Face down, David crawled on his stomach with what little strength he had left. He had to get away. He had to try. His right leg broken, his right hand shattered. He pulled himself along the dirt trail with his left arm and with only half the strength in his right. The tip of his motocross boot from his only functioning leg biting into the earth to provide only a mockery of traction with every desperate effort to inch himself forward.

The bleeding scars across his face were caked with dirt, forming a cruel mortar giving the illusion of some ancient stone face statue beaten by time and weather.

The cable that stretched across the dirt bike trail ripped his chest protector clean off, taking his jersey with it. The force and torquing of this sudden and violent motion was so powerful, it dislocated David’s shoulder instantly, only to be thrown back into place when David impacted the ground. Where his riding partner was, he didn’t know. What he did know, what that this was a trap.

The fall, the tumble, the roll, the rocks, the debris ripped into his chest and back with everything from fine scratches to deep cuts and harsh abrasions. Bruised, battered, and beaten, he managed to get his helmet off before the pain really registered. But he had to get away now.

He moved like a snail. Slow, rhythmic, forward. The flesh of his back, tan from outdoor adventures, arched upwards as he raised himself slightly to pull himself along, writhing from left to right with every pattern of motion to crawl forward, to get away. Boot, push, arm, pull, boot, push, arm pull.

Desperate for water, but no ability to swallow. So thirsty. David breathed rapidly through his mouth, never getting enough air. The dirt grinding between his teeth and gums.

His white Fox motocross pants fit his form like they were painted on. The tight unstretchable nylon encasing his legs, the rubberized logo accents wrapping from front to rear, the black contrasted stitching and nylon panels. Inside, the muscles and flesh move beneath it, flexing and moving awkwardly and desperately to creep him forward…to get away from his unknown attacker.

From his attacker’s perspective, so beautiful. So fucked. And so fuckable.

The thick leather Fox moto boots wrapping his feet and ankles with solid protection akin to some Tolkien-esque incantation.

David was, in every way, an athletic beauty, looking like a warrior, donned in his garments of battle, sporting his kingdom’s crest of offroad racing. Beaten, bloody, flesh, and gear, muscles, moving, squirming. Fucking beautiful. A knight among men.

Boot, push, arm, pull, boot, push, arm pull. Breathe, breathe, breathe…

Weak and broken, he could barely continue. He picked his head up slightly to see ahead of him. The sweat, the dirt, the blood all blurred his vision, but in a moment of clarity, he could see it. A hundred feet or so ahead of him, the silhouette of a figure, holding a gun, pointed right at him.

[GUNSHOT]

——————

In October 2016, the disappearance of 4 young men over the course of a 6 week timeline launched one of the most intensive and discreet investigations in Utah state history. Beginning in early July to mid August of the same year, Jake Denger and Alec Tensor organized and executed a plan to capture, torture, and murder as many men as possible in a carefully orchestrated plot that kept investigators baffled for weeks as they traced every lead and piece of evidence they could.

Combined resources from Federal, state and local agencies to include the FBI, Sheriff’s Department, park services, and local news reporters have been compiled to give a detailed report that summarizes the events that occurred at the property in Brody, Utah.

Some accounts vary from agency to agency, but in the end, all agree that had Jake and Alec never met, the fuse might have never been lit for the one of the most horrific crimes in Utah history.

At age 27, Jake inherited his father’s property of roughly 1200 acres which bordered on the edge of the Tacumsee Offroad Trail a couple hours from Bryce Canyon. The Tacumsee Trail is a popular Offroad trail in the Sage Rock National Park that offers over 50 miles of various trails for UTV’s, dirt bikes, and offroad vehicles. The trails offer a mix of offroad terrain to include rock formations, river washes, forestry, and more. Trail rated and well signed, bikes specifically had designated trail markings that could provide a unique offroad experience where other larger vehicles could not travel.

One such trail, the Tacumsee Trail was technically closed off almost 8 miles from the Denger property, but on several occasions, access through the trail was secretly opened by Jake and Alec to lure their prey deep into the remote location that would eventually lead them to imprisonment and death.

——

2 Months Earlier – Hampton Motocross Park – 30 miles outside Brody, Utah

For the enthusiast, offroad riding takes many forms, but for many, there’s only one passion: dirt bikes. Like many motocross parks, Hampton Motocross Park offered riders a destination with well groomed tracks that provided a range of challenges depending upon the rider’s own level of skill and experience. Parks like Hampton are disappearing across the country as frivolous lawsuits by those injured continue to shut them down. Never mind that motocross is probably the most physically demanding sport. Never mind that anyone who rides knows it’s not a matter of “if” you go down, but only a matter of “when”. When you combine injuries as a result of improper skill or bad luck with an attorney who can promise thousands of dollars in compensation, it becomes too burdensome for tracks to maintain operation.

As options dry up, what few parks remain across the country have become favorites for the enthusiasts as well as the privateer and full-blown sponsored pro’s. It’s not uncommon to catch a glimpse of a pro rider surrounded by his trainers and mechanics testing new tires, or working out the last few adjustments to suspension, tire pressure, engine modifications and more.

On this day, Jake had just completed 45 minutes on the track. His YZ250 sat on the bike stand outside his box trailer. With the rear ramp door closed, it offered privacy for anyone inside and protection of gear and equipment against would-be thieves. Entrance in and out was still an option through a side man door.

The box trailer was designed perfectly for a moto rat. Cabinets along one side held tools, oil, replacement parts, inner tubes for the tires, tire irons, filter cleaner, tear offs, and common accessories any rider would need on the track on any given day. Spare motocross tires hung securely on the wall for the inevitable replacement that would be required. Anchor points on the floor were perfect for using tie downs to secure the bike inside for travel.

On the other side, cabinets held food, water, and gear; MX pants, jerseys, goggles, helmets, gloves, cold weather gear, boots, rain gear, safety gear, and more.

With the trailer ramp door closed, only the side door remained opened where a slight breeze would occasionally catch the door and swing it open and closed like an old screen door on a Kansas farmhouse.

Jake was a handsome young man. Unkept thick dirty blonde hair and sporting some scruff, his hazel colored eyes contrasted his overall tan outdoor complexion, making any gaze with him compelling. Physically, Jake was in perfect shape. He enjoyed riding as this particular passion requires most to be in top physical form. A long scar from his stomach up the left side of his chest was a reminder of that fact. An accident years ago on a bike sent Jake tumbling hard, handlebars practically piercing him as it ripped him open. When Jake mis-judged a downhill descent, he overshot a corner and both he and the bike went sailing into a pile of boulders, forcing the bike to exert its full weight onto Jake as it crushed Jake’s femur bone and pelvis. Even now, Jake still walks with a slight limp from the injury.

