We need five million in cash by tomorrow morning, whether we pay it or not. Sheriff, you and your boys scout every route to that meat plant. I want three exit strategies. Robert, coordinate with the other families. Everyone stays armed, everyone stays ready."
"What about you, Pops?" Billy Jr. asked.
Pops looked at him, then at the photo of Billy and Jake still frozen on the screen.
"I'm gonna pray," Pops said quietly. "And then I'm gonna load every damn rifle in this house."
He turned and walked out.
The room erupted into motion. Phones out, keyboards clicking, maps spreading across tables.
Billy Jr. stared at the drone feed, watching the meat processing plant grow closer on the screen.
"Come on," he whispered. "Be there. Please be there."
Beside him, Billy Renzo adjusted the thermal sensors.
"Seventeen minutes," he said.
The hunt continued.
Chapter 6: The Wait
Time had no meaning in the dark.
Billy didn't know if they'd been hanging for an hour or four. His shoulders burned. His wrists were numb. Blood pounded in his skull with every heartbeat, a steady drumbeat of pain.
Beside him, Jake hung silent, face red, sweat dripping steadily onto the concrete below.
Billy tried to shift his weight, tried to ease the pressure on his shoulders, but the ropes held tight. Every movement made it worse. The meat hook dug into the rope between his wrists and ankles, pulling the hogtie tighter.
He could hear Jake's breathing—heavy, labored through the gag.
Billy worked his jaw against the bandana, pushing with his tongue. The rag in his mouth was soaked with spit and sweat. He pushed harder, angling his head down despite the dizziness.
The bandana slipped.
Just a little.
He kept working it, grinding his teeth against the fabric. Finally, the knot loosened enough for him to force the rag out with his tongue. It fell to the floor with a wet slap.
Billy gasped, sucking in air. "Jake," he croaked. His voice was raw. "Jake, work your gag loose."
Jake's eyes found his. Billy could see the determination there—and the pain.
Jake started working his jaw, same as Billy had. Twisting his head, pushing with his tongue. It took longer—Jake's gag was tied tighter—but finally the bandana gave way and the rag fell.
Jake spat, coughing. "Jesus Christ," he rasped. "How long we been up here?"
"Don't know. Feels like forever."
"My shoulders are on fire."
"Mine too."
They hung there in silence for a moment, the only sound their breathing and the occasional creak of the chains above them.
"You think they're looking for us?" Jake asked quietly.
"Yeah," Billy said. "Billy Jr. would've checked on us by now. Found the truck. They know."
"How long you think before—"
"I don't know." Billy tried to twist his wrists against the rope. No give. "But Pops isn't gonna pay them. You know that, right?"
Jake let out a short, bitter laugh. "Yeah. I know. He's gonna come for us instead."
"Damn right he is." Billy grunted, trying again to work the rope. His fingers were completely numb now. He couldn't feel them at all. "We just gotta hang on till then."
"Literally," Jake said.
Despite everything, Billy almost smiled. "You making jokes right now?"
"What else am I gonna do? Cry?"
"Wouldn't blame you."
"Screw that." Jake's voice hardened. "I'm gonna remember their faces. Every single one of them. And when we get out of here—"
"When we get out," Billy agreed. "Not if."
Another long silence. The building creaked around them. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called.
"You scared?" Jake asked.
Billy thought about lying. Didn't. "Yeah. You?"
"Terrified." Jake paused. "But more pissed off than scared."
"Same."
"I keep thinking about breakfast this morning," Jake said. "Pops waking us up. The ladies cooking. Josh giving assignments like it was just another day."
"Was just another day," Billy said. "Until it wasn't."
"You think they knew? The kidnappers. You think they were watching us?"
"Probably. Had to know where we'd be, when we'd be alone."
Jake cursed under his breath. "Garza crew, you think? Like Wade said?"
"Maybe. Whoever they are, they're gonna regret it."
"Damn right they are."
Billy tried once more to work his hands free, straining against the rope until his wrists screamed. Nothing. The knots were too tight, too well tied. And even if he could get his hands loose, he was still hogtied, still hanging upside down from a meat hook fifteen feet in the air.
"Can't get loose," Billy admitted.
"Me neither." Jake's voice was tight with frustration. "We're stuck until they come back or—"
"They'll come back," Billy said. "For the ransom drop. And when they do, we fight."
"How? We're trussed up like—"
"I don't know yet. But we fight."
Jake was quiet for a moment. Then: "Billy?"
"Yeah?"
