Claimed by 3 Mountain Men (Silver Ridge Mountain Men)

23. Mac

23

MAC

T he adrenaline still pumps through my veins as I stand next to JT, watching him stare down the poacher with an intensity that makes the air around us feel thicker.

The police should be here any minute, though it will likely take a bit longer since we’re so far in the woods.

My breath is shallow, my fingers tingle as I grip the knife still held tight in my hand. I can barely hear the rustle of the leaves around us or the crackling of the dying fire. All I can focus on is the look in JT’s eyes—dark, angry, and demanding answers.

The poacher beneath him sneers, blood dripping from his mouth, but he’s not saying a damn thing. Not yet. JT’s face hardens, his voice low and cold. “Tell me the truth. Was my father involved with you?”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, the only sound is the wind rustling through the trees. My heart pounds in my chest, a sudden rush of fear and anticipation floods through me.

The poacher laughs, a hollow, guttural sound, and spits blood onto the ground. “Your father? That piece of shit? He wasn’t working with us, you idiot. He was trying to stop us.”

Hank’s jaw tightens, his body goes completely still. “What did you say?”

The poacher sneers again, his eyes glint with something twisted, almost gleeful. “Luke Truitt tried to shut us down. The old man thought he could get in our way, play the hero, save the day.” He chuckles darkly, the sound grating on my nerves. “He underestimated what we were capable of.”

I glance at JT, his knuckles white as he grips the poacher by the collar, lifting him slightly off the ground. His voice is deadly quiet, controlled but seething with rage. “What do you mean, ‘underestimated’?”

The poacher coughs, blood dribbling down his chin as he laughs again. “We set up the ‘accident’ that killed him. We warned him to stay out of our business, but he didn’t listen.”

My stomach lurches, and the ground beneath me feels like it’s tilting. Luke didn’t die in some random accident. It wasn’t bad luck, or an unfortunate tragedy. He was murdered .

All three Truitt’s go rigid, and for a moment, I think they’re going to kill the guy right here and now. JT’s fist tightens around the poacher’s collar, his eyes blazing with fury. “You killed our father!”

The poacher’s smile falters, fear flickering in his eyes, but he nods, his voice is shaky now. “He shouldn’t have gotten involved. He should’ve just let us be.”

My eyes dart to JT, his face a storm of emotions—rage, grief, and something I can’t quite place. His grip tightens again, and I see the strain in his muscles, the barely-contained violence simmering beneath the surface. Hank takes a step forward, holding his knife up, ready to strike, but Ben stops him dead in his tracks.

“JT,” Ben says sharply. “Don’t.”

His eyes flicker to his brothers, the fury is still there, but his grip loosens just slightly. He’s breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but he doesn’t let go completely.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of sirens cuts through the air, distant at first but growing louder. I glance over my shoulder, the faint blue and red lights flashing through the trees. The police—finally.

When poacher sees them, his bravado fades as the reality of his situation sinks in. “You can’t stop this,” he spits, his voice laced with desperation now. “We’re not the only ones. There’s more of us. We own this land, one way or another.”

JT’s face twists with disgust, and he lets go, shoving the poacher back onto the ground. “You’re done. All of you.”

The sirens grow louder, police cruisers start breaking through the trees, flashlights cutting through the dark. Officers swarm the clearing, weapons drawn, and I step back, watching as they take over, cuffing the poachers and pulling them to their feet.

The relief that washes over me is sudden and overwhelming, my legs nearly buckle under the weight of it. I catch myself on a tree, my breath coming in shaky bursts as I watch the poachers being led away. It’s over. Finally over.

They’re caught. And Luke Truitt’s death… it wasn’t an accident. He wasn’t the bad guy after all.

JT stands still, his eyes following the poachers as they’re dragged toward the waiting vehicles.

“It’s over,” Hank says, walking over to us, “aside from all the questions we’re going to have to answer.” He pinches his nose. “Jesus Christ.”

“Everyone alright?” Ben asks, inspecting me for a moment.

“Define alright,” JT mumbles. “I’m alive if that counts.”

“And now these fuckers are going to rot away in prison. I’ll be sure to see to that personally,” Hank says, folding his arms over his broad chest.

I take a step closer. “JT...” I ask softly.

He doesn’t turn to look at me, just stares straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight.

“They killed him. He died because of them.”

I don’t know what to say. What can I say? The truth is brutal, raw, and cuts deeper than anything I could’ve imagined. I reach out, resting a hand gently on his arm. “You didn’t know.”

For a long moment, he says nothing. Then, finally, he nods, his voice a whisper, barely audible over the chaos around us. “But now I do.”

The flashing red and blue lights cast an eerie glow over the clearing, illuminating the tall pines and the scattering of fallen leaves. It all looks like something out of a bad dream.

