The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(42)

“Why couldn’t I have thought of that?” Alexus said to no one in particular.

Tapping the Bic pen on her desk, Rita Mae Bishop became contemplative; she sucked in her bottom lip and gazed at the pen for a long moment, “We need to hurry up and contract T-Walk to Costilla Corporation before another network gets him,” she mused. “I say we sign him to a five-year, two-hundred-million-dollar contract. That amounts to a fourth of the money he’s made us so far.”

“Two hundred and fifty million sounds better,” Alexus said, getting up from her chair. “He deserves it.”

“Sit back down. I’m not through with you yet.” Rita’s expression changed as she raised her eyes to her daughter’s. She put on a mask of scrutiny, and waited till Alexus was again seated to resume the conversation. “I’ve been looking into your investments, trying to ascertain the source of this perpetual influx of cash you’ve been receiving. Like all the other inquiring minds, I can’t find a thing.”

Alexus sighed. “Derivatives are an eighty-trillion-dollar market, it’s completely unregulated, and it’s all confidential. Of course you can’t find anything. No one can. Carlos Slim made twenty-five billion the year before last, and every investor in the world wanted to know how he did it. But it’s not for them to know. Some investments are made public, and some are kept private. Mine happens to be the latter.”

The blatant lie felt like vomit as it escaped Alexus’s mouth. Truthfully, the fourteen billion dollars she’d recently acquired came from dealing kilos of cocaine and heroin to the United Kingdom, Japan, Spain, France, Iceland, the Netherlands, and the United States of America, but Alexus couldn’t tell that to her mother. Rita Mae Bishop was a religious zealot, a devout Christian who followed the laws of the New Testament to a T. Criminal activity was one of her many pet peeves, and in her book drug-dealing was right up there with murder.

Rita placed her elbows on the desk and leaned forward. Her brows furrowed, and her eyelids moved closely together. “Alexus Costilla,” she said tightly. “You are the wealthiest person on this entire planet. I personally believe God blessed you with those riches for a reason. Do not let me find out otherwise.”





Chapter 25

Kush smoke curled up into the air from the end of Blake’s blunt as he toked on it. He was standing in his vast walk-in closet, beads of shower water dripping from his muscular frame, a custom-made Louis Vuitton bath towel wrapped around his waist, Chyna and Cereniti were drying him off with another towel, while he eyed his wardrobe and tried to decide on what to wear.

“You must be taking steroids,” Chyna said, sliding the towel along his powerful left arm. “You’re about as big as Busta Rhymes.”

Blake looked over at the sexy redbone stripper. She and Tee-Tee were both naked, and they, too, were laden in globules of water from the shower the three of them had just taken together. When he was re-awakened at 10:45a.m., Chyna’s mouth had been noisily slurping up and down his dick, and Cereniti had been f*cking Chyna from behind with a strap-on dildo. He had ejaculated in Chyna’s mouth for the second time in less than twenty-four hours. Then he’d sat up in bed and devoured a breakfast of steak, hash browns, and cheese eggs while the two dime pieces licked and sucked each other to trembling climaxes. In the shower, he’d f*cked both of them.

Now it was eleven-thirty, and Blake was ready to hit the streets.

“I need to go out and buy me something to wear,” Chyna said.

“I go you,” Tee-Tee promised. “We gottta hurry up, though. Me and Tasia gotta be at Redbone’s by four.”

“Y’all go ‘head,” Blake said, putting on a pair of Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. “Chyna, I’ll send somebody to pick you up before my Gary show. I want you to come onstage and dance when I perform “Money In The Air.” So wear somethin’ sexy.”

“I’m always sexy,” Chyna proclaimed arrogantly. “I need my money out of your car, too,”

“I told Enrique last night to have somebody put it all through the money machines and put it in some duffle bags. They should be sittin’ by the front door.” Blake grabbed a pair of Black denim Trukfit shorts—baggy enough to fit his usual thirty-grand bundles of Franklins in each pocket—and stepped into them. Then came a matching cap and tee shirt with TRUKFIT stretched across the chest in gold letters; a pair of Air Yeezy 2 sneakers; a Louis Vuitton belt with a blinging, white diamond-encrusted LV buckle; and a Louis Vuitton bandana, which he left hanging out of his rear left pocket.

He then bejeweled himself with a Cartier watch that had a hundred carats of white diamonds spread around its frame; a bracelet with twice as many white diamonds; four platinum necklaces that were replete with five-carat white VVS diamonds; a pair of platinum and white diamonds skewered through his earlobes.

Chyna and Cereniti studied him with intrigued eyes as he put on the jewelry and sprayed on a dash of Versace cologne. The two of them went back into the bedroom and got dressed while Blake visually scanned the section of the east wall where his collection of designer sunglasses was stored. He grabbed a pair of gold-framed Louis Vuitton shades and headed into the bedroom.

“Time for the walk of shame,” Chyna said sheepishly. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, smiling at Blake as he picked up four large bundles of hundred-dollar bills and his iPhone from his nightstand.