"If we don't make it—"
"Stop."
"I'm serious. If we don't make it, I just want you to know—"
"We're making it," Billy said firmly. "All of us. You, me, the whole damn family. We're making it through this."
"You don't know that."
"Yeah, I do. 'Cause Pops wouldn't have it any other way. You really think that old bastard's gonna let some cartel trash take out two of his grandsons?"
Jake let out a shaky laugh. "No. No, I guess not."
"Exactly. So we hang on. Literally. And we wait."
"How long?"
"As long as it takes."
The chains creaked above them. Their sweat dripped onto the concrete in a steady rhythm.
They hung there in the darkness, backs aching, shoulders burning, waiting for rescue or another round with their captors—whichever came first.
"Billy?" Jake said after a while.
"Yeah?"
"Next time Pops wakes us up at 5:47, I'm not gonna complain."
Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the uncertainty—Billy smiled.
"Me neither, brother. Me neither."
Chapter 7: The Rescue
"Thermal's picking up something," Billy Renzo said, leaning closer to the monitor.
The drone had been circling the Kings County Meat Processing plant for six minutes. On screen, the abandoned building glowed in shades of blue and gray—cold concrete, rusted metal, dead machinery.
But in the center of the main processing floor, two bright orange-red signatures.
"Two heat sources," Daniel Rodriguez confirmed. "Human-sized. Stationary. Elevated approximately fifteen feet off the ground."
Billy Jr.'s heart pounded. "That's them."
Ryan Mattern zoomed in. "There's three more signatures near the east entrance. Moving. Probably guards."
Tom leaned over Billy Jr.'s shoulder, studying the screen. "Can you get a visual?"
"Switching to standard optics now," Billy Renzo said.
The image shifted. Through a broken section of roof, the drone's camera captured two figures suspended from chains, bodies arched, hanging upside down.
Billy and Jake.
"Jesus," Josh breathed.
Pops appeared in the doorway, shotgun already in hand. "You found them?"
"Yes sir," Billy Jr. said. "Kings County Meat Processing, just like you said. Three hostiles, maybe more inside we can't see."
Sheriff Wade stepped up beside Pops. "We need to move fast. Once that ransom deadline hits tomorrow morning, those boys become liabilities."
"We're not waiting till morning," Tom said. "We go tonight."
Ray looked up from his laptop. "It's 6:47 p.m. We've got maybe ninety minutes of daylight left."
"Good," Pops said. "We go in at dusk. Harder for them to see us coming."
Robert Beaumont pulled up a satellite map on another screen. "Two access points. Main entrance here on the east side, loading dock on the west. Both have clear sightlines for about two hundred yards."
"They'll have someone watching both," Wilson Nelson said.
"Then we create a diversion," Sheriff Wade said. "Split into two teams. One draws their attention, the other goes in quiet."
Tom nodded. "Josh, Ray, and I will take the main entrance. Make noise, get their focus. Sheriff, you, Wilson, Ryan, and Robert go in through the loading dock. That's the extraction team."
"I'm going," Billy Jr. said.
"The hell you are," Josh said immediately.
"Dad, I know that building. We did a security assessment on it last year for the consortium. I know the layout, the weak points, everything."
Tom and Josh exchanged a look.
"He's right," Ray said quietly. "He knows it better than any of us."
Pops studied Billy Jr. for a long moment. Then: "You stay with the Sheriff. You don't engage unless you have to. Your job is to get your uncles out. Understood?"
"Yes sir."
"Billy, Ryan, Daniel, and Colt," Pops continued, addressing the other boys. "You four are coming with us. Bring the portable command center. We need real-time drone feeds and GPS coordination in the field. You all got your carry permits and sidearms?"
Billy Renzo patted the Glock on his hip. "Yes sir. All four of us."
"Good. You stay mobile, stay in communication, and keep those iPads live. We need eyes on everything."
"We got it, Pops," Billy Renzo said.
Colt grinned, his Cajun drawl thick. "Bout time we got some action."
"Alright." Pops checked his shotgun, then looked around the room. "Everybody load up. We leave in twenty minutes. No badges, no uniforms, no official anything. This is family business."
The room exploded into motion.
The convoy rolled out at 7:15 p.m.—four trucks, headlights off, moving east through the back roads of the ranch. Tom drove the lead truck with Josh and Ray. Sheriff Wade drove the second with Wilson, Ryan Nelson, Robert, and Billy Jr. Pops brought up the rear with Celab. The fourth truck—a modified F-250 with mounted antenna arrays—carried Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez, and Colt, along with the portable command center equipment.
