The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(50)

Blake turned and headed onto the Newell, waving for Fly and Nona to follow him. His crew of Dub Life Goonz—all clad in black Trukfit outfits with Louis Vuitton accessories, Air Yeezy 2 sneakers, and blinging white diamond-encrusted jewelry—split up and hopped into their Chevys, and the MBM artists boarded the other two coaches.

Upon entering the tour bus, Blake found Kenny sitting on the black leather sofa across from the recording booth with his black Trukfit sweatpants pulled down to his knees. Mercedes was kneeled between his parted legs, sucking his dick in and out of her throat; she twisted her head to look at Blake, Fly, Frederick, and Nona, then continued her highly skilled blowjob.

“Damn…,” Fly commented. “She’s damn near better than Superhead.”

“She done popped two of them Blue Dolphins,” Kenny chuckled. “I told her not to take ‘em both at the same time.”

“Oh, my God, she looks just like Alexus,” Nona murmured. “Isn’t she Alexus’ long-lost sister or something?”

Blake kept quiet. His adrenaline was already pumping. He went to his bedroom door, unlocked it, and stepped inside.

There were four guns lying next to the Louis Vuitton duffle bag at the foot of his bed: two 9-millimeter Uzi submachine guns with 32-round clips, a Smith & Wesson AR-15 assault rifle, and the gold-plated AK-47. Blake was tucking the Uzis inside his duffle when Fly and Nona walked into the bedroom. Fly plopped down on the bed and pulled a rubber-banded bundle of fresh Benjamin’s out of his hoody pocket. Nona stayed near the doorway, flicking her eyes around the lavishly furnished room.

“This bus is literally a mansion on wheels,” Nona said, her cotton voice replete with awe. She looked at the cash-filled duffle and gasped. “Oh, my… how much money is that?”

“A whole lot,” Blake said. He turned to Fly. “Let me see your car keys, bruh. I’m about to, uh…. Drive down to that corner store on Sixteenth and Drake. I ran out of cigars. You can hop in Spyda’s Chevy.”

Frederick Douglass barged into the room with a grim frown on his face. “Did I just hear you correctly?” He asked Blake. “We can send someone to get your blunts. You have a show in less than an hour, Blake. Time is money, and you’d be foolish to waste it.”

“It’ll only take thirty minutes to get to the G from here,” Blake argued, zipping the duffle shut. “I’ll be back in ‘bout ten minutes.” He picked up a long cylindrical gym bag from the black fur carpet on the other side of his bed and laid the assault rifles inside it. “Come on, Nona. You can ride wit’ me,”

“She can stay wit’ me,” Fly said, counting through the bundle of hundreds and casting a suggestive stare at Nona. “How much I gotta drop for some wet-wet? I’ll blow a rack on you.”

“I am not a groupie, Mr. Whatever-Your-Name-Is.” Nona rolled her eyes, crossed her arms, and sucked her teeth. “There are over a thousand girls packed into that park outside. I’m sure one of them will gladly let you “blow a rack” for some *, but it won’t be blown on me.”

Blake laughed aloud as he closed the gym bag, showing Nona a veridical smile of appreciation. “Damn, you can’t give my nigga no *? I’ll give you ten racks on top of what he wanna give you, got it in my pocket right now.”

“And you still got it,” Nona retorted snidely.

Her belligerent remark elicited laughs from everyone, including Kenny, who had just appeared in the doorway behind her, buckling his YSL belt and smoking a Newport cigarette. Mercedes wrapped her arms around his waist and peered over his shoulder.

Frederick released a sigh of frustration as Blake walked past him and handed the gym bag to Kenny.

“You and Mercedes come wit’ me,” Blake said.





Chapter 29

“How did I get myself into this predicament?” Alexus murmured thoughtfully, gazing across the room at Trintino Walkson as he folded a line of Kush into a Swisher Sweets cigarillo.

They were seated on separate white Italian leather sofas in the spacious living room of Alexus’s five-story Trumbull Avenue home, which had been a foreclosed apartment building when she’d purchased it early last year.

Now, after $3 million in renovations and upgrades, the former eyesore boasted heated white marble floors, seven bedrooms, seven full bathrooms, an exercise gym, a seven-seat theater, twenty-one indoor and outdoor cameras, and a four-car garage.

“I didn’t even know you had a house out here,” T-Walk said.

“There are probably a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Alexus fired back. “Now, do you mind telling me why you felt the need to put that video on the Internet? And hurry up before I call my mom and have her shred the new contract we just put together for you.”

“New contract? What new contract?”

“Two hundred and fifty million for five more years with the Minority Television Network. But you can forget about the contract if you’re not planning on apologizing to Blake.”

T-Walk’s face became locked in an expression of sheer disbelief. “Fifty million every year till twenty seventeen?” His voice was an octave above a whisper, and his eyes were flicking rapidly from Alexus to the Tika Sumpter-looking attorney sitting beside her.

The attorney said. “Yes, Mr. Walkson. You’ll get fifty million ever year, a little over four million every month. And due to the epic success of your reality shows, the cast of both Brick House shows will now be paid four hundred thousand per episode. MTN will also be financing the budget for your pageant. It’s all included in your contract.”