Tangled Desires (Wattle Creek #3)

36

38 weeks

T he day’s gone well enough so far. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about squeezing myself and my bump into the salon, especially when I could’ve been sprawled on the couch with a tub of ice cream.

Technically, I’m on maternity leave. Technically .

But when Stella called, all desperation about needing the perfect blowout for her engagement tomorrow—and insisted it had to happen tonight—I caved. She’s been a client of mine for years. Hard to say no to someone who’s stuck with you through every questionable fringe decision and colour phase. Plus, extra cash? Hard to say no to that when there’s a baby on the way.

The kicker? Harrison. The man practically growled when he found out I was going in. “You’re not going alone, especially not at night, ” he muttered, tossing Isla’s name into the mix. Not that I’m complaining. It’s good to have company. And let’s be honest, I need the help.

Isla’s mainly fetching things, giving my back a break, which right now feels like it’s on the verge of snapping in half.

“How’re we looking?” I ask, wrapping the final section of Stella’s hair around a roller, securing it with a flick of my wrist. The glossy waves sit just right, pinned in neat, voluminous curls. Stella beams, doing a little shimmy in the chair like she’s already imagining tomorrow’s grand entrance.

She catches her reflection and snorts. “I look like a granny with these rollers.”

From the basin, Isla cackles, nearly dropping a towel. “Spot on, Nana Stella.”

I huff, hands on my hips. “You won’t be saying that tomorrow. You’re gonna look amazing. Congrats again, by the way.”

Stella’s eyes sparkle. “I could kiss you. Thank you!” We go for an awkward hug—well, as much as we can manage with my bump taking up most of the space between us.

Payment’s sorted, and just like that, she’s out the door, all smiles and ready to dazzle. Isla’s already packing up in the back while I flip the sign to Closed and grab a broom. Relief washes over me—until the chime above the door dings.

“We’re closed!” I call out, not even glancing up, hoping whoever it is gets the hint. No such luck. Heavy footsteps echo inside. I turn, and my heart plummets to the floor.

Three men stand there, towering, rough-looking, with muscles on top of muscles, tattoos covering every inch of exposed skin, eyes fixed on me with chilling intent.

One of them steps forward, his voice low and gruff. “You Imogen Price?”

I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “No.”

He lifts his shirt just enough to flash the gun tucked into his waistband. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”

“What… What do you want?”

“Let’s try that again.” He steps closer, that smirk never leaving his face. “You Harrison’s missus?” I force myself to nod, my eyes darting around, praying Isla’s caught onto what’s happening and has hidden.

“Better,” he says, snapping his fingers at one of the other guys, a behemoth covered head to toe in tattoos, even across his face. He walks over to the windows, yanking the blinds down before flipping the lock on the door with a loud click . The leader’s eyes never leave mine. “Here’s the deal. Harrison’s dad owes me a lot of money. We were told you’ve got it. So, where’s the cash?”

My heart skips a beat. What the fuck? I pray to God Isla is somewhere back there, calling for help. “I don’t—I don’t have any money. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I stammer, the words flying out faster than I can stop them.

“You here on your own?”

I nod quickly. “Y-yes, it’s just me.”

The leader jerks his chin at Tattoo Face. “Check the place. Make sure she’s not lying.” He flashes me a grin. Not the friendly type. “Wouldn’t want to catch you lying, now would we?”

My stomach drops as Tattoo Face strides toward the back. My heart pounds so loudly I swear they can hear it. If they find Isla back there, hiding like some sort of scared rabbit, they’ll kill her. No doubt about it. These guys don’t strike me as the type to give second chances. And if she suddenly comes out now? My breath catches at the thought. I don’t even want to imagine what they’d do to her—or me. Finally, the guy comes back. “Boss, no one else here.”

I almost collapse in relief.

The leader looks back at me, smirking. “See, sweetheart? Honesty. It’s really not that hard.” He gestures to one of the salon chairs. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ve got a few more questions for you.”

“No! I’m fine standing.”

“Feisty one, huh?” He nods to the guy behind me, who steps forward, grabbing me by the shoulders.

“Don’t fucking touch me, you pig!” I spit, struggling against him as he shoves me into the chair. He’s much stronger than I am, so my protests are useless. He yanks my arms back and securing them with a zip tie.

“She’s got a mouth on her, too.” He smirks, tightening the ties until my wrists ache.

They circle me, all eyes on me, making my skin crawl. Harrison warned me about his father’s debts, but I never thought it would come to this. The leader, I decide to call him Snake Eyes . It fits—the cold, dead look in his gaze, the way he hisses each word like he’s enjoying this sick little game. Snake Eyes crouches down in front of me, his eyes level with mine, and that thin, twisted smile of his sends a chill through every nerve in my body.

