The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(30)

The million dollars he’d bet on the Heat went down the drain, leaving him mildly upset as he and Alexus stood to leave.

Their twenty person entourage and eight of her bodyguards occupied the seats behind them. Blake’s party of eight consisted of four Mafia Insane Vice Lords out of Gary, Indiana, three Traveling Vice Lords from Chicago, and his drug distributor, Fly, the only non-Vice Lord in the group; Fly was a Black Disciple, plugged with a clique of BDs on Chicago’s Low-End. The whole group was thuggishly-comported in baggy jeans with Louis Vuitton and Gucci accessories, and each of them had on at least a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of diamond jewelry.

Alexus had brought along Mercedes, Porsche, Cereniti, Tasia, and eight more Chicago women who she’d been club-hopping with for the past couple of weeks. They were Mercedes and Porsche’s cousins and friends, and Alexus had all of them rocking thirty-thousand dollar designer dresses, Louboutin heels, diamond earrings and tennis bracelets. They looked more like Hollywood girls than ‘hood chicks.

Flanked by the eight bodyguards, Blake and Alexus headed out of the stadium behind their entourage.

“We’re all going over to Club LIV,” Alexus said, glancing over at Blake. “Me and the girls are meeting up with Trina to party for a while. If I don’t answer my phone, it’s probably because I didn’t hear it.” She shot him another look. “I know you’re about to enjoy yourself at King of Diamonds, and I don’t have a problem with that. Just try to keep your dick in your pants.”

“What?!” Blake scoffed, knitting his brows together. “You getting’ on my muhf*ckin’ nerves wit’ all these slick-ass comments. Better fix that attitude.”

She sighed, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. “Whatever, Blake. I am not about to argue with you. Go and do whatever you feel like doing. It’s not like you really want to marry me, anyway.”

Stone faced, Blake stared straight ahead as they tramped down a brightly lit hallway that led into the parking garage where all the NBA players and officials parked. He thought: ‘God, why are women so difficult?!’

He pulled Alexus aside as soon as they entered the garage.

“Baby, what the f*ck is wrong with you?” He had a firm grip on her elbow.

“You are what’s wrong with me!” She hissed furiously, crossing her arms over the ample cleavage displayed in the V-split chest of her jumpsuit. “Why don’t you want to marry me?”

“Who said I didn’t?”

“You did—the day we went to New York for 106th and Park. I asked you if you wanted to fly out to Vegas and get married, and you said no.”

“Because I want my family there when I get married. I want our kids there. Fuck we look like getting married in Las Vegas, wit’ nobody there to celebrate wit’ us?”

“Kelly Rippa and her husband did it,” Alexus pointed out. “So did Ice T and Coco. I don’t see why we can’t.” She reached in her Gucci shoulder bag—white leather, of course—and snatched out her iPhone. Two seconds later she was holding it up in front of Blake’s face. “I bet you would have married this bitch.”

Blake stared at the picture in shock. It showed Tootie sitting on his lap in the basement of his Michigan City home. She was facing him, and his hands were on her ass.

Someone had taken pictures on the night of Lil Mike’s murder.

“Mmm-hmm. You f*cked her, didn’t you?” Alexus sounded calm—the calm before the storm, the eye of Katrina. “Tell me the truth,” she demanded, taking off her Marc Jacobs shades with one hand and ripping Blake’s from his face with the other.

“Baby, on King Neal—” he started.

“Don’t lie on my son’s name,” Alexus interrupted.

“Swear to God I’m not lyin’. I didn’t f*ck that girl. As a matter of fact, I left that night and went back home to you just to keep myself from cheatin’. That was the same night you and Tee-Tee got on that freak shit in our bed.”

Alexus sucked her teeth. “Don’t try to turn this on me. We came in there to have a threesome with you, and when I saw that you were asleep, I let her eat my *. That’s all that happened. And I tried to wake you up several times.” Her hands moved to her hips. “I’ve told you before, if you want to f*ck with another bitch, we’ll do it together. Sneaking around behind each other’s backs is not cool.” She gave him his shades. “Here, boy. We’ll finish this conversation later. Love you.”

She pecked her lips against his, squinting dubiously. Then she turned and sauntered to her snow-white 24-passenger H-2 Hummer limousine, her huge ass shaking with every step. Enrique helped her into the limo, and then it was gone, followed by two white Tahoes.

Blake started off toward his triple-black Bugatti Veyron Grand Sport convertible, where his entourage was standing. The cars they’d driven—two Bugatti Veyron Super Sports and three Rolls-Royce Phantom Drophead Coupes—were also triple-black. All six of the cars were Blake’s, and he’d had their colors changed from lime-green to black the day after Lil Mike’s funeral.

“Fuck was she talkin’ ‘bout?” Kenny-Lord inquired. He was leaning back against the trunk of Blake’s Bugatti convertible, wearing a white tee with Free K.T. printed across the chest in bold black letters. The other three MIVLs—Rube and Batman, two lean and dark-skinned men with dreadlocks, and Pat, a brawny, bald-headed, brown-hued ruffian—wore identical tees.