By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Chapter One: Trespass

The Texas sun was a cruel, unblinking eye in the sky, scorching the blacktop and everything around it. Peter wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and habitually ran his fingers through his long blond hair like a comb.  He cursed under his breath. His rental car—a cheap sedan that had looked dependable enough back in Austin—now sat silent and steaming on the side of the road, its hood up like a white flag of surrender. The nearest sign of civilization had been a lonely gas station fifty miles back. He hadn’t seen another car in hours.

With no cell service, no breeze, and no luck, Peter shouldered his backpack and headed east across the dusty plains, hoping to find a ranch, a house, a human being—anything. The ground was cracked and dry, dotted with stubborn tufts of grass and the occasional mesquite tree. He passed a wire fence that looked like it hadn’t been repaired since the Reagan administration. He didn’t notice the sun-bleached sign nailed to one of the posts:

PRIVATE LAND – SHERIFFS’ PROPERTY – TRESPASSERS WILL BE DETAINED

Miles passed under his boots. His pale t-shirt clung to his back, damp and dark with sweat. He was city through and through—button-downs, cappuccinos, and subway rides—but Peter had always liked to pretend he had a little adventure in him. Now he just wanted a glass of water and a ride.

The sharp crack of a branch made him stop in his tracks.

Out of the brush came two men—massive men—moving like tanks through the scrubland. They were identical twins, built like linebackers, their tan uniforms stretched taut over thick biceps and bulging chests. Wide-brimmed Stetsons shaded hard, square jaws and eyes the color of old whiskey. Each wore a perfectly polished sheriff’s badge, shining like a warning against the midday sun. Their Sam Browne belts were thick chestnut leather, studded with silver, each belt loaded with tools of control—batons, holsters, pouches, and polished cuffs that hung from heavy loops like jewelry made for dominance.

One of the brothers leveled a shotgun at Peter’s chest, the barrel smooth and dark and deadly. The other casually unsnapped the strap on his duty pistol.

Peter raised his hands. “Hey—whoa—I didn’t mean to—”

“You lost, cityboy?” drawled the one with the shotgun, thick arms tensing as he took a step forward.

“He smells like a Yankee,” the other said, smirking. His voice was slower, deeper. “I bet he’s from New York. Figures.”

Peter gave a nervous laugh. “Actually… yeah. Brooklyn.”

The twin with the shotgun shook his head. “Told ya. Cocky little city boys think they can wander wherever they want.”

“I wasn’t—” Peter started, but the deeper-voiced twin took a step closer, reaching behind his belt and pulling out a set of handcuffs. They gleamed like steel promises in the sunlight.

“You’re on Sheriff land,” he said. “That makes you our prisoner.”

Peter’s heart was thudding now—not just with fear, but something else. He should’ve been scared stiff. But there was something about the way the man said “our prisoner” that made his breath catch.

“And not just any prisoner,” said the shotgun twin. “You just volunteered for our private chain-gang.”

The one with the cuffs smirked, pulling a second pair of shackles from a pouch on his wide leather belt—this one for ankles. “You’re gonna look real good in iron, Yankee.”

“Let’s take him in,” said the shotgun twin, slinging his weapon back on his shoulder with one massive arm.

They moved in unison, each grabbing one of Peter’s arms—huge, rough hands engulfing his biceps with casual strength. The scent of leather, sweat, and sun-bleached cotton surrounded him. His heart pounded as he was marched, half-stumbling, across the dry earth between them. The pressure of their grips was firm but controlled, the kind of force that didn’t ask for obedience—it expected it.

“Welcome to the Sheriffs’ land,” said one of them, his lips curling into a slow, knowing grin. “You’re gonna be working off that trespassing debt… one day at a time.”

And with that, Peter was led deeper into the land, the heat, and something much more dangerous than either.

To be continued …