In his mind, this was hardly an affliction. In the end, his abilities weren’t altered from this accident and Jake has been able to do anything physically he wanted to.

Sitting in a lawn chair inside the trailer, Jake had his jersey off. Soaked in sweat, he could easily have the ramp door down and allow air to flow through the small trailer, but Jake wanted privacy. And he enjoyed the heat.

Leaning the lawn chair to one side, he reached over to grab a Monster energy out of the cooler. He shook the can to throw off the ice flakes on top and popped it open.

After a few quenching gulps, he set the can down, grabbed his phone and queued up some music paired to a bluetooth speaker. The music filled the cabin’s space just loud enough to mask the sounds Jake knew was coming, that he would be making…

As he leaned back in the chair, he lifted his boot up and kicked an open cabinet door closed. He dropped his heavy boot to the floor and the heel hit with a thud. As the cabinet door shut, a poster taped to the front side of the cabinet door comes into view. It’s champion rider Carter Holden, shirtless. Carter was a young twenty-something posing in this glamour hero shot.

The camera angle was low and shooting upwards at Carter. He stood there with his arms at his side like a prize fighter showing off his strength and power. He would be right to do so. Carter was absolutely at the top of his game physically. He was leading in points that season and had every right to brag. A potential Motocross Championship was in his future.

His bike behind him and blurred out in the shot, this poster was definitely about Carter’s power. Bare chested, but sporting his dirt caked motocross pants and boots, his ripped torso was a sight to see, but equally matched by the large tattoo artwork design that wrapped from his lower stomach up and diagonally to his shoulder. A combination of tribal art and interpretive motocross track with bikes, the large canvas was a story in and of itself. Posters like these are rare as the industry tries to keep the imagery of these athletes family friendly. This one was special for Jake.

As Jake continued to stare at the poster, his facial expression changed. His eyes didn’t blink, and his look became more intense. Rather than simply gazing at Carter’s form, Jake became almost consumed, gawking, obsessing over the vision. Something else was turning in his mind. Something bubbling underneath. Another personality coming out. Something more than simple admiration or arousal. Something possessive, something monstrous, something wicked and socially misplaced.

Jake spat into his hand and reached down inside his nylon pants. The tight nylon didn’t stretch so his hand was happily wedged in his crotch in this confined space, a firm grip stroking his excitement. Slow and steady, as he stared at the poster, visual triggers working Jake’s imagination and arousal. Carter’s boots, thick, rigid, encasing his feet and ankles, the dirt packed moto pants hugging his muscular form, Carter’s masculine physique and the large tattoo that practically says “I don’t give a fuck and I don’t have to.” This illusion or metaphor, depending upon how you interpret it is equally matched by Carter’s eyes. Looking down on Jake, the attitude exhibited is total dominance – equally saying “I don’t give a fuck and I don’t have to.”

With one hand free, Jake reached behind him and grabbed his helmet. He pulled the goggles off and slipped the helmet on. With a wide viewport, the helmet gave Jake a clear view of Carter’s image.

Outside, the sound of another dirt bike can be heard approaching. The engine cuts off just outside Jake’s trailer.

After a few moments, a gloved hand swings the door open as the fully geared up rider enters. He closes the door behind him and locks the latch so no-one else can enter.

Without turning or losing his focus on the poster of Carter, Jake grumbles to the other rider “Get the fuck over here and finish this…”

“You finish it,” the rider said as he approached and positioned himself between Jake and his view of the poster. As Jake shifts his focus, his eyes soak in the scene in front of him… Fully decked out in mx gear, the rider is sporting black nylon mx pants, perfectly formed to his legs. A perforated polyester jersey is covered by his plastic chest protector body armor that protects against rocks and roost. As Jake follows his gaze up, the rider’s face is hidden beneath his helmet. The minimal light in the trailer keeps the rider’s face hidden, but then, the goggles with dark lens didn’t help either.

“Can you do it?,” the rider asked.

“Yeah,” Jake said as he stroked himself harder, gazing at the living visual stimulation in front of him.

“I don’t think you can,” the rider said as he picked up his boot and planted it firmly on Jake’s chest and held it there.

Jake took a deep breath of sexual excitement and brought his other hand up, he caressed the boot anchored in his chest, feeling the thick firm rubber sole pressing inwards. His hand slowly feeling his way around the textures of the thick leather, the buckles, embossed rubber logo, and eventually the rider’s nylon pants. Jake’s hand gripped the calf of this decked out rider. His firm grip grasping the texture, feeling the body warmth under the pants.

“Can you do it?,” the rider asked.

The words aroused Jake even more. His breathing heavier and more excitable as he worked himself up. Jake flared his legs out wide as he built himself up more and more.

“I don’t think you can, faggot,” the rider said. “Are you busting a nut, faggot? Are you enjoying this? Yeah, you are,” the rider said.

“Look at you. I think you can. You gonna show me what you got?,” the rider asked. The mysterious rider moved his gloved hand over his own crotch and began massaging his hard-on under the gear.

“I said are you gonna show me what you got?” The rider asked demandingly as he pushed his boot harder into Jake’s chest. The force pushed Jake and his chair into the back wall of the trailer. Jake’s body felt the pressure of being sandwiched between the trailer wall behind him and the rider’s boot firmly planted on his chest. The pressure slowly increasing, making it harder to breathe, making every breath more challenging, raising Jake’s heart rate and arousal.

That was the final moment for Jake. He tipped his head back and tried to keep his voice low as he approached climax. Rhythmic motion, the visuals, the mental build up. He kept stroking. Pre-cum giving his hard on more lubrication. Deep breaths, deep breaths — Jake shot his load in his pants, moaning in rhythmic passion as he came multiple times.

“Yeah, you’re a faggot,” the rider said.

As Jake’s release came to an end, his heart rate coming back from outer space, the mysterious rider removed his boot from Jake’s chest. He took off his helmet. It’s Jake’s friend Alec. The two met a few months ago. It started casual and cautious, but over time, their mutual desires surfaced. From private intimate moments, to lust filled passion, to sharing fantasies, to exploring conversations of the ultimate taboo until it became a quest to pursue the unimaginable.

“Ohhhh, that felt so good,” Jake said.

“You’ve been holding it for three days,” Alec said. “You ready to show me the plan?”