"Command mobile, this is Wade. Radio check."
Billy Renzo's voice crackled back immediately from the tech truck. "Copy, Wade. We're live. Drone is in position. Thermal shows two targets still suspended, three hostiles on the ground floor. No movement outside the building. Feeding coordinates to all iPads now."
Billy Jr. looked down at his iPad mounted on the dashboard. The tactical map populated with GPS markers—their convoy, the meat processing plant, the drone's position overhead.
"Copy that. ETA twelve minutes."
Billy Jr. checked his Glock, then his rifle. His hands were steady, but his heart hammered in his chest.
"You good, kid?" Sheriff Wade asked, glancing at him.
"I'm good, Granddad."
"Remember what Pops said. You get in, you get your uncles down, you get out. Leave the shooting to us."
"Yes sir."
Wilson turned from the passenger seat. "You did good today, Junior. Finding them, getting everyone mobilized. Your uncles are gonna be proud."
Billy Jr. nodded, throat tight.
The trucks slowed as they approached the canyon pass. Tom's voice came over the radio.
"We're two klicks out. Kill the engines and go on foot from here. Tech truck stays mobile at rally point alpha."
They parked in a draw hidden by cottonwood trees. Everyone piled out except the tech team. Billy Renzo, Ryan, Daniel, and Colt stayed with their equipment, iPads glowing in the dim light, monitoring the drone feeds.
Tom gathered the assault teams in a tight circle. "Drone confirms three visible hostiles. Could be more inside we can't see. We assume they're armed and dangerous. Our priority is getting Billy and Jake out alive. Secondary priority is taking these bastards alive for questioning. But if it comes down to it..."
He didn't need to finish.
"My team goes in loud through the front," Tom continued. "Give us three minutes to get in position. Then Wade's team moves on the loading dock. Billy Jr. guides you to the processing floor. Cut the boys down, get them out. We'll cover your exit."
"What about the hostiles?" Robert asked.
"Leave them to me and Josh." Tom's voice was cold. "They took my boys. They're gonna answer for it."
Pops stepped forward, cigar clamped between his teeth. "One more thing. These sons of bitches wanted five million dollars. They're about to find out the Benson family doesn't negotiate with kidnappers. We take care of our own."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the group.
"Tech truck, you copy all that?" Tom asked.
"Copy," Billy Renzo said over the radio. "We've got you all on GPS. Drone's circling at three hundred feet. Thermal's clear—no new movement."
"Alright," Tom said. "Move out. And God be with us."
Billy Jr. crouched behind a rusted shipping container two hundred yards from the loading dock. Beside him, Sheriff Wade, Wilson, Ryan Nelson, and Robert Beaumont waited in silence. All of them had night vision goggles down, rifles ready.
Through his earpiece, Billy Jr. heard Tom's voice: "In position. Countdown starts now. Three minutes."
Billy Jr. pulled out his iPad. The screen showed the drone's thermal view—the two orange signatures still hanging in the center, three hostiles near the front entrance, all positioned exactly where they'd been minutes ago.
"Tech truck, any changes?" Sheriff Wade whispered into his radio.
"Negative," Daniel Rodriguez replied. "Pattern's holding. You're clear to approach."
The seconds ticked by like hours.
Billy Jr. focused on his breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like Pops taught him when they went hunting. His Glock sat reassuringly on his hip.
"Two minutes," Tom said.
Billy Jr. could see the loading dock now—a rusted metal door, partially ajar. No movement outside.
"One minute."
Sheriff Wade tapped Billy Jr.'s shoulder. They started moving, low and fast, using the shipping containers for cover.
"Thirty seconds."
They reached the loading dock. Wilson tested the door—it opened silently on broken hinges.
"Ten seconds."
They slipped inside.
The interior was pitch black. Billy Jr. flipped his night vision down. The world turned green. He could see the massive processing floor ahead, conveyor belts frozen in place, machinery covered in dust.
And there—hanging from chains in the center of the room—Billy and Jake.
"Go," Sheriff Wade whispered.
Then, from the front of the building, an explosion of sound. Truck engines roaring, headlights flooding through the windows, Tom's voice booming through a megaphone:
"THIS IS TOM BENSON! YOU'VE GOT TEN SECONDS TO RELEASE MY SONS OR WE'RE COMING IN!"
Chaos erupted.
