The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(26)

“Sexy li’l cheerleader I met at the Bulls game the other night. She’s Puerto Rican and Brazilian, kinda resembles Rosa Acosta. Crazy thing is”—she laughed jubilantly—“I actually got her by talking about Blake. She wanted to know if I ever hung around Bulletface, if I’d ever watched him record in the studio, if all that jewelry was really his, if”—another snicker—“his dick was as big as they say it is.”

“Don’t get that bitch f*cked up,” Alexus warned, glowering at her lesbian friend. “She’ll end up like those Whitney bitches in Indiana.”

Tasia and Cereniti gasped in unison, and Alexus instantly regretted her words. Up until now, no one aside from Blake and a couple of Costilla cartel members had known about Alexus’s direct involvement in the now infamous Whitney murders. She quickly thought up an explanatory spiel.

“Not that I had anything to do with that, but…I’m sure I can pay somebody to do it,” she muttered unconvincingly.

“O…M…G,” Tasia said, emphasizing each letter. “Please tell me you did not have your sister’s mother killed.”

“No! No, I didn’t have Mercedes’ mom killed. I didn’t even know I had a sister when those women were killed.”

“Hmm,” Tasia grunted dubiously, and went back to perusing her phone screen. “Sure didn’t sound like that.”

Alexus was contemplating cussing Tasia’s ass out, but the ringing of her phone interrupted her thoughts.





Chapter 17

“I’ll be home in about five minutes,” Blake said as soon as Alexus answered her phone. He was speaking into his Bluetooth earpiece, traversing the dark Chicago streets in the world’s fastest production car. He had taken the gold-plated .50 caliber out of the Louis Vuitton shoulder-holster under his hoody and laid it on his lap shortly before he got off the highway; one could never be too cautious in this city.

“I’m already on my way to the party with Tee-Tee and Tasia,” Alexus told him. “What are you doing home so early anyway? I thought you were staying out till midnight.”

“I changed my mind. Turn around and come back home.”

She scoffed in disbelief. “Blake, are you serious?” She murmured.

“I’m always serious—even when I’m laughin’. Now I know you got two or three Tahoe’s followin’ you. Hop in one of ‘em and come home. And tell Tasia to let T-Walk know, if I find out he was behind this shit that just happened to my li’l nigga, I’m at his head.”

“Calm yourself down, boy. Don’t go jumping to conclusions. With all the people you’ve shot and killed, there’s no telling who—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to stop sayin’ that over the phone?” Blake fustigated. “I don’t care how secure you think these lines are.” He paused, ashing the pinguid blunt he was smoking. “I ain’t never killed nobody anyway.”

“I was only kidding. Hold on a second.” Alexus shouted for her driver to return to the mansion. Then she was back on the phone. “I hope you aren’t drunk driving.”

“Nah, I’m good. I only had a few sips of Ciroc before I left. I’m on my fifth blunt, though.” He coughed several times. “I’ll see you in a minute, baby. Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Taking in the scenery through stringently squinted red eyes, Blake was, like always, amazed by the affluence of his Highland Park neighborhood. Parked along the curbs were Benzes, Jaguars, Range Rovers, Porsches, and few Bentleys and Rolls-Royces. The mansions were large, their rolling lawns impeccably landscaped. Everything was perfect.

“How in the hell did these white muhf*ckas get all this money?” He muttered aloud to himself. His phone beeped before he could ponder the profound question.

It was a text message from Nona Malden:

‘Made a vid 4 u. Can I send it?’

Blake waited ‘til he was at the looming wrought iron gates in front of his home to reply.

‘U can’t be textin’ me like that li’l mama. I’m about to get married. I’ll plug u wit’ 1 of my niggas, though.’

He sent the message, then reached up to the small rectangular remote clipped to the overhead visor and pressed its single button; the gates opened.

Driving up the quarter-mile-long driveway, finishing off the blunt and wishing he was single so he could pay Nona a visit without feeling fake about it, he glanced around the expansive lawn at the dozen or so dark suited Costilla cartel bodyguards. They were armed with FN P90 machine guns, dressed like they were auditioning for the newest Men In Black movie.

By the time he made it to the circular drive in front of the mansion Alexus’ limo and her security’s two Tahoes were rolling toward him. He re-holstered the golden Desert Eagle, grabbed the duffle bag, and stepped out of the car, taking in a deep inhalation of the cool night air. He thought of his parents, who were now residing in California’s posh suburban Brentwood area, and wondered if their nights were ever this cool.

Alexus was at his side a moment later. “Mind if they”—she canted her head toward Tasia and Tee-Tee, who were standing beside the limo—“stay over for the night? They won’t bother you, I swear.”

“I ain’t trippin’. Long as Tee-Tee don’t go on another stealin’ spree.”