The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(58)

“Shiiiit,” Blake said, stuffing the cash and pistol in his hoody pocket. “Seventeen racks for another purse? I done already bought you about twenty of ‘em.”

“I know, but this one’s different.”

“I bet it is.”

“I’m serious, Bulletface.”

“I am, too.” He slipped his hands around her waist and squeezed her mammoth rear cheeks, smiling his signature half-smile. “I think it’s about time you gave me a threesome. What’s up wit’ that bad bitch from Nap you be hangin’ wit’?”

“Who, Crysta or Jonae?”

“Both of ‘em.”

“Fine. Give me the money for the purse, and I’ll get them to buss down with us.” She checked her red diamond-encrusted Audemar watch for the time. Blake had bought it for her on his birthday, along with a three-hundred-thousand-dollar cherry-red Aston Martin DBS and a rented oceanfront mansion in Malibu, California. “They’re still in Indianapolis right now. I think they’re throwing a birthday party for one of the other Cream Team girls, the one Yo Gotti used to f*ck with.”

“Cream Team? What’s that, the name of their clique?”

“Yeah. They’re a bunch of bad bitches from all over Nap-town. Their asses and tits are fake, but they’re all pretty much dime pieces. Every street nigga who’s ever kicked it in Nap knows them: especially the ballers. Crysta and Jonae won’t even f*ck you without receiving some kind of payment. I’ll give them five hundred apiece and tell them it’s from you.”

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, halting their conversation. Blake stared at her ass—it looked like two big watermelons in that tight-fitting dress of hers—as she sauntered over to the door and opened it.

Slim and brown-complected and clad in a gray Akoo sweatsuit, Young-D barged into the room holding a bottle of Ciroc in each hand. “Bruh,” he said, talking to Blake but staring at Nona, “Cubana and Leoncia wanna take some pictures with you.” He kept his squinted eyes glued to Nona’s fat ass until she crossed her arms and scowled at him. Then he turned to Blake, who was at the bedside table putting on four more white diamond necklaces. “Get out here and join this muhf*ckin party, nigga. You got a tour bus full of big-booty bitches, and you in here cakin’. How much bread have you blown on this rat today? Ten racks? Twenty?”

“I gotcho rat, nigga,” Nona retorted. She sat on the bed and put on her Bulls cap, leaning it slightly to the left the way Blake always wore his. “Whatever Blake gives me is none of your business.”

Blake said, “Watch how you talk to my nigga.”

“Yeah, what he said,” Young-D added with a vague grin.

Nona turned to the television, cantankerously rolling her eyes and sucking her teeth.

“Stop disrespectin’ my bitch, too, nigga,” Blake muttered, snatching a bottle of Ciroc out of Young-D’s grasp. “What’s up wit’ Fly?”

“I just talked to him. He’s flyin’ in from Turks and Caicos wit’ some ‘hood bitches and a couple niggas he been trappin’ wit’. They should be at the mansion in about an hour. He got Tootie and that bad li’l bitch from St. Louis wit’ ‘im.”

“He took some hood rats to the Bahamas?”

Shrugging his shoulders dismissively, Young-D curled an arm around the nape of Blake’s neck and ushered him out of the bedroom.

‘Oh, my God,’ Blake thought to himself as he and Young-D traversed the ambulant crowd of women. He’d always been most attracted to black women with cute faces, small waists, and massive asses. Now he found himself surrounded by them. All the girls—there were two dozen of them—had on strapless white Dolce & Gabbana dresses ($12,500 apiece) and five-inch Giuseppe Zanotti ankle booties. “Dime Pieces Everywhere” was blaring loudly from the coach’s state-of-the-art sound system, and a few of the girls were bouncing to the beat.

‘Birds just landed, I got nine pieces everywhere

In the club throwin’ racks, dime pieces everywhere

New Bugatti Galibier, this four-door is very rare

Engine loud, can barely hear, it’s supa fast, can barely steer

So buss it open, come pop that * over here

Say I’m the king, king of the Mid just so we clear

Bulletface, Money Bagz, I’m the king of shinin’

All these chains on, just call me the king of diamonds…’

Blake was taking a picture with a few of DJ Kayslay’s Straight Stuntin Magazine models—Mesha Seville, Jazzie Belle, and Ms. Damn—when Young-D walked up and whispered in his ear.

“Baby-momma just texted me saying T-Walk is s’posed to be in Michigan City tonight just for some kinda event at The Swagger. We can catch that nigga on the Boulevard when he leavin’ and…shit, you already know.”

Blake pulled Young-D to the side and gazed silently out his tour bus’ side window. He’d been patiently waiting on the perfect opportunity to avenge Lil Mike’s death, and now was his chance. Tonight he had a sold-out show at the United Center, with special guest appearances from Rozay, French Montana, Gucci Mane, Yo Gotti, and Twista. The concert would give Blake the perfect alibi if the cops ever were to come around asking questions.

‘Fuck it,’ he thought.