Billy Jr. heard shouting from the front of the building. Footsteps running. Someone yelling in Spanish.
"Move, move!" Sheriff Wade hissed.
They sprinted across the processing floor. Billy Jr. reached Billy first, pulling out his knife.
"Uncle Billy, it's me. Hold still."
Billy's eyes went wide with recognition. He tried to say something, but his voice was too hoarse.
Billy Jr. sawed through the rope connecting Billy's wrists and ankles. The tension released and Billy dropped—Wilson caught him before he hit the ground.
Beside them, Sheriff Wade and Ryan were cutting Jake down. Robert stood guard, rifle trained on the entrance.
Gunfire erupted from the front of the building.
"We've got company!" Tom's voice over the radio. "Three hostiles engaging! We're pinned down!"
"Tech truck, where are they?" Sheriff Wade barked into his radio.
"Two at the main entrance, one circling around toward your position!" Colt's voice, urgent. "Thirty yards and closing on your six o'clock!"
"Almost clear!" Sheriff Wade called back.
Jake dropped into Ryan's arms, both of them hitting the ground hard.
"Can you walk?" Billy Jr. asked Billy.
Billy tried to stand. His legs buckled immediately. Too much time hanging upside down.
Billy Jr. heard footsteps behind him. He spun, hand going to his Glock—
A man appeared from behind a conveyor belt, rifle raised.
Billy Jr. drew and fired twice. Center mass. The man went down.
"Contact down!" Billy Jr. shouted, adrenaline spiking through his veins.
"Good shooting, Junior," Wilson said. "Now let's move!"
"We're carrying them out," Sheriff Wade said. "Wilson, take Billy. Ryan, you got Jake. Robert, Junior—you're on point. Let's move!"
They hauled Billy and Jake toward the loading dock exit. Billy Jr. led the way, Glock still drawn, scanning for threats.
They burst out into the twilight just as more gunfire cracked from inside the building.
"Extraction complete!" Sheriff Wade radioed. "We're clear! One hostile down!"
"Copy!" Tom's voice. "We're falling back! Pops, cover us!"
The distinctive boom of Pops' shotgun echoed through the plant.
Billy Jr. and the extraction team ran for the trucks, Wilson and Ryan carrying Billy and Jake between them.
From the tech truck, Billy Renzo's voice crackled: "All teams, you're clear! No additional hostiles on thermal! Rally point alpha is secure!"
They reached the vehicles as Tom, Josh, Ray, Pops, and Celab came sprinting out of the building. Behind them, the meat processing plant lit up with muzzle flashes.
"GO! GO! GO!" Tom yelled.
Everyone piled into the trucks. Engines roared to life. Tom floored it, the convoy tearing out of the canyon as bullets pinged off the tailgates.
Billy Jr. was in the back seat, Billy's head in his lap. His uncle was conscious but barely, mumbling something Billy Jr. couldn't understand.
"You're okay," Billy Jr. said, his voice shaking. "You're okay now. We got you."
In the truck ahead, Jake was already sitting up, Rebecca pressing water to his lips.
The tech truck brought up the rear, Billy Renzo still monitoring the drone feed. "All units, this is Command mobile. You're clear. No pursuit. I repeat, no pursuit. Welcome home."
The convoy raced through the darkness, headlights cutting through the Texas night, heading for home.
Chapter 8: The Aftermath
The trucks pulled into the ranch at 9:23 p.m. Sarah, Mary, and the other consortium women were already waiting outside, tears streaming down their faces as Wilson and Ryan carried Billy and Jake from the vehicles.
"Get them inside," Rebecca said, already in nurse mode. "Sarah, I need warm water, clean towels, and the first aid kit. Mary, start heating soup—something light."
The women swept Billy and Jake into the house. Billy Jr. watched them go, still sitting in the back seat of Sheriff Wade's truck, Glock still on his hip.
He couldn't stop shaking.
Tom appeared at the truck door. "Billy Jr. You good?"
Billy Jr. looked up at his grandfather. Tried to speak. Couldn't.
Tom's expression softened. He reached in and put a hand on Billy Jr.'s shoulder. "Come on, son. Let's get you inside."
Billy Jr. climbed out on unsteady legs. Josh was there immediately, wrapping an arm around his son.
"You did good today," Josh said quietly. "Real good."
"I killed someone, Dad." Billy Jr.'s voice was barely a whisper.
"I know."
"I—I didn't even think. I just—"
"You protected your family," Josh said firmly. "You saved your uncles. That man would've killed them. Would've killed all of us."