“Let’s make this easy, hmm?” He leans in close, close enough that I catch the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering on him, something sharp and acrid. “Where’s my money, Imogen?”

“I already told you—I don’t have it. I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Harrison doesn’t, either. His father… He’s been lying to everyone.”

His smile disappears. “Wrong answer.”

The back of his hand crashes against my cheek with a brutal crack. I cry out, the sharp sting spreading like fire across my face. My head snaps to the side, and for a moment, everything blurs—pain exploding behind my eyes as a metallic taste floods my mouth.

“Let’s try again,” Snake Eyes drawls. “We were told the money’s with you. Or maybe,” he leans in closer, “you’re just hiding it somewhere. So, where is it?”

My jaw throbs, each pulse sharp and unforgiving. Blood pools in my mouth, and I swallow it down, the metallic tang making me gag. Panic sets in, cold and fast—the taste, the bleeding—it’s too much.

“You’re wasting your time,” I manage, voice trembling but defiant. “We don’t have it. Harrison and I, we’re just—” He grabs my chin, yanking my head back, silencing me with a brutal grip.

“I don’t want your life story, sweetheart. I want the cash.” His grip tightens, nails biting into my skin. “Do you know what happens to people who lie to me?” I force down the panic clawing at my throat.

“I’m not lying.”

Behind him, Tattoo Face chuckles, low and menacing. “Tough one, boss. Think we should send her husband a little… message?” Snake Eyes lets go of my chin, tapping his gun thoughtfully.

“A few bruises? Or maybe a scar. Something Harrison can’t ignore. What do you reckon?” It’s past five. Shops in Wattle Creek close early. Next door shut at two, the other at three. Apart from grocery stores and pubs, this town sleeps early. Essentials only. Even if I screamed, no one would hear me. And if they did, they’d probably shoot me, anyway.

“Please, don’t... I’m p-pregnant.” A sharp pain knifes through my abdomen, doubling me over as much as my bound wrists allow. The zip tie bites into raw skin, each movement sending jolts of pain up my arms. Snake Eyes tilts his head, amusement flickering in his dead eyes.

“That supposed to make me feel bad?”

“Please, I’ll do anything. Just don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt my baby—”

The slap lands before I can finish. My head snaps sideways, stars bursting behind my eyes as the ache blooms sharp and deep. A cry slips out, followed by another stabbing twist in my belly, fiercer this time.

Snake Eyes grabs my face, forcing my gaze upward. “I don’t give a fuck about you or your baby. Think fast, sweetheart. Where’s my money?”

Panic tightens in my chest. Another wave of pressure builds low, clawing up my spine. The urge to go—to relieve the unbearable weight—hits hard. My voice shakes as I plead. “I need the bathroom. Please.”

Laughter rumbles behind me. Snake Eyes snaps, “Shut the fuck up.” I can’t hold it. Warmth trickles down my leg, pooling beneath me. Heat floods my cheeks, shame burning hotter than the pain.

“Pathetic,” Snake Eyes sneers, stepping back. One of the others chuckles, shaking his head. “Look at her, pissin’ herself.” Another deep, twisting cramp grips me, stealing my breath. It’s not random. It’s real. Focus. Count. Eight minutes, maybe less.

The next wave hits harder. Faster.

Eight minutes apart. God, only eight minutes.

Another round of pain crashes through me, sharp and unrelenting. Realisation slams into me—I’m having contractions. My water just broke. “Oh, God,” I gasp.

Snake Eyes turns, his cold gaze locking on me. “I don’t have time for this,” he sneers. “Maybe we’ll give Harrison a call. See if he suddenly remembers where the money is.”

“T-the baby... I’m in labor,” I whisper.

His eyes narrow. “Bullshit.”

The thug beside him shifts uneasily. “Boss, she’s faking.”

Snake Eyes grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking hard. Pain explodes in my scalp as I’m forced to look up at him. “Don’t lie to me,” he growls, pressing a knife to my neck.

The blade’s cold bite is terrifyingly real.

“I’m not! My water broke—the baby’s coming!” I cry, breathless from pain and fear. The other guy glances nervously.

“Boss, maybe she’s telling the truth.” Snake Eyes curses under his breath, frustration etched in every line of his face.

“Fine. Call the truck. If she pops the kid out on the way, I don’t give a fuck.”

“No—please!” I plead, a sob choking me as another contraction tears through my body. But his face stays cold, unmoved. I’m trapped, helpless, and the clock is ticking.