JUST IN: Texas Executes Cedric Allen Ricks For Killing His Girlfriend And Her Young Son
On March 11th, 2026, after spending 12 years on death row, Cedric Allen Ricks was finally executed by lethal injection at the Huntsville Unit in Texas, one of the most active execution facilities in the entire United States. At exactly 6:55 in the evening, Cedric Allen Ricks, age 51, was pronounced dead.
Stay till the end of this video because today I’m going to walk you through everything. The terrible crime that put him on death row in the first place, the trial, the evidence, the jury’s decision, the 12 years of legal battles that followed, how his execution was carried out, what his last meal was, and his final words—the very last thing he said before he died. This is the full story of Cedric Allen Ricks.
Before we get into the crime itself, let’s establish who Cedric Allen Ricks was, because understanding the person matters when you’re trying to understand a case like this. Cedric Allen Ricks was born in 1974. By the time of the events that would define the rest of his life, he was 38 years old. He was living in Bedford, Texas, a suburban city in Tarrant County, situated right in the heart of the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. Bedford is not a city you typically associate with violent crime. It’s a quiet, mid-size suburb, residential streets, apartment complexes—the kind of place where families raise kids.
Ricks was in a relationship with a woman named Roxanne Sanchez. The two of them were considered common-law partners, meaning they lived together and functioned as a couple, though they were not legally married. Roxanne had two sons from a previous relationship: Anthony Figueroa, who was eight years old, and Marcus Figueroa, who was 12. Together, Ricks and Roxanne also had a child of their own, a 9-month-old baby boy named Isaiah. So, this was a blended household, a family unit, at least on the surface.
But beneath that surface, there were serious warning signs. The day before the events of May 1st, 2013, the day before everything changed, Cedric Allen Ricks had appeared in court. Not for something minor. He had been charged with assaulting Roxanne Sanchez in a prior incident. He had already been accused of violence against the woman he was living with. And the very next day, everything escalated in a way that no one could undo.
It was May 1st, 2013. The apartment was located on the 1400 block of Park Place Avenue in Bedford, Texas. A regular residential address. The kind of place where kids do homework and families watch television together in the evenings. That day, an argument broke out between Ricks and Roxanne Sanchez. We don’t know every detail of what started it or how it escalated. What we do know, from court testimony, police records, and the account of a 12-year-old boy who lived through it, is what happened next.
During the argument, Ricks went to the kitchen. He came back with a knife. What followed was a violent attack that would claim two lives, leave a child permanently scarred, and send shockwaves through an entire community. Roxanne Sanchez was attacked first. She did not survive. Her two sons, Anthony and Marcus, had witnessed what was happening to their mother. According to the evidence presented at trial, the boys tried to intervene. They tried to stop it. They were children. One was 8 years old. One was 12. 8-year-old Anthony Figueroa did not survive.
His older brother Marcus ran to his bedroom. He got into the closet. He tried to call the police. But Ricks found him. Marcus was stabbed 25 times in his hands, his neck, the back of his neck, and his chest. And here is where this story takes a turn that is almost impossible to process. Marcus, this 12-year-old boy, bleeding, terrified, fighting for his life, made a decision in that moment that saved his own life. He had heard the sound his little brother Anthony made when he died. And in a moment of desperate survival instinct, Marcus mimicked that sound. He made Ricks believe he was already gone. And it worked. Ricks stopped. He left the room.
Before leaving the apartment entirely, Ricks placed his 9-month-old son Isaiah into a crib, making sure the infant was safe. He then took Roxanne’s car and fled. He called family members from the road. Authorities were able to trace that phone call. He was arrested in Garvin County, Oklahoma. The chase was over. But for Marcus Figueroa, the boy who survived, the real ordeal was only beginning. Because surviving something like that doesn’t mean it ends. It means you have to carry it.
Law enforcement moved quickly once they had Ricks’s location. The evidence was significant. There was a crime scene. There were victims. There was a surviving witness, Marcus himself. And there was a man who had been in that apartment, had a documented history of violence against one of the victims, and had fled across state lines. Ricks was taken into custody in Oklahoma and brought back to Texas to face charges. He was charged with capital murder, one of the most serious charges in the Texas legal system. In Texas, capital murder can be charged when a murder involves specific circumstances, including the killing of a child under the age of 10, or the killing of more than one person in the same criminal episode. In this case, both of those conditions applied. The death penalty was on the table from the very beginning.