Billy Jr. nodded, but the shaking wouldn't stop.
Pops appeared on the porch, shotgun propped against the railing, cigar in hand. He looked at Billy Jr., then at Tom and Josh.
"Bring him up to the frat house," Pops said. "All the boys. Tell the ladies we'll be down in a bit."
Ten minutes later, Billy Jr. sat on the edge of the bottom bunk—Billy's bunk—surrounded by his father, grandfather, Pops, Sheriff Wade, and his four friends. Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez, and Colt stood near the door, all of them still wearing their sidearms.
Pops pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels from under the floorboard—right next to the Coors stash—and set it on the small table between the bunks.
"First time's always the hardest," Pops said, pouring a shot into a plastic cup. He handed it to Billy Jr. "Drink."
Billy Jr. took the cup with shaking hands. The whiskey burned going down, making him cough.
"Again," Pops said, pouring another.
Billy Jr. drank. This time it went down smoother.
Pops poured a third, then took the bottle and poured shots for everyone in the room—including the sixteen-year-olds.
"What you did tonight," Pops said, looking directly at Billy Jr., "was the hardest thing a man ever has to do. Taking a life ain't easy. Ain't supposed to be easy. But you did what needed doing, and you did it without hesitation."
"He would've killed Uncle Billy," Billy Jr. said, his voice stronger now. "And Jake. And us."
"Damn right he would've," Sheriff Wade said. "I saw the angle. You had maybe two seconds. You made the right call."
"The only call," Wilson added.
Tom sat down beside Billy Jr. "Your great-great-grandfather built this ranch with his bare hands. Fought off rustlers, outlaws, and worse. Protected his family no matter what it cost him. Today, you did the same thing."
"You're a Benson," Josh said. "That means something."
Billy Renzo stepped forward. "Means you're not alone either. Any of us would've done the same thing."
"Hell yeah," Colt said, his Cajun drawl thick. "You saved your family, brother. That's what matters."
Ryan Mattern and Daniel Rodriguez nodded in agreement.
Pops refilled Billy Jr.'s cup. "You're gonna have nightmares. Might take a while to process it all. That's normal. But you listen to me—what you did was right. You protected yours. That's what men do."
Billy Jr. took the third shot. His hands had stopped shaking.
"How do you deal with it?" Billy Jr. asked Pops. "After... after you've done it?"
Pops was quiet for a moment, puffing his cigar. "You remember why you did it. You remember who you were protecting. And you lean on your brothers." He gestured around the room. "These men right here—your dad, your granddad, Wade, these boys—they're your brothers. You talk to them. You don't bottle it up."
Sheriff Wade leaned forward. "I've been in three shootings in my career. Every single time, I came home and talked it through with Mary and these men. That's how you survive it."
Tom nodded. "We're here for you, Junior. Whatever you need. Whenever you need it."
Billy Jr. looked around the room at the faces of the men who'd raised him, fought beside him, and would die for him without hesitation.
"Thanks," he said, his voice steady now. "All of you."
Pops grinned and grabbed the pack of Coors from under the floorboard. "Alright, enough of the serious shit. Let's have a beer."
He tossed cans to everyone—Tom, Josh, Sheriff Wade, Wilson, Ryan Nelson, Robert, Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez, Colt, and Billy Jr.
They all cracked them open.
"To Billy and Jake," Pops said, raising his can. "And to Billy Jr., who brought them home."
"To Billy Jr.," everyone echoed.
They drank.
An hour later, most of the men had gone downstairs. Tom and Josh went to check on Billy and Jake. Sheriff Wade and his sons headed home. Robert Beaumont left to update the other consortium families.
But Pops stayed.
So did Billy Renzo, Ryan Mattern, Daniel Rodriguez, and Colt.
They sat on the bunks and the floor mattress, empty beer cans scattered around them. Pops had his cigar. Billy Jr. had stopped shaking completely.
"You know what I like about you boys?" Pops said, looking at the five sixteen-year-olds. "You don't bullshit each other. You tell it straight."
"Learned from the best," Billy Renzo said, grinning at Pops.
Pops laughed. "Damn right you did."
Colt leaned back against the bunk. "Junior, you were stone cold out there, man. Two shots, center mass, didn't even blink."
"I was scared as hell," Billy Jr. admitted.
"Being scared don't mean you weren't brave," Daniel Rodriguez said. "Means you were brave anyway."
Ryan Mattern nodded. "We had your back the whole time. Still do."
