The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(56)

The call had lasted a mere one minute and fifteen seconds.

“Wow… I never expected to hear from you again,” Alexus had said.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Blake had replied. “I’m just callin’ to see what’s up wit’ my li’l nigga. My momma told me you said he was sick.”

“He has a cold, that’s all. It’s nothing to worry about. Our doctor’s taking good care of him. He’s probably just missing his daddy.”

Just then, an awkward silence occurred. Blake had been sitting on the trunk of his brand-new triple-black 2013 Maybach Landaulet 62S convertible on the corner of 15th and Homan watching a group of teenage Vice Lords as they talked shit, rolled dice, and smoked blunts on the sidewalk next to him.

“Check your email when you get a chance,” Alexus had finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “I received King’s paternity test results via e-mail this morning. You should have it by now. I forwarded it straight to you.”

“What did it say?”

“Read it and find out.”

“Just tell me.”

“I want you to read it, Blake.”

He hung up on her without even a good-bye, and now, two months after that heart-wrenching phone call, he was lying in bed with Nona on his tour bus, reading King Neal Costilla’s paternity test results for the umpteenth time on his new iPhone5 and wondering how he’d allowed himself to lose the woman of his dreams. Although he was enjoying the single, no-strings-attached life he missed Alexus more than anything in the world. He had seen her on the red carpet at the MTN Music Awards, and it had taken every ounce of his energy not to walk over and speak to her.

Otherwise, though, the past few months had been grand for Bulletface. His North American tour had grossed $43 million in ticket sales, his newest mix-tape had gone platinum before it was even released, and the MBM compilation album featuring himself and nine of his recording artists had added $2.35 million onto his growing fortune. Mocha’s album had also gone platinum. And in early September, Blake had signed a seven-year contract with Reebok for $100 million, sixty-two million of which was given to him immediately after he’d signed the contract.

Now that his tour was over, he spent most of his days in the studio, and most of his nights inside strip clubs all across the country, throwing thousands of dollars at some of the most gorgeous big-bootied women God has ever created. On September twenty-first, his twentieth birthday, he had thrown $2 million in drug money at the sexy ladies who had danced for him at Kamal’s 21 in Atlanta, Georgia.

“What are you looking at?” Nona asked as she sat up and glanced at his smartphone. She had on a red-lace Victoria’s Secret bra and panties set, and the red Derrick Rose jersey dress she’d worn today was folded up at the foot of the bed beneath her red Bulls cap. “What is that, an e-mail?” She persisted.

“Stop bein’ so muhf*ckin nosy,” Blake said, exiting his Yahoo e-mail account. He turned to Nona and kissed her on the cheek as he sat up beside her.

“Don’t kiss me, nigga.” She crossed her arms over her big breasts and pouted, staring straight ahead at the TV. They were watching Rick Ross’ “Hold Me Back” video on BET’s 106th and Park.

“So,” Blake asked, “I can’t kiss you now?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause I said so, nigga, that’s why,” Nona snidely retorted. But she was smiling happily, and when Blake pressed his lips against the side of her neck and slipped a hand into her panties, she did not resist.

A moment later she was on top of him in the reverse cowgirl position, her panties pulled to the side, her slippery * coasting up and down the length of his dick with the celerity of a jackhammer. Blake took ahold of her waist and endured the ride.

Looking up at the mirrored ceiling, he opened his mouth and studied the blinging reflection of his new grille: $75,000 worth of platinum and white diamonds installed permanently into his gums. The dental procedure had taken nine hours to complete, and to Blake, it had been worth every minute and dollar spent. It went well with the white diamond-encrusted MBM pendant attached to his white diamond necklace, the white diamond-flooded Cartier watch on his left wrist, the 300-carat white diamond Jacob bracelet on his other wrist, the pair of round-cut 10-carat white diamond earrings that were gleaming in his lobes, and the jumbo pinkie rings that were sparkling on his hands. Altogether, the jewelry he was wearing had cost him close to two million dollars, about the same price as his new four-door Bugatti Galibier.

Through the Newell’s bedroom door, Blake could hear the thrumming bass of Chief Keef’s “Don’t Like,” along with the boisterous voices and laughs of his MBM team and the many women who were partying with them. Among the scantily clad women were four of Blake’s favorite adult film stars—Roxy, Pinky, Cherokee, and Nyomi Banxxx—and several urban video/magazine models, including Jazzie Belle, Maliah, Ms. Damn, Dream Girl, Cubana Lust, Leoncia, and Mesha Seville. They’d all just left Bulletface’s “Dime Pieces Everywhere” video shoot, which had been shot inside a forty-million-dollar Highland Park mansion and had featured Lil Wayne, Birdman, and French Montanan. Now the tour bus was headed to the Highland Park mansion that Blake had shared with Alexus. He had been staying there since their split.