Alec turned to look at Jake and leaned his back against the trailer wall. He brought one leg up and planted his boot on the wall as he crossed his arms and looked to Jake. Alec stood as tall as Jake and was equally matched for physical strength and build. His black hair cut to a high and tight kept him with a clean appearance. His dark skin and blue eyes told the tale of his European heritage. In another setting, Alec could have used his looks for modeling or acting. But Alec didn’t care to be center stage.

The world fascinated him and he wanted to touch, to explore, to learn, to understand the world around him, to push limits. He welcomed anything new just for the experience. Anything different so he simply would know the difference. Anything good so he would now the good and anything bad so he would know the bad — all this so he could figure out for himself what fit into his box he was trying to fill.

His passion for pushing every opportunity in every aspect would occasionally get on Jake’s nerves. Simple adventures and time spent with Jake were often fraught with minor incidents that would elevate Jake’s blood pressure.

Something as simple as stealing a pack of mini donuts from the gas station while Jake was paying for gas at the register led to one of their biggest fights. Alec justified it as just having fun and wanting to try something edgy. Another time, when the two were having drinks at a straight bar, Alec ordered a drink from the bar tender. He slipped the bartender a twenty and told him to give it to another guy in the bar and tell him “the guy who just left here ordered this for you.” He did all this just to watch the guy’s reaction. There was no “guy who just left”. Moments like this aggrivated the fuck out of Jake who found no humor or adventure in it.

Setting these moments aside, the rest of their time together were like brothers. They could read other’s moods and thoughts. They clicked together with perfect symmetry like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. This unfortunate coalescing of two warped minds was the genesis of FBI case file 306 RC 83429 from the Rapid City, South Dakota field office.

—————————–

Later that afternoon after leaving the track, Jake and Alec are laying down on a flat rock outcropping a few hundred feet above the valley floor on Jake’s property. Still in their gear, laying on their stomachs, they were observing their surroundings

“Okay. Look down there,” Jake said as he passed a pair of binoculars to Alec. “To our left, the Tucumsee trail ends about 8 miles back that way. It’s a simple gate closure with a free-standing sign telling riders the trail is closed off. The plan is simple. Open the gate, and let the riders traverse up the trail next to the property. Once they’re here, they’re not going anywhere. There’s no cell service here, and the only real way in and out of this property is how we came in off the road to your right. It’s perfect,” Jake said.

“Alright then,” Alec said. “The property is secluded. No entry or exit points except the way we got here to your place. That means no surprises and we can see whoever’s coming if and when it happens. No cell service, so they’re not traceable. The only real issue is that these fuckers will have a truck or truck and trailer back at the campsite.”

“Yeah,” Jake said. So we need to get their trucks out of there. After sunset, we’ll go get their vehicle and haul it here. I don’t wanna fuck around with it, so just drive the damn thing into the mine over there, a few hundred yards from the house and forget about it. We just gotta be sure we’re not dealing with anyone who’s got GPS tracking, on-star, etc. Anything with satellite tracking or we’re fucked. It’s gotta be our basic truck dude so it can’t be traced back here or we have to disable any GPS. I can help with that. So, let’s walk through a scenario one more time. We pick our victim, of course it depends if he takes the bait or not. If we have a solid target, we unlock the gate and set the trap. Once through the gate, we relock it, sweep the trail to hide any indication of him…”

As the two of them talked, every detail was discussed and rehearsed. Getting away with kidnapping and murder presented bigger problems than first conceived. Though their desire, their fetish was the pursuit of moto boys, the realization set in that a pattern of guys missing after riding their dirt bikes would easily start the breadcrumbs of clues leading back to them.

Their plan evolved over several days, ultimately deciding that nabbing guys on bikes wouldn’t be enough to satisfy their thirst, or would it be the safest plan of attack, either. Their source of victims had to come from other places in order to dilute an investigation that they knew was going to come. Maybe they could still nab their “moto boys”, but not all from the same location. This would have to figure out as they went along. In many respects, the plan got easier when it was decided that a lot of their victims simply had to be kidnapped and put into motocross gear to satisfy their tactile and voyeuristic fantasies.

Either way, they had to start somewhere.

The Tipping Point In The Investigation

On October 6th, Ryan Hanson and Hunter Scott took a late day ride up the Tucumsee trail. The beginning of fall combined with waning sunlight meant fewer riders were getting out that day. In this case, Ryan and Hunter were the only two in close proximity to Jake and Alec. And they were miles from any other campers or hikers.

Ryan and Hunter made their way through the trail, riding their dirt bikes and enjoying the solitude and outdoor adventure. Their bodies moving through the winding trail, taking an easy ride through gentle terrain that made the ride comfortable and afforded a more relaxed state of mind.

As they rounded a curve, they saw the open gate which opened to a clear straight away. They opened up the throttle to get a little speed into their ride. Their gloves gripped the clutch as their thick boots shifted into the next gear. The two bikes cruised side by side. They stood up on the footpegs as they traversed a small rough patch. Hunter took the lead, roosting Ryan with dirt and rock as a playful prank. Hunter quickly glanced back to look at Ryan. In that same instant, a heavy cable about waist high suddenly appeared in front of Hunter. The forks of his bike were the first to hit it. The sudden stop of motion caused Hunter to go flying off his bike, projecting him twenty feet ahead of his bike which completely arrested against the cable and then went tumbling end over end.

Ryan was too close and he couldn’t stop in time. He pitched his bike sideways to lay it down and slide under the cable. His nylon pants took all the abrasion and his chest protector minimized dirt rash from the rocks and trail. Unfortunately, the bike’s momentum caught up to Ryan and the engine casing crashed down on his right leg, instantly pushing Ryan’s tibia through his flesh. The compound fracture sent Ryan into a screaming rage.

Within a matter of seconds, Jake and Alec emerged from the tree line and approached the downed riders.

“Oh, my God, are you okay?,” Jake asked as he rushed to Hunter.

“It’s okay, bud. We’re gonna get you help” Alec said as he approached Ryan.

The truth is, when you’re in an accident and someone approaches you, your first thought in those first couple seconds isn’t “who are these guys?” Your first thought is probably “thank God someone’s here to help.” There isn’t enough time to process the mechanics of what happened. And Jake and Alec were betting on that. And they were right.

Within those few seconds, Jake and Alec had both approached their victims and using an injector syringe, sedated both riders, putting them in an unconscious state. The injector syringe allowed Jake and Alec to act quickly, without having to mess with needles and finding veins. The high pressure narrow jet of the sedative penetrated their skin instantly and was effective immediately.

“Holy fuck,” said Alec. “That’s amazing! Damn, we’re getting good at this!”

“Wow. Oh m – I mean – wow!” Jake exclaimed, pacing back and forth a bit, over excited, antsy, trying to shake off his nervous energy.

