Brent Sinatra: All of Me Read online

  BRENT SINATRA:

  ALL OF ME

  (BOOK ONE)

  By

  MALLORY MONROE

  Copyright©2015 Mallory Monroe

  All rights reserved. Any use of the materials contained in this book without the expressed written consent of the author and/or her affiliates, including scanning, uploading and downloading at file sharing and other sites, and distribution of this book by way of the Internet or any other means, is illegal and strictly prohibited.

  AUSTIN BROOK PUBLISHING

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  IT IS ILLEGAL TO SELL OR GIVE THIS eBOOK TO ANYBODY ELSE

  WITHOUT THE WRITTEN CONSENT OF

  THE AUTHOR AND AUSTIN BROOK PUBLISHING.

  This novel is a work of fiction. All characters are fictitious. Any similarities to anyone living or dead are completely accidental. The specific mention of known places or venues are not meant to be exact replicas of those places, but are purposely embellished or imagined for the story’s sake.

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  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE SERIES

  BY BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  MALLORY MONROE:

  THE SINATRAS OF JERICHO COUNTY

  SERIES IN ORDER:

  BIG DADDY SINATRA

  THERE WAS A RUTHLESS MAN

  BOOK ONE

  BIG DADDY SINATRA 2

  IF I CAN’T HAVE YOU

  BOOK TWO

  BIG DADDY SINATRA 3

  THE BEST OF MY LOVE

  THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND

  SERIES IN ORDER:

  THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND

  THE PRESIDENT’S GIRLFRIEND 2:

  HIS WOMEN AND HIS WIFE

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  A SCANDAL IS BORN

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  AFTER THE FALL

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  THE POWER OF LOVE

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  THE SINS OF THE FATHERS

  DUTCH AND GINA:

  WHAT HE DID FOR LOVE

  FOR THE LOVE OF GINA

  BOOK EIGHT

  THE MOB BOSS SERIES

  IN ORDER:

  ROMANCING THE MOB BOSS

  MOB BOSS 2:

  THE HEART OF THE MATTER

  MOB BOSS 3:

  LOVE AND RETRIBUTION

  MOB BOSS 4:

  ROMANCING TRINA GABRINI

  A MOB BOSS CHRISTMAS:

  THE PREGNANCY

  (Mob Boss 5)

  MOB BOSS 6:

  THE HEART OF RENO GABRINI

  RENO’S GIFT

  BOOK 7

  RENO GABRINI:

  A MAN IN FULL

  BOOK 8

  RENO AND TRINA:

  GETTING BACK TO LOVE

  BOOK 9

  RENO AND SON:

  DON’T MESS WITH JIM

  BOOK 10

  MOB BOSS ELEVEN

  THE WRONG ONE

  BOOK 11

  RENO AND TRINA

  IN THE SHADOWS OF LOVE

  BOOK 12

  THE GABRINI MEN SERIES

  IN ORDER:

  ROMANCING TOMMY GABRINI

  ROMANCING SAL GABRINI

  TOMMY GABRINI 2:

  A PLACE IN HIS HEART

  SAL GABRINI 2:

  A WOMAN’S TOUCH

  TOMMY GABRINI 3:

  GRACE UNDER FIRE

  SAL GABRINI 3:

  HARD LOVE

  SAL GABRINI 4:

  I’LL TAKE YOU THERE

  TOMMY GABRINI 4:

  DAPPER TOM BEGIN AGAIN

  SAL GABRINI 5:

  UNTIL YOU COME BACK TO ME

  ADDITIONAL BESTSELLING

  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE

  FROM MALLORY MONROE:

  DANIEL’S GIRL (ROMANCING AN OLDER MAN)

  ROMANCING MO RYAN

  ROMANCING HER PROTECTOR

  ROMANCING THE BULLDOG

  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE

  FROM

  BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  KATHERINE CACHITORIE:

  LOVERS AND TAKERS

  LOVING HER SOUL MATE

  LOVING THE HEAD MAN

  SOME CAME DESPERATE:

  A LOVE SAGA

  ADDITIONAL BESTSELLING

  INTERRACIAL ROMANCE:

  A SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP

  YVONNE THOMAS

  AND

  BACK TO HONOR:

  A REGGIE REYNOLDS

  ROMANTIC MYSTERY

  JT WATSON

  ROMANTIC FICTION

  FROM

  AWARD-WINNING

  AND

  BESTSELLING AUTHOR

  TERESA MCCLAIN-WATSON:

  DINO AND NIKKI:

  AFTER REDEMPTION

  AND

  AFTER WHAT YOU DID

  Visit

  www.mallorymonroebooks.com

  for updates and more information on all of her titles.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  April 27, 2015

  Early Monday Morning

  The patrol car sped through the streets of Jericho and blew through yet another red light on its way to a disturbance call. Noise had been heard in a motel room, a guest complained, so the manager called it in.

