The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(53)

T-Walk wasted no time. He got behind her, eased his thick eight inches into her juicy *. A lot of people said Alexus looked just like Nicki Minaj but Trintino thought she looked more like Cubana Lust than anything, and in his opinion, Cubana Lust was the world’s second most beautiful woman.

Alexus was number one on that list.

Clamping his hands onto her narrow waistline, he slowly began to f*ck her from behind, sliding all the way in and halfway out, watching her plentiful juices accumulate along the length of his tan serpent. Alexus’s meaty buttocks jiggled wildly at his every thrust, and her euphonious moans grew louder and louder as Trintino picked up the pace.

He pounded in and out of her warm, gushy * with piston-like speed while she massaged her clitoris and couple of minutes later, her body went rigid, her vaginal walls tightened around his dick, and her orgasmic juices spilled down onto the sofa.





Chapter 32

“Nigga, what the f*ck was you thinking’?” snapped Terrence “Streets” King. Tall and dark, with a medium build and a low-cut fade, Streets was only a few years older than Blake, but he was still Blake’s big brother, and now was the time for a big brother speech.

But Blake was far too overwhelmed with emotion—anger and fear, for the most part—to pay his brother any mind. After the shooting, Nona had sped back to the tour bus, while Blake tried again and again to call Alexus. Then Nona and Mercedes had rushed onto the tour bus behind Blake and Streets and watched from a darkly-tinted window as Fly hopped in his Chevy and raced away with Kenny’s blood-soaked body (he’d been shot once through the chest) stretched out across his back seat.

Now, sitting between Mercedes and Nona on the black leather sofa across from his recording booth, smoking a seven-gram blunt of Purple and sipping on a bottle of Ace of Spades, Blake studied his angry-faced brother as Streets paced to and fro in front of him.

“Question,” Blake said, glowering at the ribbon of smoke curling up from the crimson tip of his blunt. “What did you expect me to do, let them kill me? Let them kill Mercedes? Nigga, I ain’t about to be playing’ out here in these streets! Look at what happened to Pac and Biggie, and Jam Master Jay, and 50 Cent. Shit, look at what happened to me! You think I’ma let myself get shot up again?”

“You could’ve had one of the goons take care of that, li’l bruh. The only thing you should be focused on is getting’ money, expandin’ the MBM brand in the same way Birdman and Tunechi are doin’ with YMCMB.”

“And that’s exactly what I’m doin’.” Blake filled his lungs with smoke, shifted his eyes to the smartphone that was lying on his lap amongst a hundred and twenty thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills, and then turned to Nona. “You a’ight, li’l momma?” He asked, nudging her voluminous thigh with the golden champagne bottle.

“I’m fine,” Nona mumbled. “Shit like this goes down in Detroit all the time. I’m just glad I wasn’t shot.”

Blake turned up the bottle and gulped down another mouthful of Jay-Z’s $475 bubbly. For a while, no one spoke, and Blake got a chance to relax and think as the tour bus rumbled up the mildly congested expressway. He wondered why Alexus wasn’t answering his calls, and if Jenny Costilla had sent the crew of Latinos to murder him and Mercedes. That had to be the case. Why else would they come after Mercedes while he was with her?

A third perturbing thought suddenly invaded his contemplation. The H2 Hummer that had been parked in front of Reesie Cup’s strip club—it was identical to the Hummer Fly had described as being present during Lil Mike’s murder.

But—if it was in fact the same white H2—what was it doing in Chicago, parked at the curb of Cup’s second-most lucrative establishment?

Abruptly, Blake snatched up his iPhone to call Reesie Cup, but an incoming call from Cereniti halted him.

“Chyna’s on her way to the Genesis Center now,” Tee-Tee said. “She’s driving the Phantom. Took me an hour to teach her how to use the navigation system, but I think she got it, yo. And I gave her your number. She’ll call you as soon as she makes it into Gary.” Before Blake could reply, she sailed on. “Yo, if I tell you somethin’, you gotta promise not to tell a soul.”

“Tell me somethin’ like what?”

Tee-Tee let out an audible sigh. “I, uh… just pulled into the parking lot at Redbone’s. Three of the guys who were in that video with T-Walk are standing out here by the back door. I think he brought them out here to cop some… stuff from Cup. Tasia sent me a text a few minutes ago saying Alexus and T-Walk were somewhere having a meeting.”

“What?!” Blake exclaimed, tearing off his shades.

But then it clicked. Of course, T-Walk should be in town for the first taping of Down the Pole, which was being filmed at Redbone’s.

“Yeah,” Tee-Tee continued. “MTN’s supposed to be signing T-Walk to a quarter-billion-dollar contract for five years, and I guess Alexus is meeting with him to discuss that.”

“Right on.” Blake was grinding his teeth-together. He glanced over at Mercedes and saw that she was still bawling uncontrollably. “Are the police out there?”

“How’d you know that?” Tee-Tee asked “They’re mad deep out here, b. Mad deep. Three people just got killed outside that corner-store on Drake. Somebody shot their car up with a machine gun, Swiss-cheesed that mother-f*cker, too. I’m hoping that shit won’t affect the show.”