“Yeah, I just need a minute. Whew!” Jake walked in small circles for a minute taking deep breaths trying to collect himself, shaking his hands to flick off his anxiety. “Okay, yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Let’s do this. I’m ready.”

“Hold on,” Alec said. “One sec…”

Alec grabbed a camcorder out of his backpack and began recording images of his play toys on the ground.

Broken bodies and bikes. He moved around slowly, panning up and down their motionless forms. Tightly cinched motocross boots gave way to form fitting moto pants, the nylon bulging over the knee protectors underneath. Twisted torsos that lay awkwardly from the impact strained their nylon jerseys, their chest protectors dusty from the hard fall, their helmets protecting their skulls, and then the goggles…

What lays beneath the goggles? Alec zoomed in closely on the eyes to capture a glimpse of what they captured. Young victims? Sporty victims? Or did they just sack a couple of old timers? They would know soon enough. As Alec zoomed in on Ryan’s closed eyes, he could sense he won the lotto.

“Fuck me!,” Alec said. He panned down to Ryan’s blood soaked leg and partial bone protruding.

“That’s your thing,” Jake said. “He’s all yours. Let’s get ’em back to the Pen.”

The “Pen” as they called it was Jake’s outbuilding. Essentially a large working space. No windows and well insulated, the “Pen” had evolved over months to become a torture chamber. Medical tables, cages, ropes, chains, restraints, bondage chairs, suspension rigs, Saint Andrew’s Cross, were just a few of the “toys” Jake and Alec had amassed.

11pm. 5 hours after their attack, the gate to the Tucumsee Trail was closed, shrub and brush were positioned to appear as if the gate had been closed for months. Jake and Alec had located Hunter’s truck and trailer and had successfully hidden it deep into the mine on Jake’s property along with their busted bikes.

The devil delivered. Whatever forces were at work that night played into their favor. A heavy rainstorm began rolling through the warm autumn night, erasing all tracks and trails of paths the riders were on. Of any tire treads from Jake’s own truck. From any blood, debris, or signs of impact. The incident was washed away.

Inside Jake’s house, still in their mx gear, Alec and Jake are wolfing down a burger and fries. It was a long evening to get to this point. In fact, it took more time and energy to execute their plan, secure their captives, hide the vehicle, and cover their tracks.

With nourishment restored, Jake and Alec are ready to take their adventure for a test drive. Jake grabbed his helmet and goggles and put them on. Was it a fetish? A means to hide himself? Of course it was. It was all that and more. It was an attempt to meld the real world and fantasy to something tangible and permanent, moving fantasy to a true tactile form of reality. Alec understood this because he’s cut from the same cloth.

Through the light rain, Jake and Alec leave the house and traverse over to the Pen across the yard. Their boots trek through the muddy grassy ground. The rain and humidity turns their moto gear into a new form of a sticky tactile sensation.

They enter The Pen and lock the door behind them. A large metal bar secures the door from entry or exit. There’s no other way in or out, except for a small vent at the top of the roof that only lets minimal heat and air escape.

The warm summer night combined with high humidity made the air in the room almost palpable.

Jake and Alec each move to the victim of their choice. Strapped down to a table is Ryan. Sedated to numb the pain, Ryan is still in his gear, as he should be. His hands secured above his head to the table with bondage restraints. Thick heavy rope secure his booted legs and feet to the length of the table.

“How ya doin, soldier?”, Alec asks as he gazes over Ryan. Standing next to Ryan’s good leg, Alec gently rests his hand on Ryan’s boot.

“Fuck, fuck” Ryan mumbled in a combination of pain and quiet rage.

“I’m sure the pain is minimal by now, right? Well,” Alec said, “it’s gonna wear off soon because – I need you alert.”

“Listen,” Alec said. “Here, here’s the truth about everything.”

Alec moved around the table and positioned himself near Ryan’s head. He gazed down and stared into his eyes deeply. Although the mangled body aroused Alec, Ryan’s facials scars, his dirt caked hair, Alec wanted to be clear as he communicated to Ryan. He didn’t want to be distracted from the whole canvas in front of him.

But before he spoke, Alec’s eye caught a pool of blood on the table, slowly creeping towards the edge as it gathered. He watched a single drop of blood from Ryan’s leg fall to the floor.

Alec looked deeply into Ryan’s eyes, completely engaged with his prisoner, and calmly stated “You and Hunter are going to die.”

Despite his wounds, Ryan’s eyes opened wide, reading of terror.

“Let me out of here!” Ryan said, almost choking.

Ignoring his outburst, Alec continued. “The question is really about when,” Alec said. “Keep me entertained, I keep you alive. If you turn out to be a boring fuck, it’s lights out. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, that’s gonna happen anyway. You just need to decide whether that’s in the next 30 minutes or 3 hours. Up to you.”

Alec began walking slowly around the table, letting his fingers soak up the tactile sensations of his victim’s form. In one hand, Alec held a pair of scissors.

He began to cut off Ryan’s motocross jersey, revealing his body and wounds for the first time.

“It’s like Christmas,” Alec said. Slowly, Alec keep cutting away the jersey, revealing inches at a time, the athletic body underneath.

“Damn,” Alec said. He turned to put the scissors down behind him on a small table and then turned back to Ryan. Alec began caressing Ryan’s chest, reviewing his prize, seeing that his wounds were minimal.

“Not too much damage,” Alec said. “That’s good. There’s still some miles to go on this engine.”

“Take your fucking hands off me,” Ryan exclaimed as he struggled against his restraints. Ryan arched his head up to take a closer look at what bound him. He gazed down to see his feet in boots secured to the table. Over his head, his arms outstretched and secured with tight leather bondage restraints.

“I think, for a little while, you just need to be quiet,” Alec said. He reached behind him again to return with a roll of duct tape. Alec tore off several pieces and silenced Ryan. With the humidity, the sweat, the dirt, the blood, the tape had a hard time sticking. Alec applied several more pieces to do the job.

After returning the roll of tape to the table, Alec turned back to Ryan with a syringe and waved in front of Ryan’s face.

“You’ll only feel a prick for moment,” Alec said.

Under the duct tape, Ryan screamed “no!”, but that was futile.

“Relax. I’m giving you a little ‘pick me up’. This won’t hurt at all,” Alec said.

Alec grabbed Ryan’s arm to keep it still. The needle went in and Alec slowly pressed the plunger administering his concoction.

“I’ll let you be and come back in about 20 minutes. Okay, stud?”

Alec was formerly an EMT. Although not a skilled doctor, his experience and training brought additional tools to his craft, to his darkness.