The trial took place in Tarrant County, Texas, and it lasted approximately two weeks. The prosecution built its case around the physical evidence from the scene, the forensic findings, and the testimony of multiple witnesses, including, most powerfully, Marcus Figueroa himself. Think about what that required of Marcus. He was a teenager by the time the trial happened. He had to sit in a courtroom. He had to look at the man who had done this. And he had to testify clearly, calmly, and under cross-examination about what he had witnessed and experienced. He did it. Marcus’s testimony was described by observers as deeply impactful. He recounted the events of that night in detail. He told the jury what happened to his mother, what happened to his little brother Anthony, and what happened to him. And he explained the moment, that chilling survival decision, when he mimicked the sounds of dying to make Ricks stop.
Ricks also took the stand. He testified that he had anger issues, his own words. He claimed that he had been acting in self-defense, suggesting that the two boys had come at him when they tried to intervene. He also said this, and I want to read it to you directly so nothing is lost in interpretation. Explaining his rage, he said: “I was upset. Things happen. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I wish I could bring them back like right now.” The jury had heard everything. They had heard the prosecution’s case. They had heard from Marcus. They had heard from Ricks himself. It took them less than one hour to return a guilty verdict.
The sentencing phase of a capital trial is separate from the guilt phase. Jurors must consider whether the death penalty is appropriate. That deliberation took approximately 7 hours. Their conclusion: death. On May 16th, 2014, Cedric Allen Ricks was formally sentenced to death. He was transferred to death row at the Polunsky Unit in Livingston, Texas, where he would spend the next 12 years of his life.
Twelve years is a long time to wait. In the United States, it is common for death row inmates to spend many years, sometimes decades, going through the appeals process before an execution is carried out. This is by design. The legal system builds in multiple layers of review, specifically because the death penalty is irreversible. Cedric Allen Ricks and his legal team used every available avenue. Let’s walk through the major appeals because they tell an important part of this story.
Appeal number one: Ineffective counsel and suppression of evidence. Early appeals raised two arguments. First, that Ricks had not received effective legal representation during his trial, a constitutional right; and second, that certain evidence used against him should have been suppressed and not shown to the jury. Both of these arguments were reviewed by the courts. Both were denied.
Appeal number two: Racial bias in jury selection. In 2024, Ricks’s legal team took their case to the United States Court of Appeals for the Fifth Circuit. This appeal raised a serious constitutional issue: the claim that prosecutors had struck two potential black jurors from the jury pool specifically because of their race. This is not a minor argument. The Supreme Court has long held that using race as a reason to exclude jurors is a violation of the equal protection clause of the United States Constitution. The Fifth Circuit reviewed the claim. It was denied.
Appeal number three: Shackles in the courtroom. In 2025, a new appeal was filed. This time, directly to the United States Supreme Court. The argument was that during his trial, Ricks had been visibly shackled in front of the jury, particularly during the sentencing phase. And that this had the potential to unfairly influence how the jury saw him, making him appear more dangerous and more threatening before they had even deliberated on his punishment. Legal precedent does exist on this question. The Supreme Court has previously ruled that visible shackling can be prejudicial, and that its use must be justified. The Supreme Court reviewed the petition. It was denied.
The Board of Pardons and Paroles. As his execution date approached, Ricks’s team submitted a formal request to the Texas Board of Pardons and Paroles asking either for a commutation of his sentence to life in prison or for a 90-day reprieve to allow more time. The board denied both requests. The final appeal, hours before execution: On the evening of March 11th, 2026, approximately 9 hours before his scheduled execution, the United States Supreme Court received one final emergency appeal from Ricks’s legal team. Nine hours. The Supreme Court issued a brief order. No explanation. No elaboration. Denied. Every door had been closed. After 12 years of legal proceedings, of petitions, appeals, hearings, and reviews, every option had been exhausted. The execution would proceed as scheduled.