  “Guy beat up girl, what else?” Westin, the patrolman on the passenger seat, predicted.

  “If you weren’t as lazy as you most certainly are and actually got to know this particular neighborhood,” said Belcher, the older cop and the driver, “then you wouldn’t think to say something like that.”

  “So a guy can’t beat up a girl in this neighborhood? Is that what you want me to believe? What’s so special about this neighborhood?”

  “Nothing,” Belcher responded. “That’s the point. But what fun is a guy beating up a girl? How about a guy beating on a trick and the trick beating him back? Or a guy beating up a drag queen he didn’t know was in drag? Now I’d love to see that particular disturbance.”

  Westin laughed, and then added his two cents. “How about this,” he said. “Guy’s wife shows up and beat the crap out of him and the fairy, then the fairy beat the crap out of the wife. Now that would be a joy to see.”

  Belcher laughed and blew through yet another red light, and then hung a hard left, as their patrol car headed for the scene.

  When they arrived at what the locals called the Quick Hit motel but was officially called the Super Fin, another patrol car had just driven up too and Eddie Rivers, their captain, was stepping out.

  Belcher’s cheerfulness left and a look of disdain appeared on his round face. “It’s Rivers, dammit. How could he beat us here?” He pulled up alongside the captain’s car.

  “Some
body always beat us to the show,” Westin replied, equally despondent.

  “It’s like he doesn’t trust us to handle calls anymore.”

  “It’s because you take too long,” Westin complained. “If you didn’t drive like some old lady we wouldn’t always be number two. Now we’re number two. We’re back-up again. Great!”

  “Just come on,” Belcher said frustratingly as they unbuckled and began getting out.

  Captain Eddie Rivers, a tall black man with a friendly, handsome face, smiled as he watched his subordinates get out of their patrol car. As the result of too many citizen complaints, Belcher and Westin were among a handful of beat cops on the Department’s Watch List. They didn’t know it, but their every move was being carefully scrutinized.

  “Hey, Cap,” Belcher said as he and his partner stepped out.

  “You’re back-up again I see,” Eddie said with a grin. “I’m going to have to conduct a formal inquiry into what the problem could possibly be. You guys haven’t been number one all year.”

  “We were across town,” Belcher explained.

  “You’re always across town. Or just sitting down to eat. Or just getting up from eating. Or whatever. Excuses, excuses. You’ll never advance with so many excuses, Belch.”

  “Yes, sir,” Belcher said, although he wanted to roll his eyes and give that asshole Eddie Rivers a piece of his mind. But Eddie outranked him. Eddie was the second highest ranked cop on the entire Force. “We need to talk to the manager,” Belcher said instead, as if he was the one in charge. “He called in the complaint. We need to get his story and get the key. Let’s go.”

  “Let’s nothing,” Eddie said, stopping them. “You two wait out here in case something goes down. That’s what happens to slow-ass patrolmen who never get to the scene on time. That’s what back-ups do. I’ll talk to the manager.”

  Eddie headed into the shabby lobby of the shabby motel.

  Belcher looked at Westin and shook his head. “What an asshole,” he said.

  When Eddie came back out of the lobby, all three officers made their way to the side of the motel, to a room with a view: a view of the garbage bin. The room also had another advantage: the door was slightly ajar.

  “Bingo,” Eddie said. Because they now had probable cause. Instead of announcing who they were, they could now push the door open since, technically, it was already open. Eddie nodded to his backup, both patrolmen pulled out their weapons, and Eddie pushed the door until it was wide open.

  First they saw the blood. Given their training, their eyes followed the blood. It led to the middle of the room, to a body lying in a prone position: male, white, covered in blood.

  And then they saw a child, male, who couldn’t be more than ten or eleven, sitting on the floor beside the body with a big butcher’s knife in his hand. The knife dripped fresh blood. At first they thought he was a black kid. But when he looked up, they realized he was just as white as he was black. A biracial kid. Wavy black hair. Piercing green eyes. Familiar.

  But Westin didn’t see some innocent kid. He didn’t see some familiar kid either. He saw a perp. He saw a dangerous thug. He nervously aimed his gun at the child as if the child was his mortal enemy. “Drop the weapon now or you’re a dead motherfucker!” he yelled.

  Eddie couldn’t believe it. He grabbed his patrolman by the catch of his collar and slammed him against the door. “He’s a kid, you fucking idiot! What are you talking about? You gonna shoot a kid?”

  “He killed that man,” Westin blared back. “He’s a killer, Cap!”

  Eddie was angry. Because this was the problem with these yahoos on the Force. They leaped to conclusions based on too little information and worried about the consequences later. If their asses were this nervous they shouldn’t be cops. “Holster that weapon and holster it now,” Eddie ordered.

  It was obvious that Westin didn’t agree with that order, but he holstered his weapon.