Alec left Ryan, moving about 20 feet away to where Jake had Hunter tied and spread out on a St. Andrews Cross in a letter X formation. In an almost vertical position, the St. Andrews Cross had Ryan’s legs spread and tied below, his hands and arms spread and bound above. Hunter, too, was still in his gear, including his helmet. After all, “moto boys” were the objective for Jake and Alec.

Alec grabbed a chair and sat down in the shadows to watch Jake perform.

Jake moved around Hunter slowly, gently, double checking the restraints and finally returning to the front to face Hunter. Even with his own helmet on, Jake wanted Hunter’s off. He slowly undid the buckle underneath, loosened his goggles and gently removed the head gear.

Alec sat up in his chair in a moment of excitement, trying not to draw attention or spoil Jake’s own moment.

“Whoa,” he said quietly as he brought his hand to his mouth.

Jake’s captive was a pleasant view for both of them. Hunter had short black hair and chiseled jawline. One eye was swollen, black and blue, and bleeding slightly, but the other eye told the story of what he would look like unscathed.

“You’re fucked,” Jake said. “You know that, right?”

Jake moved closer to Hunter, standing at his side. He put his hand on Hunter’s waist, feeling him breathe, his stomach moving up and down, the warmth of his body almost connecting with Jake’s hand, fueling Jake’s obsession, objective, and obligation. Obligation, because there’s no fucking way to turn back now.

Jake reached up to remove his own helmet. It’s so damned hot in that room and the helmet was just too much. As he removed it, Hunter tried to see if he recognized Jake, as if he was searching for an explanation why he’s in the spot that he’s in.

“Who are you?,” Hunter asked.

“Tonight, for you, in your world, I’m everything,” Jake said.

Jake raised his shoulder and used his jersey to wipe the sweat from his face. Slowly, he moved his hand down over Hunters crotch, feeling the gear and manhood beneath.

“What the fuck -,” Hunter said.

“Feels good,” Jake said. “Don’t you think?”

Jake turned to Alec who stood up and approached him and Hunter. “Well, this will make you feel good in a few minutes,” Jake said.

Alec approached Hunter with another syringe. He held Hunter’s arm down as the next injection went in. Alec stepped away quietly and returned to his chair.

“Yeah, bro. You’ll be flying high soon. You’ll be rock hard and we’ll see just what you’re made of.”

——–

After 20 minutes, Jake returned to Hunter….

“Hey, you’re looking pretty hot, there,” Jake said to Hunter. “All sweaty. It’s hot as fuck in here, huh?” Jake pulled his jersey off and wiped his face from sweat. He cocked his head slightly to study Hunter. He then moved behind hunter on the St.Andrews Cross who turned his head to see what Jake was up to. Jake lifted his jersey up and started to twirl it, wrapping the fabric tight against itself. With one hand holding the jersey, Jake reached around the cross in front of him, bringing his coiled jersey up and draping it around Hunter’s neck like a noose.

“Don’t!” Hunter exclaimed as he tried to resist.

“What you want is irrelevant,” Jake said. “The sooner you grasp that, the easier this will go. I need you to give me a show. See my cameras around ya?”

Hunter could barely see, but Jake was right. Jake had several action sport cameras positioned everywhere and they were actively recording. Little red blinking lights. Up high, down low, in the front, in the back, above, and to the side, catching all angles.

Jake moved around in front of Hunter. He positioned himself between Hunter’s legs splayed out wide on the cross. Jake slowly pressed in tighter to Hunter, his crotch against Hunter’s. The nylon pants pressing together. Slowly, Jake starts moving his hips, gently, side to side, up and down, grinding against Hunter.

“God damn it! Get the fuck off me! Let me out of this!” Hunter yelled.

Jake remained unfazed by his outburst. Instead, he grinned slightly as he could feel the effects of Hunter’s injection taking hold. Hunter was getting hard; unwillingly, but physiology and pharmacology were in charge now.

“God dammmit,” Hunter grumbled in disgust, realizing it was out of his control as he tried to resist.

“Who’s in charge now? That’s right. I am,” Jake whispered.

With one hand, Jake reached up and grabbed the two ends of his jersey wrapped around Hunter’s neck and slowly began twisting it tighter and tighter, forcing Hunter to gasp. Hunters arms and legs thrashed with what little motion they could. With his other hand, Jake absorbed the tactile sensation beneath him, feeling Hunter’s legs, his waist, his chest. Hunter flinched in several moments of extreme pain; obviously reflex reaction a injured and tender spot from the fall.

Jake loosened his jersey, giving Hunter the life giving air he needed. This was only for a moment, though, as Jake maneuvered himself in a more powerful position, standing on top of Hunter’s own boots resting on a footrest, giving a few more inches to tower over him, lay against him, and have the leverage – to choke the life out of Hunter.

Jake began grinding his waist against Hunter’s, faster, rhythmic, feeling Hunter’s cock rage beneath his own gear. Hunter mumbled, groaned, and puffed with disdain and rage. He closed his eyes as he tried to fight it.

“Let it go, bro” Jake said.

Harder and harder, the two Moto boys were about to cum. One willingly, one not.

“That’s it, Hunter, I feel it! Yeah, C’mon. We’re almost there, bud.”

Closer. Closer. Jake laid the weight of his body against Hunter’s on this slight incline. His chest against Hunter’s, feeling Hunter’s Jersey against his own flesh. Hips moving, pushing and gliding. The gear becoming every part of the scene, their cocks raging beneath the nylon. Both of them rock hard. Hunter’s body stiffened in resistance, unable to control it, unable to stop his –

“Fuck, yeah, Hunter!” Jake yelled!

“Oh God!” Hunter yelled as his body released it all. His body stiff and rigid as the release came in several waves.

As Hunter began to relax, Jake was primed. He grabbed one end of his jersey around Hunter’s neck with his left hand, then he grabbed the other with his right. Arching his back upward and gripping the jersey, Jake’s weight pulled it taught against Hunter’s neck. Hunter’s eyes opened wide. He tried to turn away, but couldn’t. The power position Jake was in controlled everything. Hunter gasped as Jake thrust his waist against Hunter, fusing the two gear boys into one. More, and more, Jake was so close. Tighter and tighter, Jake choked Hunter until gasps became whimpers because no air was getting in.

“Fuck, bro. You’re hot as fuck! You’re turning blue,” Jake said. “Hey, stay with me! Look at me. Look at me! Look right here! Yeah, that’s it.”

Jake loosened the jersey for a moment again to buy time. Time to work his hard on to the finish line. Hunter’s face returned with color, but for a moment. Back to it. The tight jersey strangling Hunter was finally taking its toll.

