The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(28)

“Come on, Blake,” Cereniti suggested, waving him over.

He shook his head no. “Nah, I’m good. Y’all get it in,” he encouraged, Kush smoke pouring from his nostrils.

Ogling the three sexy women, he began snapping picture after picture especially when their jiggling backsides were visible as they took turns leaping off the diving board. Unintentionally, he studied Alexus and wondered if her measurements—32D-24-48, if his memory served him correctly—were more impressive than Nona’s.

Before he could stop himself, he opened Nona’s first text message. It was a reply from the one he’d sent.

‘I understand you’re getting married but you’re not married yet, and I at least wanna show you what you’d be missin’. You might want some of this good-good before you get married. I know you like pretty bitches wit’ big butts and I’m all that plus some. I’ll give you a bachelor party you’ll never forget! And, no, I don’t want one of your boys, either. I want the CEO of MBM. I want Bulletface.’

Chuckling to himself, Blake moved on to the next text message.

‘Just check out the video and tell me what you think. I’m about to send it then I’m going to bed. Mwah.’

“And I’m about to go to bed, too,” he mumbled, head spinning. He deleted the two messages he had just read and left the video unopened. Then he picked up his oversized duffle bag and shouted, “I’m goin’ to bed, baby.”

Alexus didn’t respond; she and her two friends were huddled together in one corner of the swimming pool, confabulating in whispers.

With an unbalanced gait, Blake strolled through the spacious white palace, leaving a trail of Kush smoke in his wake. He stopped at Savaria’s bedroom door and poked his head in to see if she was asleep. She was; her slender brown arms wrapped around one of her many teddy bears. Farther up the hall was King Neal’s bedroom, and he, too, was sleeping, lying on his side in the four-hundred thousand dollar gold framed crib.

In his own bedroom, Blake hurriedly stripped down to his boxers, cut off the lights, and got himself comfortable beneath the covers. For a long while, he gazed up at the mirrored ceiling, trying vehemently to think clearly through the Kush and Ciroc that clouded his brain.

All his thoughts revolved around money, how to make another five hundred million dollars. He considered the notion of buying into a vodka or cognac company and then promoting the liquor in his music to accumulate some more cash. Opening an upscale lounge like Jay-Z didn’t sound like a bad idea, either. Maybe he’d start a clothing line. A publishing company. A restaurant franchise. A magazine, like DJ Kayslay. A reality show, like T-Walk.

T-Walk.

The name made Blake’s blood boil. He knew T-Walk had to be behind Lil Mike’s murder. That shooting had T-Walk written all over it. A few years ago, back when Blake and his clique had been copping nine ounce blocks of cocaine from Trintino Walkson, Blake had learned how T-Walk handled beef after watching Trintino and another hustler get into a fist fight outside the convenience store that Blake now owned. The other guy had gotten the best of T-Walk, and the following morning he’d paid for it with his life. An 80’s model Buick Regal had pulled up alongside him, and someone had emptied a Tec 9 submachine gun into his head and chest. Blake later found out that T-Walk had paid $50,000 for the hit.

Then there was the time when T-Walk sent three ski-masked men to gun Blake down. Blake had managed to return fire and kill one of them before he was shot ten times and left lying on the sidewalk across the street from his childhood home. He had lured T-Walk to a park on the northwest side of Chicago several months later and emptied two nine millimeter pistols into T-Walk’s Rolls-Royce Ghost, hitting T-Walk twice.

And now Lil Mike was dead, gunned down in the same fashion.

“I gotta kill that nigga, T-Walk,” Blake muttered acidly as he shut his eyes and rolled onto his side.

He was teetering on the edge of dreamland when he heard Alexus’s gentle voice.

“Blake, Blake, are you awake?” She whispered. Her voice grew closer with every word.

Blake contemplated rolling over and putting Alexus to bed. But his head was spinning at dangerous speeds, so he kept quiet and didn’t move, even after she’d shaken his shoulder a few times and murmured his name again.

He felt the covers on the large, custom-designed circular bed shift as she climbed onto it. The palatable scent of her skin invaded his nose.

And then, maybe a minute later, she moaned. An unmistakably sexual moan. Blake forced open his eyes and stared at the glowing red numbers on the digital clock that sat on his bedside table. 10:57, it read.

Alexus moaned twice more, and Blake smiled widely. He presumed she was pleasuring herself with one of her many sex toys—she owned a plethora of them, dildos, vibrating dildos, lubricants, anal toys—‘til he heard Cereniti’s distinctive voice whisper, “Quiet down, yo. You’re gonna wake him up.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Alexus whispered back.

Blake listened for a while, grinding his teeth at every wet, sucking sound he heard. The fact that Alexus was involved sexually with another woman didn’t bother Blake; he actually liked the idea of seeing her have sex with a woman. What upset him was the sneakiness of the whole situation.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and, reluctantly, drifted off to sleep.