  “Get outside and call for an ambulance,” Eddie said to Westin as he released him from his grasp.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And get the Techs out here too. Stay outside until they arrive. We don’t want to rile the kid any more than you already have.”

  “Yes, sir.” Westin left the room.

  Eddie then looked at the young boy. “Drop the knife, son,” he said, his voice far calmer than the one he had just used with Westin. “We aren’t going to hurt you. We will not harm you, I promise. But I need you to put that knife down.”

  As if it was a sign of surrender, the knife simply fell from the boy’s small hand and onto the bloodstained carpet. Eddie then nodded to Belcher. Belcher holstered his weapon and carefully moved around the body and the knife, to preserve as much of the crime scene evidence as he possibly could, and then made his way up to the youngster.

  “What’s your name?” Eddie asked the child as Belcher approached him. But the boy said nothing. He looked away from Eddie, and back at that dead body.

  Belcher put on a pair of his standard-issue crime scene gloves. He leaned over, put two fingers against the man’s neck, to check for a pulse. He looked back up at Eddie and shook his head. Then he stood the child up by the catch of his arm, without the child resisting, and began to pat him down.

  “Are you from around here, son?” Eddie asked as Belcher continued to frisk the suspect. “Do your folks live in Jericho?”

  Belcher felt a piece of paper in the pocket of the jeans the child wore. He pulled out the paper.

  “What happened here?” Eddie asked the child, but the child remained unresponsive. “Do you know the guy on the floor? Do you know who did this to him?” Still nothing.

  Belcher opened the carefully folded piece of paper from the kid’s pocket. As soon as he saw what was written on it, his mouth gaped open. Then he looked at his captain with shock on his face.

  “What?” Eddie asked. “What is it?”

  Belcher, still holding onto the child’s arm, pulled the child along as he made his way over to his captain. Then he handed him the piece of paper.

  Eddie looked at the paper. And was floored too. There was only a scribbled name on the sheet. One name. But it was the name itself that astounded them.

  Brent Sinatra, Jr.

  And that was when it all clicked. That was why that child looked so familiar to them. It wasn’t because they’d seen him around town as they had assumed was the reason. It was because he was the spitting image of their boss. He was the spitting image of Chief of Police Brent Sinatra.

  Belcher, who was still shocked, stared at the dead body, and then looked at the boy. “Whoever put that paper in this kid’s pocket wanted us to know who he belonged to.”

  Eddie nodded. “Looks that way.”

  Belcher looked at his superior. “This is bad, Cap, isn’t it?”

  “A boy who could very well be the chief’s son was just found sitting beside a dead body with what appears to be the murder weapon in his hand? Yeah, Belch. I’d say that’s bad.”

  “What are we going to do?”

  “You and Bonnie Fife out there are going to stay here and wait for the Evidence Techs to process the scene. I’ll call Robbery/Homicide and get a detective out here to supervise. I’ll take the kid downtown.”

  “You gonna call the chief?”

  Eddie looked at Belcher. “Who else is going to do it? You?” Eddie looked at the dead body, and then the kid again. “I’ll have to be the one to tell the chief.”

  Belcher shook his head. “God help you,” he said. “Chief ain’t gonna like this.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know,” Eddie said with bite in his voice. Then he placed his arm across the kid’s shoulder, and tried to smile at him. But the kid missed it. He was too busy looking at that bloody body.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two Weeks Earlier

  Brent, over here!

  Brent, this way!

  Brent, help me!

  What’s wrong with you? Why aren’t you helping?

 
; Do more, Brent. Do more.

  Brent!

  Brent!

  Brent Sinatra lifted his upper body as soon as he opened his eyes, and his heart hammered against his chest. When he realized it was another bad dream in a series of horrific dreams, he laid back down. It was getting to him. A cop for nearly fourteen years, the chief of police for going on five of those years, a Force that acted as if they couldn’t piss without asking his permission first, was all becoming too much. Decisions had to be made. And one especially. It was time.

  Since he knew going back to sleep wasn’t going to happen, and it was too early to phone her, he got out of bed. His naked body was already drenched in sweat and his thick penis was stiff as steel: a piss hard. He peed, washed his hands, and slipped into a pair of shorts, a sleeveless tank, and his running shoes. He grabbed his cell phone and keys and headed downstairs. By the time he made it downstairs and into his big, gourmet kitchen, it was five a.m.

  He stuffed the blender with his concoction of fruits, veggies, and an egg, blended them all together, and then grabbed the blending cup. Just as he was about to remove the top and drink his homemade recipe, his cell phone rang. Fearing it was yet another call from yet another cop about yet another problem they should be able to handle on their own, he looked at the Caller ID first. When he saw that it wasn’t the station, but Makayla, he smiled and answered.

  “I didn’t phone you because I thought it was too early,” he said as he headed toward his front door, his juicer in hand.