“I’m about to cum, bitch. I want you to die for me, you fuck” Jake said. “Oh, my God, here I cum, you fuck! Oh shit, oh shit!”

Hunter’s eyes are locked on Jakes. No more resistance to give. No more fight.

In a flash, his body and gear pressed against Hunter’s — and he came. He came in perfectly perverted ecstasy. He came as Hunter died .

With heavy panting and near exhaustion, this fait de complete, this conclusion to the fantasy, Jake laid completely across Hunter, his head across Hunter’s chest as he gently stroked his face and cheek with one hand…

“Awesome show,” Alec said.

“Fuck,” Jake said. “We are definitely going to hell.”

Alec stood up casually, twisted his torso left and right to stretch. “If you think that’s what sending us to hell, you should have thought of that two bodies ago.”

“What’s up with Ryan?” Jake asked, still trying to catch his breath.

Alec looks behind him to see Ryan on the table., then glances back to a long wooden crate on the floor. “I want to bring out the Kawi Kid.” Alec said.

“You want a two-fer?” Jake asked.

“Does that make me greedy?” Alec asked.

They both take a moment to contemplate the idea. Jake is feeling a bit worn down from the long day and mis-adventures, but the idea resonates because…he’s fucked up. He takes deep breath and repositions his head on Hunter’s chest.

“It’s your turn, so you lead.” Jake said.

Alec walked over to the wooden crate on the floor and stared over it. About 3 feet wide and 3 feet tall, it measured over 6 feet in length. Several holes drilled into the top clearly conveyed what this was used for.

As Alec stared fixated on the box, Jake had approached and began unlatching each of the three locks along the length of the box. After he finished, Jake stepped back and ran his fingers through his thick and sweat soaked hair. Alec took a deep breath, cocked his head, and with his boot kicked the lid open on the box. Inside, a young man jolted slightly at the sudden action.

The young man, shackled, handcuffed and still in his mx gear, was “locked” in his form as the encasement around him was created with expandable insulated foam. After previously capturing the young man, Jake and Alec sedated him and placed him in the crate.

They then injected expandable shipping foam into the plastic bladder that surrounded the rider. In moments, the foam expanded and hardened to the young man’s shape and form, immobilizing him in the crate.

“Hey Kawi,” Alec said looking into the rider’s eyes. The young man’s eyes winced at the bright light he had been unaccustomed to. “I think your Kawasaki is fucked up, bro. That was a rough fall you two had. C’mon, let’s get you up.”

Jake and Alec moved over the young rider. His mouth duct taped, face dirty and sweaty, there was fear and surprise in his eyes. He’d obviously been in there for a couple days.

They both reached down and slowly worked the rider loose from the foam and got him to his feet. The rider struggled a bit to get his balance.

“Whoa, tiger,” Alec said. “Here, I think you need this,” Alec said as handed a bottle of water to the young man. He reached up with his handcuffed hands and grabbed the bottle without hesitation.

“This might help,” Alec said as his slowly peeled back the tape of the rider’s mouth. The rider instantly drank the bottle of water as if it was the last remaining water on earth. After pounding it down, he gasped heavily, feeling refreshed and given the life saving drink.

“C’mon,” Jake said. Let’s get you over here…

Alec and Jake helped the young man shuffle to the table where Ryan lay, observing the approaching threesome.

“What’s going on?” the rider asked. “Please, just – just let me go.”

As they approached the table, Jake and Alec positioned the rider right next to Ryan. Alec crouched down and undid the shackles around the rider’s feet. Jake held the weakened rider in place with a firm grip. The rider was too weak to run or pose any real threat, but that’s not the point. Jake’s muscular grip was more to send the message of who was in charge. Once the shackles were removed, Alec lifted the rider’s right boot and placed it into a modified snowboard binding secured to the floor. He did the same for the other foot, locking both booted feet permanently in place.

As Alec stood up slowly, his hand glided along the rider’s form and texture in the apparel, feeling his shin in the front, to the calf behind, to the thigh, and then to the front, caressing the rider’s tight nylon crotch aggressively. The rider winced at the sexual advance, but knew he was too weak to resist. He closed his eyes and bit down on his lip to maintain composure. His handcuffs rattled and his hands shook at the advance. Alec continued his violation, moving his hand upward, slipping it under the rider’s jersey and feeling his stomach and chest. Alec moved to stand behind the rider, pressing his body into the rider’s.

Jake stepped away now. This is Alec’s turn at bat.

“Open your eyes,” Alec said. “Kawi, meet Ryan. Ryan, meet Kawi. Ryan, this guy here, guess what he rides? A Kawasaki. Don’t hold it against him, okay? Alright, alright. His name’s not Kawi. It’s actually Doug. Let’s be formal around here.”

The two young men were terrified and well aware they were outsmarted, shattered, and weak. Any escape would require a miracle.

“Kawi, I’m going to give you a knife,” Alec said. “I will let you go… if you kill Ryan, here. It’s that simple. If you don’t, then both of you will die.”

Jake doesn’t want to say anything. It’s Alec’s moment, but Jake looks intensely at Alec as if to say “what the fuck are you doing?” Alec’s sly and slight grin tells Jake he’s got it under control. It’s just a ploy. While Alec and Jake exchange this silent conversation, Ryan and Doug have their own silent conversation.

This can’t happen. This cannot be done. Doug’s eyes tell the story. The formula is understood, but it does not compute. He can’t do this. He won’t do this… Could he do this?

Alec hands Doug a long knife and steps back in case Doug gets any ideas. Doug hangs his head low, looking at the blade in his hand.

“Okay, Kawi, or do you prefer Doug?” Alec says as he leans down to sarcastically gaze up into Doug’s eyes. “Huh? No answer? Okay, Kawi. Here’s the deal. You have one minute to do this from when I say ‘kill’…”

Ryan lifts his head up and screams in vain, flailing his bound limbs in restricted, manic motion. Doug looks intently in Alec’s eyes.

“Okay, great. I think we understand each other.” Alec said. “Are we ready? I don’t have a watch, so I’m just kinda guessing here, but I think I got it. Ready? Set? Kill!”

Doug stands a little taller, studying the knife in his handcuffed hands, positioning different grips.

“Fifty seconds!” Alec says.

Ryan looks at Doug and shakes his head no, pleading and begging through muffled moans.

“Forty seconds.”

“Don’t, don’t make me do this,” Doug said.

“I’m not making you do anything. This is all on you,” Alec said. “Your decision. Thirty seconds.”