Billy Jr. looked at his friends—his brothers, really. "Thanks. For everything today. The drone, the GPS, all of it. We couldn't have done it without you."
"That's what family does," Billy Renzo said simply.
Pops took a long pull from his beer, studying the boys. "You five are gonna run this ranch one day. You know that, right? Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in ten years. But one day, this whole operation is gonna be yours."
"We'll be ready," Billy Jr. said.
"I know you will."
For a while, they sat there in comfortable silence.
"You think Uncle Billy and Jake are gonna be okay?" Billy Jr. asked finally.
"Yeah," Billy Renzo said. "They're Bensons. They're tough as hell."
"Plus they got Rebecca taking care of them," Colt added. "She don't let nobody die on her watch."
Billy Jr. smiled. "True."
The door opened.
Billy and Jake stood in the doorway, both wrapped in blankets, faces still pale, wrists red and raw from the ropes. They were barefoot, moving slowly, clearly in pain.
"What the hell are you two doing up here?" Billy Jr. said, jumping to his feet. "Rebecca's gonna kill you."
"She already tried," Jake said, his voice hoarse. "We told her to shove it."
"Language," Billy said with a weak grin. Then his eyes found Billy Jr. "We heard what you did."
Billy Jr. looked down. "I just... I did what I had to—"
"You saved our lives," Jake interrupted. He stepped forward, wincing with each movement, and stood directly in front of Billy Jr.
Then he raised his hand in a salute.
Billy did the same, standing beside his brother, both of them saluting their sixteen-year-old nephew.
Billy Jr. stared at them, throat tight.
"Thank you," Billy said quietly. "For coming for us. For not hesitating. For being brave when it mattered most."
"You're a man now, Junior," Jake added. "A real one. And we're damn proud of you."
Billy Jr.'s eyes burned. He snapped to attention and returned the salute.
For a moment, the three of them stood there—uncle, uncle, and nephew—honoring each other.
Then Billy dropped his hand and pulled Billy Jr. into a fierce hug, ignoring the pain in his shoulders. Jake joined in, wrapping his arms around both of them.
"Thank you," Billy whispered. "Thank you for bringing us home."
"Always," Billy Jr. said, his voice breaking. "Always."
They held each other for a long moment.
Then Rebecca's voice echoed up the stairs. "BILLY BENSON! JAKE BENSON! YOU GET BACK DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW!"
Jake groaned. "We're dead."
"Worth it," Billy said, grinning at Billy Jr. He clapped him on the shoulder one more time. "Get some rest, kid. We'll see you at breakfast."
"5:47," Jake added. "Pops already said he's waking us all up."
"Of course he did," Billy Jr. said, smiling.
Billy and Jake shuffled back toward the door. At the threshold, they both turned back and saluted one more time.
Billy Jr. saluted back.
Then they were gone.
Billy Renzo let out a low whistle. "Damn, Junior. That was something."
"Yeah," Colt said softly. "Yeah, it was."
Billy Jr. wiped his eyes and sat back down on the bunk, overwhelmed.
Ryan Mattern stood and stretched. "Alright, I gotta head home. My parents are probably freaking out."
"Same," Daniel said.
Billy Renzo grabbed his jacket. "We'll be back tomorrow morning. Bright and early."
"Bring coffee," Billy Jr. said.
"Deal."
One by one, his friends left, each of them clapping Billy Jr. on the shoulder on their way out.
Finally, it was just Billy Jr., Colt, and Pops in the frat house.
Pops stood, joints creaking. "Alright, I'm heading down. You boys get some sleep. Tomorrow's another day, and your grandma's gonna want you up at 5:47 for breakfast."
The boys groaned.
Pops grinned. "That's what I thought. Goodnight, boys."
"Night, Pops."
He left, closing the door behind him.
Colt climbed up to the top bunk—Celab's bunk. Billy Jr. lay down on the bottom bunk—Billy's bunk.
"You good, Junior?" Colt asked from above.
"Yeah," Billy Jr. said. "I think I am."
"Good. 'Cause we got a lot more shit to do tomorrow."
Billy Jr. laughed. "Like what?"
"Like figuring out how to restock the beer before your uncles notice we drank it all."
Despite everything—the fear, the violence, the weight of what he'd done—Billy Jr. smiled.
"Yeah. We'll figure it out."
Outside, the Texas night was quiet. The ranch was safe. The family was whole.
And in the frat house, Billy Jr. closed his eyes and, for the first time all day, felt at peace.
