Page 63 of Claimed By 3 Mountain Men

“You think we’d lie about that?” Hank asks.

“Yeah, I do.”

Ben holds up his hands. “Now is not the time for the two of you to start fighting, dammit! You can both be insufferable sometimes. I’ll stay here,” Ben says, nodding toward the door. “Go get the trap.”

Without another word, I motion for Hank to follow me out of the lodge and back into the dark forest.

17

MAC

Iwake up to a dull, throbbing pain in my leg, the kind that makes you want to curl up and disappear back into sleep. But the ache is too persistent to ignore and drags me out of the comforting darkness.

My eyes flutter open, and for a moment, all I can see is a blur of soft, muted colors—shades of gray, brown, and white blending together in a haze.

As the world sharpens into focus, I realize I’m lying on a bed, the softest bed I’ve ever slept on. The sheets are cool and smooth against my skin and smell faintly of lavender. The room around me is large and luxurious, the kind of space that belongs in a magazine. The walls are paneled in rich, dark wood, the kind that’s been polished.

This obviously isn’t the hotel.

I try to sit up, but the moment I move, a sharp pain shoots through my leg, making me gasp. My hand instinctively flies to the source of the pain, and I feel the thick bandages wrapped around my ankle, the memory of what happened crashes back into me with the force of a tidal wave.

The trap. The woods. The lynx.

I remember stumbling through the darkness, following the tracks, and then the ground giving way beneath me. The cold, cruel metal teeth of the trap biting into my flesh, the panic that had gripped me when I realized I was trapped alone, in the middle of nowhere. And then… JT.

He found me. He pulled me out, saved me.

I collapse back into the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Holy shit.

I need to get up.

I gingerly swing my legs over the side of the bed, biting back a wince as the movement sends another wave of pain through me. I plant my good foot on the floor, the cold wood sending a shock up my spine, and try to stand. My balance wavers, my vision swims for a moment, but I force myself to stay upright, to take a shaky step forward.

I take another step, the room tilts, the pain in my leg flaring up so intensely that I have to grab onto the bedpost to keep from falling. I close my eyes, and force myself to take deep, steadying breaths.

“Not good.” I mutter to myself, I can’t exactly investigate anything like this. The thought of being stuck in bed, helpless, while out there, somewhere, the lynx is so close and the person laying the traps is even closer.

I need crutches. Or a wheelchair. Or a freaking helicopter to airlift me out of here.

The door creaks open ever so slightly, and a pair of gorgeous eyes peers in, followed by the rest of Ben. He’s holding a tray of food, his face morphing from concern to relief when he sees me.

“Hey, you’re awake!” he says, a smile stretching across his face. “You had us worried there for a sec.” He sets the tray down on the nightstand and rushes over, helping me back onto the bed. “Hey there, slow down, cowgirl. You’re not exactly in any shape to be gallivanting around just yet.”

I frown.

“What the hell happened?” I ask. Thankfully it’s him and not one of the others. They’re all hotheads, but there’s a sweetness to Ben the others lack.

“I want to ask you the same thing. We all do.”

I chew on my bottom lip. Am I stuck here? What if it’s their trap and now that I’ve discovered it, they won’t let me leave? He senses my hesitation and reaches for the tray.

“I got you some pain meds and antibiotics,” he says, handing me a glass of water and a few pills. “Take it. You need to rest.”

I swallow the pills, the bitterness barely registering as I drink the water.

“I need to get out of here,” I say, my voice firm, my mind made up.

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