Doug ponders all his options fast. Nothing is a viable answer. Nothing will bring the right closure, no matter how he plays it. But maybe he can buy himself time and a chance somehow sometime later. He leans in slightly to the table. With trepidation, he brings the knife up over Ryan’s chest.

Ryan begs for his life with every sound and physical expression he can muster.

Seemingly becoming more detached, Doug positions the tip of the blade right below Ryan’s sternum. Maneuvering for the best position in handcuffs, one hand grips the tang and the other is planted firmly on the butt of the knife. The natural weight of the knife and Doug’s hands begin to cut into his flesh and draw blood from Ryan’s chest.

“Fifteen seconds!” Alec yelled, startling Doug so badly, he pressed the knife into Ryan’s chest slightly causing him to scream in pain.

“Haha!” Alec laughed at the accident.

The world went silent. Ryan and Doug looked deeply into each other’s eyes. Nothing more to say. This is all incredibly insane. There’s no logic. No order. No way to –

“Times up!” Alec yelled. He yanked the knife away from Doug, who sunk in position from a bizarre moment of relief.

“Looks like we got ourselves a bromance here,” Alec said. “That’s kinda hot, I guess.”

Jake smiled sadistically at the little game Alec was playing with his prisoners.

“I think you two were made for each other.”

Alec moved behind Doug to the small table and grabbed a roll of duct tape. He tore off a couple pieces and put it over Doug’s nose who then began breathing through his mouth instead.

Alec then moved to Ryan and slowly pealed away the duct tape around Ryan’s mouth. Once removed, Ryan began breathing deeply, getting his first full breaths of air in hours.

Ryan had his first chance to truly speak all night…

“Please stop this. Just let us go. All’s forgotten, just let us go…”

“I wish all could be forgotten,” Alec said. “That would make all this less messy for sure.”

Alec peeled off a couple more strips of duct tape and put it over Ryan’s nose as well.

“Okay,” Alec said turning too Doug. “I’m gonna undo your handcuffs, okay? Don’t do anything stupid.”

Alec unlocked Doug’s handcuffs and again, turned to the table behind him and grabbed a small tube of Mighty Glue.

“Gimme your left hand,” Alec said.

Jake grabbed the knife from the small table and brought it to Doug’s throat as a persuasive maneuver. It worked. Doug slowly brought his hand up and Alec coated his palm and fingers in the glue. He then brought Doug’s hand over to the top of Ryan’s head and pressed it firmly into Ryan’s hair.

“Gimme the other,” Alec said with more insistence.

Doug reluctantly gave his right hand to Alec who again coated his fingers and palm in the powerful bonding agent.

“Here we go,” Alec said as he placed Doug’s hand on Ryan’s chest, firmly pushing fingers and palm into Ryan’s flesh, securing the false perception of an affectionate touch.

Doug looked apologetically at Ryan. He’s just trying to manage moment by moment, hoping and looking for an opportunity. Any opportunity.

“What the fuck,” Ryan uttered as he glared at Alec.

“Am I interrupting something? Are you two into each other? I never knew! Looks like you two are having a private moment till I showed up.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you both!” Doug said.

Alec moves around his motocross mannequins, observing the combination of rage, anger, and fear. One MX boy bound to the table, the other forcibly locked in a seductive pose. Doug can’t remove his hands from Ryan’s chest. His other hand only moving slightly with what little length Ryan’s hair will give.

“So cute, you two. I think I actually have a boner.” Alec said as he continued circling his captives, his hands feeling the mix of flesh and gear, of bodies moving and writhing.

With Doug’s feet locked to the floor, his hands glued to Ryan, his body position begins to fatigue him and Alec notices.

“That must be getting uncomfortable,” Alec said. “I think it’s obvious how you two feel about each other. I mean, look at what we caught you in the middle of. Somehow though, it doesn’t feel complete.”

Alec grabs the tube of Mighty Glue and moves to Ryan’s head on the table. Alec glances down to Doug’s glued hand on Ryan’s chest. Alec places his hand over Doug’s as he looks down to Ryan.

“Okay bud, open up.” Alec said.

“What?” Ryan said confused.

“Open those beautiful lips, bro. Open wide.”

“No! No! Don’t do this, please!” Ryan pleaded.

Alec placed his hand under Ryan’s chin and gripped both of his cheeks. Slowly he started applying glue around Ryan’s lips.

“I wouldn’t close your mouth if I were you.” Alec said.

Ryan knew if he closed his lips, he’d be dead. The tape over his nose only left his mouth for breathing.

“You next,” Alec said to Doug as he moved over to him.

Doug tried to worm away, but his feet and hands weren’t going anywhere. Alec grabbed a clump of Doug’s hair and pulled his head back as he began applying globs of glue around Doug’s lips. Small trails ran down his chin and cheek.

“Fuck me,’ Jake mumbled as he stood in the shadows.

“C’mon, lover,” Alec said. “I’d suggest you both take a deep breath about now.”

With hearts racing and the knowledge the breath of life would leave them both soon, Doug and Ryan began breathing heavily — both in fear and absolute necessity.

“Okay, mother fucker. Kiss your boyfriend,” Alec said as he moved behind Doug and struggled to push his head down over Ryan. Both boys couldn’t form any words for fear of closing their mouths. Abstract grunts and guttural utterances of resistance was all they could afford to spare. As the two twisted their heads away in resistance, Jake stepped back into the picture to help. He stood at Ryans head, gripped both sides and held Doug’s head firmly in place.

“Now, boys. Now! Grab all the air you can,” Alec said as he finally pushed Dougs lips onto Ryans. The two young men’s lips connected, coated in a merciless bond. The two were locked. Face to face. No air. No more.

Jake stepped back into the shadows to observe. Alec placed his hands on Ryan’s chest, feeling the rapid movement and struggle of his lungs to grab air. Doug tried to break free; to get his hands free, to remove his lips. He could not. The two fought the bonds that help them, but that was wasteful energy. After a couple moments, face to face, the two of them locked eyes and discovered a rhythm of breathing together. Ryan would inhale as Doug exhaled. Doug would inhale as Ryan exhaled.

“It was fucking beautiful,” Jake would later recall.

This pattern would only last so long. There isn’t enough oxygen in both young men to sustain them. Soon the breathing turned to panic. Unable to break free, unable to get air, the two began to thrash about.

“I definitely have a hard on,” Alec said. “It’ll be over in a couple minutes, boys.”

Alec moved around the table, squatting low to change his perspective, to stare into Doug’s eyes as he was leaned over Ryan. Alec stood up and moved around behind Doug, wrapping his arms around Doug’s body, feeling the wild and desperate energy beneath the gear as Doug struggled to break free. “So warm to the touch,” Alec thought.

