"They turned left about a mile up ahead." Frank told his father.

About a minute later, Fenton turned on to a rutted dirt road that could have easily been missed even in broad daylight let alone the fading light of dusk. After approximately a quarter of a mile, a split rail fence appeared on their left. There were a few hills that still offered them some cover but after another half mile, they seemed to disappear leaving nothing but scrub brush and hills large enough to hide a human being but not a car.

"They stopped." Frank said suddenly, his heart beating faster. Was he finally about to find his younger brother?

"And so are we. There’s not enough cover to continue in the car." Fenton said opening the door and stepping out. Checking his gun, he glanced over to make sure Frank had done the same. "Let’s go."

Quickly but quietly they made their way the last quarter mile on foot, using the small hills and brush for cover. A few moments later they heard voices. After getting as close as possible without exposing themselves, Frank and Fenton crouched behind the scrub brush, and blinked a few times as their eyes adjusted to the fading light. Looking straight ahead, Frank's heart leapt into his throat. He prayed he wasn’t really seeing what his mind told him he saw.

"No!" he whispered, his voice breaking. Immediately his eyes began to burn and his vision blurred with unshed tears.

‘Oh my God. Please let him be alive.’ Fenton thought. Staring at his youngest son chained to the fence, the blood turned to ice in his veins.

At first glance, it appeared Joe’s entire upper body was covered with dirt. Frank gasped as the realization washed over him. It wasn’t dirt – Joe was covered with blood and bruises. Frank felt his stomach turn as his eyes wandered over his brother’s body. When Frank’s eyes finally came to rest on his brother’s left arm, he could no longer hold back the tears. Bright red in some spots and blistered in others, he could see Joe’s arm was severely burned.

He heard his father choke back a sob and knew they were thinking the same thing - no one could be beaten like that and survive.

Frank was both horrified and relieved when he heard a low moan escape Joe’s lips. That was enough to turn Frank’s fear and worry for his brother into an almost uncontrollable rage.

Hearing Rashman rummaging through the trunk of the car, Frank tried to make out what he was doing. Seeing the tall, muscular man straighten up, Frank vowed he would pay for what he had done to Joe. Suddenly, Frank understood all the times Joe had threatened the man who had raped Vanessa; threatened to take the law into his own hands. He realized if he had the chance to kill this man without being caught, he wasn’t absolutely sure he’d be able to stop himself. Glancing at Fenton, he saw the hatred in his eyes and knew his father was probably thinking the same thing.

Having found what he was looking for, Rashman straightened up and then dropped a heavy chain on the ground behind the car, identical to the ones that held Joe securely to the fence. He then walked over to Joe, stopping directly in front of him, a gun in Rashman’s right hand.

Grabbing a handful of Joe’s hair, Rashman viciously pulled his head up, resting the barrel of the gun on Joe’s forehead. Frank could see Joe had awakened and was staring at Rashman with a dazed look on his face.

"Good news, Hardy." Rashman said to Joe. "I’ve been ordered to kill you."

‘Thank God.’ Joe thought. In severe shock and unaware that his father and brother were only a few feet away, Joe had finally given up hope. He wanted nothing more than to be free of the pain, no matter what the cost.

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t hang on. I tried, Van, I really tried. I love you, Baby.’ Joe said to himself, wanting his last thoughts to be of Vanessa. Focusing on Rashman’s hand, Joe saw his finger start to pull back on the trigger. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief as he waited for the shot that would end his suffering yet for some reason Joe couldn’t understand, there was nothing but silence…and the pain continued.

Rashman began to chuckle, slowly bringing the gun down to his side, yet keeping a tight hold on Joe’s hair.

"You’d like that wouldn’t you. To be put out of your misery."

"Why?" Joe whispered, as he realized Rashman had no intention of killing him. Not yet.

"Yeah…why?" Malick echoed him nervously. "Just kill him and let’s finish this job."

"No." Rashman said, contempt in his voice. "This is personal now. And I’m not through with him yet." Abruptly he released Joe’s hair, laughing as Joe choked on the leather strap still around his neck, the pain it caused him clearly evident on his face.

As had happened each time before, the burns on his arm were stretched by his weight pulling on the chains, resulting in unbearable pain. Exhausted from almost twenty-four hours of continual abuse, Joe didn’t even have the strength left to verbalize the agony he was in. Nothing other than a whimper escaped his lips.

Stepping back, Rashman aimed his gun at Joe’s knee, applying slight pressure on the trigger. "Too bad Daddy isn’t here to see this."

"He is." A voice cut through the night, followed immediately by a gunshot.

Dropping the gun, Rashman cried out holding his right arm where he’d been shot. He looked up, shocked to see Fenton Hardy coming towards him, his eyes burning with rage. Walking next to his father, Frank held his gun steady, keeping it trained on the two men who had so callously beaten his brother. As they passed the car, Fenton grabbed the heavy chain Rashman had carelessly discarded, and continued to advance on the two men menacingly.

Suddenly there was a flash of movement and Rashman was lunging at Joe with a knife! Reacting instinctively, Frank pulled the trigger again, this time hitting Rashman in the shoulder. Watching as the big man fell to the ground clutching at his shoulder, Frank’s hand started to shake as he took aim at Rashman’s head. How much he wanted to pull the trigger one more time…

As the Hardy’s came to a stop in front of Rashman, Malick instinctively took a few steps back, his hands held high. He had seen the look in their eyes and for the first time in his life, he felt fear. He knew they were supposed to be the "good guys" but one glance at Joe told him the line between good and bad had suddenly blurred.

Fenton towered over Rashman, staring down at the man with revulsion. With stunning swiftness he took one swing with the heavy chain and smiled grimly when he heard the sickening crack as it connected solidly with Rashman’s head. Rashman fell back unconscious, blood beginning to seep from the back of his head. His knife lay on the ground at Joe’s feet.

Before Malick realized what had happened, Fenton threw the chain over his head, wrapped it around his throat and pulled it tight. Using the chain to steer Malick, he turned the red headed man towards Frank and forced him to walk forward, pulling him to a stop in front of his oldest son.

"Kneel on the ground. Hands behind your back." He growled.

Malick, unnerved by the hatred in Fenton’s voice, quickly did as he was told. As soon as Frank had put handcuffs on him, Fenton shoved Malick to the ground face first, kneeling on his back. He continued pulling the chain tightly around Malick’s neck.

Frank watched uneasily, as Fenton did not seem to let up even when Malick began gasping for air. He heard Sam Radley’s voice again.

As Frank watched in shock, Fenton removed the chain from around Malick’s throat and swung it downward, catching Malick in the back of the head, knocking him out cold.

Frank looked at his father and shuddered. Fenton's eyes held no remorse.

"Dad…" It was barely a whisper and laced with pain.

Fenton turned to look at his youngest son as the color drained from his face. Their eyes locked for a moment, before Joe shifted his gaze to his older brother.

"You…came…" Joe managed. He let out a final sigh, closed his eyes and slumped forward.

Rushing forward, Frank reached out a shaking hand and placed it on Joe’s neck, searching for a pulse. He waited then moved his hand a fraction of an inch. Waiting again, he moved his fingers once more. After a third try with no success, he gave in to the panic that he had been trying to suppress.

"Dad! I can’t find a pulse!" Frank cried out in anguish, turning to his father. "We’re too late! He’s dead!"