Page 39 of Undercover Desires

She eyes me with a hint of suspicion, and I wonder if I have gone too far. I can see she’s a smart girl, and the last thing I need is her working out who I really am. “The truth is, those boys are changing this town for the better. Not everyone likes it, but they are. This town has been run by mob families, gangs, and corrupt police for way too long. They’re cleaning it up.”

Her perspective is intriguing, and it aligns with what I’d expect from the girlfriend of one of them. Of course she sees Jett asher protector, the man who rescued her from a living hell. She probably doesn’t know half the stuff he’s done to get where he is today.

“Kobe’s not who you think, either,” she continues.

I raise an eyebrow in question. “How’s that?”

“Under all the swagger and pretense, he has a heart of gold. He just hasn’t found the right girl to show it to yet.”

“That’s not what you told Summer,” I point out.

“He doesn’t look at Summer like he does you. Don’t hurt him.” She clarifies something more in her eyes. She’s worried about Kobe?

I blink in surprise at her statement. Why would she assume I had any intentions of hurting Kobe? “I was planning on staying away from him. Guys like Kobe can only mean one thing—trouble.” Whatever romantic picture she's painting of the two of us, it’s not going to happen.

“He’s the fun kind, though. He would never let anything bad happen to the people around him. When he finds the right girl, all the others won’t matter anymore; she will be the queen of his world,” Hazel defends Kobe. She has this whimsical way of looking at life that I just can't understand. I’m too practical. I see it for what it is. Black and white, good and bad. And from what I have been told, the Riveras sit on the wrong side of the fence.

I raise an eyebrow, still somewhat skeptical. “That’s a very romantic notion of a guy who could only be described as a manwhore. I think that was your description as well. Why are you telling me all this?”

She grins knowingly. “He's genuinely a good guy. I wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Okay,” I respond, feeling cautious.

“Anyway, I’d better get moving before I make myself late for work. See you tomorrow,” she says with a cheerful smile, waving me off.

“See you then,” I reply, watching her go. I can’t help but feel a bit baffled by her efforts to paint a more favorable picture of Kobe. Is it really because she thinks he has a thing for me and she’s trying to play matchmaker, or is there something more going on here?

I finish my morning routine and get ready for the day, sitting down at my computer right at nine with a cup of coffee. The memories of last night’s unsettling meeting in Kobe’s office still haunt me. That photo with the guy who looked exactly like a younger version of my dad, the way Kobe held me by my hair, forcing me to look into his eyes—it was disarming. I should have been furious about being manhandled in that way, but the truth is, I liked it. I enjoyed the way he took control, and I felt an inexplicable urge to share my secrets with him. That’s why I left so abruptly. If I’d stayed, I might have ended up admitting that his best friend looked just like my late father when he was younger, and that’s why I was freaking out. It didn’t help that the girls were on me about the whole missing-panties situation. I left last night feeling totally freaked out.

I decide to investigate further and type the name “Brandon Lewis” into the police database. According to the information I find, his parents were Duncan and Sarah Lewis, and he was an only child. His father is marked as missing, presumed deceased in a factory fire some sixteen years ago, and his mother still lives locally. Brandon earned a college scholarship for football and made it big before returning home to coach at the local high school. It mentions that his father was charged with possession with intent to sell or distribute but never served time because he disappeared before his case went to court. Additionally, there were two DUIs for driving under the influence of an illegal substance.

I bring up Duncan’s mugshot, and my heart races as a sickening feeling washes over me. The face staring back at melooks exactly like my father’s—chestnut hair, dark eyes. The only difference is the ink on his arms. They have to be related. The similarities are too striking to be a mere coincidence. Then I remember the matchbox cars I found in the yard. One of them had the name Duncan on it. They must have buried them together.

My heart racing and mind in turmoil, I hop up and start to pace back and forth down the hall, my eyes drifting to the photos of family that Nanna had lined the walls with. I’m searching for any sign of my dad’s long-lost brother, Duncan. My desperation grows as I open Nanna’s untouched bedroom and begin searching frantically. I pull out drawers, look under the bed, and shift paintings, determined to find any trace of his existence. My fingers travel up the top shelf of her wardrobe, and then, under a fallen dress, I discover an old cookie tin. I pop the lid open, revealing a trove of photos, letters, and a heart-shaped charm necklace.

My heart sinks when I find a photo of me and a little boy who appears to be a few years older than me, playing in the backyard here. A vivid memory flashes through my head. I remember that summer holiday, spent here with this boy—my cousin. It was the first time I ever got to fly. Two weeks with Nanna and my cousin—he was cheeky but fun, like having a sibling. I remember going home and demanding my parents have a baby so I had someone to play with. That didn’t go down so well.

Scratching my head, I wonder how had I completely forgotten about him? I turn over the old photo, and the inscription reads, “Arabella, 8, Brandon, 11.” Brandon Lewis—it’s definitely him. He’s my cousin. But why haven’t I seen him since I was eight? I don’t even recall Nanna or my dad mentioning him. Everything of Nanna’s was left to me, so why is there no trace of Brandon? Another puzzling aspect is why, if our fathers were brothers, do we have different last names?

My search continues as I sort through the rest of the photos, laying them out on Nanna’s bed. There, I find a photo of two little boys who are identical—not just brothers, but twins. As the puzzle pieces come together, I become more confused and curious about my cousin and our family history.

Part of me wants to ask Kobe to contact him for me so I can talk to him. He might have some insight into our family. And since my father died, I feel like I don’t have any family left. Finding all this is huge.

My heart sinks as I realize I can’t, it would blow my cover and leave me vulnerable. Ever since my father passed away, I have been so lonely, so lost. My mother is no use. I tried to get in contact with her last year, but she’s a piece of work and couldn’t really care how I feel. She has a new husband who she’s all about, and me and Dad, we were just a mistake she would rather forget. It hurts like hell, but I have come to terms with the fact we will never be close.

I don’t really have any family left. Knowing I have a cousin out there makes me want to know more. Kobe said they were best friends from a young age, and that means Brandon grew up on the other side of town, where the Riveras did. The dodgy side.

The longer I work on this case, the more questions it poses. I feel like the universe chose me for it for a reason. My family history is so entwined in this town. What if I were the one who grew up on the bad side of town, not the sweet upper-class streets of Sydney? Would I have turned out like the Riveras? Is Brandon like them? Is what all the other girls say true and these boys are really the heroes of this town? They just had a hard start in life, or are they all just completely deluded?

CHAPTER 16

ARABELLA

Shelby is in theback, preparing for her shift, yet there’s no sign of Xavier, who usually arrives way before the rest of us. I hope everything is okay. I diligently arrange everything, following the routine she’s taught me. At the moment, there’s only one customer, so I’m not concerned about managing things solo until the rush begins.

Despite being here for just a few weeks, I’ve adapted to the job smoothly, except for the overwhelming amount of male attention, both from customers and fellow staff. I doubt I’ll ever become accustomed to it. Perhaps it’s the uniform. Now I understand why we’re not permitted to leave this place wearing it.

Kobe strides purposefully across the room toward me, a cheeky smirk on his face. Tonight, he’s clad in his customary black button-up shirt and suit pants. He’s rolled up the sleeves, revealing his bronzed skin, and his biceps seem on the verge of bursting through the fabric. Maybe he should consider toning down his workouts. I would love to tell him that, but I have beenon tenterhooks all week trying not to give him any reason to use the power he has over me.

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