The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(14)

Blake’s little drug ring was nothing in comparison. He was moving two thousand kilos of cocaine, two hundred kilos of heroin, and around four thousand pounds of Kush, and that was per month. Although he was paying the same low prices as the Costilla’s, he was still only clearing $40 million a month after paying off his distributors, while the Costilla Cartel was raking in $2 billion a month.

“I still got, like, a thousand bricks of girl and a hundred and fifteen bricks of boy left at the River Forest mansion,” Blake said, leaning in for another kiss. “My tour’s coming up anyway. I need to start focusin’ more on my music and my artists’ music. Niggas in the streets keep comparin’ me to Big Meech, and that’s not the look I want. I ain’t trying to do all that time. I gotta be here to raise Vari and King Neal. I gotta be here to take care of you”—he landed a third kiss—“my sexy-ass wife.”

Smiling lightly, Alexus said, “The world is ours, Blake. No one can arrest us. We have the f*cking CIA on our side, and they’re keeping our whole family off the FBI and DEA’s radar. I have ten billion dollars in drug money being processed and washed through the stock market as we speak, and guess what? Nobody’s gonna say a word. It’ll all be seen as profits from savvy business investments, and we will continue to live like the other thirteen hundred billionaires live—like kings and queens, buying politicians and judges, dousing ourselves in diamonds and pearls, traveling the world in private jets. We’re unstoppable.” She broke away from his amorous embrace, pulled down her dress. “Let’s go eat. I had the chefs whip up your favorite meal. Steak tacos, cheesy baked potatoes, spaghetti, a whole turkey, string beans, corn on the cob, garlic bread, and a few other things. I can’t remember them all.”

Following Alexus to the dining room, which was located way on the other side of the mansion, Blake could not repress the big smile that crossed his face as he thought about how far he’d come in life over the past couple of years.

Back in 2010, he had spent the majority of his time standing on the corner or sitting in a crack house with his crew, selling rocks of crack cocaine, playing video games, smoking blunts, drinking Remy Martin, and f*cking the young ‘hood chicks who chased behind all the drug-dealers. In Michigan City, Indiana, Blake was considered a “head bussa” and a gunslinger. He was known for delivering knockout punches to wannabe tough guys and occasionally shooting them whenever he felt disrespected. He had been a low-echelon dealer, buying one or two ounces of cocaine at a time, cooking them into crack, and selling $10 and $20 rocks.

Then he had met Alexus, and his life hadn’t been the same since, especially after she transferred five hundred million dollars into his bank account.

“What are you getting me for my birthday?” Alexus asked, shaking Blake from his reverie.

“You’ll find out in twenty days.”

“It better be something romantic. I don’t want any more cars.”

As they entered the dining room, Blake spotted Mercedes and her younger half-sister Porsche sitting at the long, Honduran mahogany dining table with Mercedes’s two children—sixteen month old Meyonce’ and three year old “Baby Duke.” Porsche was tall, dark, and slender, with hardly any lady lumps, but her pretty smile and sassy attitude made up for the lack of curves.

Rita was also present at the table. She and Mercedes glowered at Blake as he took his place at the head of the table. Alexus sat at the opposite end, next to King Neal, who was bouncing up and down in his Versace highchair and reaching for her.

“Speaking of birthdays,” Alexus said, “today is Porsche’s seventeenth birthday. Her party starts at eight.”

“Yeah, and Mercedes li’l dusty butt won’t even let me drive her car to the party,” Porsche said acidly, rolling her eyes. “Like I didn’t just get my license the other week. Her dirty ass wasn’t trippin’ when I was drivin’ that broke down Intrepid she had. That Maybach done blew up her head.”

Mercedes flicked her cold stare from Blake to Porsche. “Shut the hell up, Porsche.”

“I’d appreciate it if you two watched your language in front of my mother,” Alexus scolded as the chefs began covering the table with steaming dishes.

Mercedes and Porsche murmured apologies to Rita, then everyone bowed their heads for prayer.

“Lord,” Rita started, “we thank you for this generous meal…”

Blake’s smartphone vibrated on his hip. Cracking open his eyes, he glanced around the table and, seeing that no one was watching him, grabbed his phone and checked the new text message. It was from Fly, a childhood friend of his who he’d put in charge of delivering his drugs.

“U n Chicago?!”

Blake frowned at the message, then quickly typed, “Yup. At the crib.” He got a reply seconds later.

“Bruh some niggas been ridin’ around M. City lookin’ for u all afternoon. I think they on bullshit.”

Blake replied instantly.

“Air ‘em out!”





Chapter 8

Squirm-G crept slowly down Willard Avenue in his dark blue Magnum, accessorized with chrome thirty-inch Lexani rims, blue Gucci interior, and a thunderous set of fifteen-inch speakers. A Gary native, he had only ventured out of his city four or five times before, and this was his second time visiting Michigan City. His first visit had been to club and party with a clique of fellow Gangster Disciples from his own city.