One of the most searched topics when people follow a death penalty case is the last meal. It’s something that people have always been curious about—this final human act, this last choice. And it’s become part of the cultural conversation around capital punishment in America. So, what did Cedric Allen Ricks request as his last meal? Nothing. And not because he didn’t want anything, but because the option no longer exists in Texas.
Here’s the background. For decades, death row inmates in Texas were allowed to request a special last meal. And the state would do its best to honor that request. It became well documented. Some inmates requested elaborate meals. Others asked for simple comfort food. But in September 2011, about 2 years before Ricks even committed the crime he was convicted of, the state of Texas abolished the practice entirely. The decision came after a high-profile case in which an inmate requested an extensive last meal and then reportedly showed no remorse. A Texas state senator publicly criticized the practice, and the Department of Criminal Justice ended it shortly after.
From that point forward, inmates on death row in Texas received the same standard meal served to the general prison population on the day of their execution. No special requests, no final indulgence, no last choice. So, for Cedric Allen Ricks, as for every Texas inmate executed after 2011, there was no last meal request to report. It’s a detail that surprises many people, but it’s an important part of understanding how Texas handles its executions.
The Huntsville Unit, also known as the Walls, is one of the oldest prisons in Texas and the site of nearly all executions carried out in the state. It sits in the middle of downtown Huntsville, an unremarkable brick building that has witnessed more executions than almost any other facility in the Western world. Executions in Texas are carried out by lethal injection. The protocol involves the administration of a single drug, pentobarbital, a powerful sedative, in a lethal dose. Witnesses are present. Typically, this includes selected members of the media, representatives for the victim’s family, and representatives for the inmate’s family, who watch from separate rooms through a glass window.
51-year-old Cedric Allen Ricks was brought into the execution chamber. He had entered the Texas prison system in 2014 as a man in his late 30s. He was leaving it as a man of 51, having spent his 40s entirely within the walls of death row. The lethal dose of pentobarbital was administered. At 6:55 p.m. on March 11th, 2026, Cedric Allen Ricks was pronounced dead. He was the second inmate executed by the state of Texas in 2026.
Before the execution was carried out, Cedric Allen Ricks was given the opportunity to make a final statement. Many inmates decline. Some make brief remarks. Some deliver lengthy, prepared statements. Ricks spoke. He addressed the family of the people he had killed. He said, “Yes, first I want to say I’m sorry for taking Roxanne and Anthony away from y’all. I can’t imagine the pain it has caused you. I’m glad I am able to speak to tell y’all that face-to-face. I just hope one day you can find forgiveness in your heart, so you don’t have to live with the pain anymore.”
Then he turned his words specifically to Marcus, the boy who had survived, the boy who had testified against him, the boy who had mimicked the sounds of death to stay alive. Marcus would have been around 25 years old by this point. A young adult who had spent his teenage years and early adulthood carrying the weight of what had happened in that apartment when he was 12. Ricks said, “And to Marcus, I always thought about you, and I’m sorry that I took your mom and your brother away. I hate that you had to experience that. I just can’t imagine, but I’m truly sorry for what I’ve done, and I wish y’all peace and joy as much as you can. But I’m sorry. That’s all I can say.” Those were the last words Cedric Allen Ricks spoke on this earth.
Cases like this one sit with you. Not because there is anything particularly mysterious about it. The facts are clear. The verdict was unanimous. The appeals were exhaustive. This is not a case riddled with doubt or unanswered questions about guilt. But it sits with you for other reasons. There’s Marcus Figueroa, a child who survived something unsurvivable, who had the presence of mind at 12 years old, bleeding in the dark, to do something that kept him alive. Who then had to grow up, who had to carry that, who then had to sit in a courtroom as a teenager and testify about it, who had to exist in the world with those memories every single day. Whatever healing looks like for someone who has been through what Marcus has been through, we hope he has found some version of it.
Cedric Allen Ricks, born 1974, executed March 11th, 2026, age 51. Roxanne Sanchez and Anthony Figueroa, gone since May 1st, 2013. And Marcus Figueroa, still here, still living, still carrying it. That’s the full story. If you made it to the end of this video, thank you for watching. If this video gave you something to think about, share it with someone you think would want to know this story. And if you’re new here, subscribe. We cover cases like this one regularly, always with care, always with respect for everyone involved. I’ll see you in the next one.