The officers work quickly, their movements precise and professional, cuffing the men, reading them their rights. The poachers don’t say much now, their bravado has drained, replaced by grim resignation. One of them shoots a dark glare towards JT, but it doesn’t last long as he’s shoved into the back of a police cruiser.

Ben, Hank, JT, and I stand off to the side, watching as the nightmare we’ve been living in for the past few weeks finally starts to unravel. The truth is out. The poachers are caught. But that doesn’t mean the wounds have healed. Far from it.

The last poacher is led into the back of the squad car, and the officer in charge nods to us. “We’ll take them back to the station. You’ve done good work here.”

I manage a tight nod, but the words feel hollow. The good work we’ve done? It came at such a high cost. I can’t even bring myself to feel relieved. Not yet.

As the last of the squad cars pull away, the clearing falls into silence again, the hum of the engines fade into the distance. The four of us are left standing in the cool evening air, the weight of everything we’ve been through finally settles around us.

For a moment, none of us says anything.

The forest is still, the night sky above us dark and endless, and all I can feel is the exhaustion tugging at my bones, the ache of everything we’ve fought for finally hitting me.

I glance at Ben. He’s standing beside Hank, his expression somber but resolute. He catches my eye and gives me a small nod, as if to say, we made it through .

Then, without warning, JT turns to us, and his eyes lock onto mine. There’s something raw there, something that makes my breath catch in my throat. He doesn’t say anything, but the tension in his shoulder eases, and before I can fully process it, he steps forward, pulling me into a tight embrace.

I freeze for a moment, surprised by the suddenness of it, but then I wrap my arms around him, holding on just as tightly. His body is warm, solid, and the weight of everything seems to fade just a little.

I feel like I can breathe again.

Hank’s hand comes down on my shoulder, firm but gentle, while Ben rests a hand on JT’s back.

We stand there, all four of us, tangled in a quiet embrace that says everything words can’t. We’ve been through hell—each of us in our own way—but somehow, we’ve come out on the other side. Bruised, broken in places, but still standing with one another.

The night air is cool against my skin, the scent of pine and earth fills my lungs as I close my eyes, letting the moment wash over me. For the first time in weeks, I feel a sense of peace. It’s fragile but real.

“Dad would’ve been proud, you know,” Hank says, finally breaking away.

JT doesn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes speaks volumes. He knows. We all know.

“Let’s head back home,” he murmurs. “I need a stiff drink.”

Ben chuckles, the sound hollow but genuine. “Yeah, I could use one too.”

We begin the trek back.

As we leave the clearing behind, I can’t help but look back one last time, the disparate pieces of the puzzle finally slotting into place.

My muscles ache, the weight of everything we’ve just been through pulling at me, but there’s a quiet peace here—something I didn’t think I’d ever feel again.

Something stirs in the silence, a subtle shift in the air, a presence I can’t quite explain. My skin prickles with awareness, and instinctively, I turn, my eyes sweeping over the darkened forest behind us.

And then, I see them.

Three lynxes, their silver coats shimmering in the faint light of the moon, standing at the edge of the clearing, their eyes glowing like molten amber. I freeze, my heart catching in my throat, as the world around me falls away, leaving only them—these beautiful, elusive creatures I’ve been chasing for so long.

They’re bigger than I imagined, their muscles rippling beneath their sleek fur, their eyes sharp and intelligent as they watch me with an intensity that takes my breath away.

I don’t dare move, I don’t even breathe, afraid that the slightest shift in the air will scare them away. But instead of running, the lynxes stand still, their eyes locked onto mine. I feel a strange connection, something deep and primal, as if they can sense what I’ve done, and know the lengths I’ve gone to protect them.

One of them, the largest of the three, tilts its head slightly, as if considering me. Then, in a movement so fluid it’s almost graceful, it lowers its head—bowing. The other two follow suit, their heads dipping in unison, a gesture so deliberate, so reverent, that I feel a lump rise in my throat.

I freeze, taken aback, by the sheer beauty of it all. The wind rustles through the trees, carrying the scent of earth and wild things, and in that moment, it’s as if the lynxes are thanking me.

Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and I blink them away, not wanting to lose sight of these magnificent creatures for even a second. I’ve spent so long fighting to protect them, but never thought I’d see them like this—so close, so wild, so free.

And then, as quickly as they appeared, the lynxes rise, their eyes meeting mine one last time before they turn, their silver coats melting into the shadows of the forest. I watch them go, my heart pounding in my chest, my pulse thrumming with the lingering echo of their presence.

The forest swallows them whole, the trees close behind them like a curtain, and the clearing is silent once more.

“Mac, you alright?” Ben asks, stopping.

I blink quickly turning back to face the three Truitt brothers who are all staring at me with concern in their cool eyes. I nod slowly.

“I am.”