The pleas were mounting. It was happening quickly now. Alec stepped back to watch the two in the final death throes. Chests and backs arching, torso twisting. Battered flesh and motocross gear flexing and moving, animated as if it had a life of its own. The visual overload was too much for Alec.

Jake knew Alec well. Alec never “needed” to cum to have his enjoyment. His thrill was dominance and delivering sadistic pain. But surprisingly, it appears to Jake that Alec was actually masturbating to this scene. Visually blocked by the table and thrashing bodies, it appeared to Jake as if Alec’s hand motions and arm motions were satisfying his lust below the waist.

In a moment, though, Alec brought his hand up slowly, making sure the two young men could see it from the corner of their eyes. He formed a fist. Then, in one fell blow, Alec slammed his fist onto Ryan’s compound fracture. With one final scream left, Ryan let go of his life. In the moments after, Doug surely wondered if Ryan was dead or simply passed out, but it was irrelevant just the same. Doug tried to draw air from Ryan, but none came. His head started to spin and he could barley stand.

Alec looked at Doug’s hand on Ryan’s chest and placed his gently on top, then whispered gently “Let go. It’s done.”

And with that, Doug’s form collapsed on top of Ryan.

—–

A month later, Alec and Jake were on the hunt again. They targeted two riders, but this time, Jake stood in the treeline watching the scene unfold and watch Alec take control. The riders came. The cable went up. The riders crashed.

Face down, David crawled on his stomach with what little strength he had left. His right leg broken, his right hand shattered. He pulled himself along the dirt trail with his left arm and with only half the strength in his right. The tip of his motocross boot from his only functioning leg biting into the earth to provide only a mockery of traction with every desperate effort to inch himself forward.

The bleeding scars across his face were caked with dirt, forming a cruel mortar giving the illusion of some ancient stone face statue beaten by time and weather.

The cable that stretched across the dirt bike trail ripped his chest protector clean off, taking his jersey with it. The force and torquing of this sudden and violent motion was so powerful, it dislocated David’s shoulder instantly, only to be thrown back into place when David impacted the ground. Where his riding partner was, he didn’t know.

The fall, the tumble, the roll, the rocks, the debris ripped into his chest and back with everything from fine scratches to deep cuts, to harsh abrasions. Bruised, battered, and beaten, he managed to get his helmet off before the pain really registered. But he had to get away now.

He moved like a snail. Slow, rhythmic, forward. The flesh of his back, tan from outdoor adventures, arched upwards as he raised himself slightly to pull himself along, writhing from left to right with every pattern of motion to crawl forward. Boot, push, arm, pull, boot, push, arm pull.

Desperate for water, but no ability to swallow. So thirsty. David breathed rapidly through his mouth, never getting enough air. The dirt grinding between his teeth and gums.

His white Fox motocross pants fit his form like they were painted on. The tight unstretchable nylon encasing his legs, the rubberized logo accents wrapping from front to rear, the black contrasted stitching and nylon panels. Inside, the muscles and flesh move beneath it, flexing and moving awkwardly and desperately to creep him forward. To get away from his unknown attacker.

From Alec’s perspective, so beautiful. So fucked. And so fuckable. Alec held the injector syringe in his hand as he slowly moved towards his victim.

The thick leather Fox moto boots wrapping David’s feet and ankles with solid protection akin to some Tolkien-esque incantation.

David was, in every way, an athletic beauty, looking like a warrior, donned in his garments of battle, sporting his kingdom’s crest of offroad racing. Beaten, bloody, flesh, and gear, muscles, moving, squirming. Fucking beautiful. A knight among men.

Boot, push, arm, pull, boot, push, arm pull. Breathe, breathe, breathe…

Weak and broken, he could barely continue. He picked his head up slightly to see ahead of him. The sweat, the dirt, the blood all blurred his vision, but in a moment of clarity, he could see it. A hundred feet or so ahead of him, the silhouette of a figure, holding a gun, pointed right at him.

[GUNSHOT]

Alec Tensor died immediately – shot by an FBI agent. In that moment, agents from the FBI and Sherifs’s department swooped in on Jake and Alec as another raid commenced on Jake’s property.

Outnumbered, Jake didn’t even attempt to flee as the agents rushed in. As they cuffed him and led him away from the scene, he knew this would be his last look at Alec. As they briskly escorted him to a vehicle, he twisted his head and shoulders as hard as possible to look behind him, to see he partner in life on the ground, to see his partner in crime – for the last time, face down, a massive pool of blood growing under his torso.

David was the only lucky one in all of this. He survived his injuries and recovered. His riding partner died in the crash.

When the investigation concluded, it was determined that a simple mistake began the string of clues that led authorities to Jake and Alec.

Their first assault on Doug Prather and Kyle Morris was successful. According to authorities, they had done everything perfectly and that case would have probably gone unsolved if not for victims three and four – Hunter McKinnon and Ryan Trent.

When Alec and Jake took their truck from the state park, they failed to realize that it wasn’t Hunter’s truck. They made a false assumption that the truck nearest them belonged to the riders they captured. As a result, the victim’s truck put the crime scene at Jake’s doorstep.

In the “Pen” where the murders took place, investigators found the bodies of Doug, Hunter, Ryan, and Seth — Doug’s riding partner who died in the crash. All victims were in a large walk-in freezer; presumably stored for later burial or disposal which never came. Although tragic, the fact the victims were kept in a freezer gave investigators ample evidence to develop timelines and causes of death. Without additional contamination or decomposition that would result from burial or dumping, the bodies told the story in death they couldn’t tell in life. Combined with Jake’s own testimony, all the questions investigators needed to know were answered; except one – why?

After a rather unusually swift trial, do in part to Jake’s full admission and cooperation, Jake was sentenced to four life sentences in Utah State Prison for murder, kidnapping, aggravated assault, grand theft, manslaughter, and a flurry of other federal, local, and state violations.

Although cooperative with authorities to conclude the investigation, Jake was not built for prison. Jake’s history and proclivities towards the perverse were well known among inmates.

Within his first year at Utah State Prison, Jake’s own medical records indicate multiple serious injuries which he would deny were more than accidents of his own doing. No doubt, fear of inmate retribution would only make things worse. However physician records indicate Jake was raped and beaten several times though his first year of sentencing.

In September of the following year, Jake’s cellmate was transferred out, providing Jake his first night alone since sentencing. It was determined that some time early in the morning, when Jake was alone, he committed suicide in his cell by using a bed sheet to strangle himself.

Even now, nobody motos in Brody, Utah.