The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(65)

He turned and walked straight over to Mercedes, who was wrapped up in Kenny’s mammoth arms. She pulled away from Kenny and gave Blake a hug, and Blake could clearly see the fear in her eyes. He noticed the same fear in Porsche and Cereniti’s eyes.

“Yo, we need to talk,” Cereniti said as they headed backstage.

“About what?” Blake was wiping sweat from his brow with the towel his assistant had just handed him.

Before Cereniti had a chance to reply, a fist slammed into Blake’s jaw, followed by several more vicious punches that sent him sprawling against the wall. Too dazed to defend himself, Blake shielded his head with his arms until the raining blows stopped.



He regained his equilibrium a moment later. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he looked up the brightly lit corridor and found that the culprit, whoever it was, was balled up on the linoleum floor beside the men’s restroom door, taking punches and kicks from a phalanx of Blake’s friends, including Kenny, Fly, and Young-D.

Blake pushed through the circle and bloodied his white Reeboks against his attacker’s face. It took him a minute to realize who it was he was stomping on, and when he did, he turned to Mercedes and glowered at her.

“He must’ve stolen my backstage pass,” Mercedes shakily admitted.

Rubbing his throbbing jaw, Blake delivered another kick to Duke’s battered face, then went to his dressing room and grabbed his golden Desert Eagle. “Nigga wanna fight?” He muttered as he spun around to return to the hallway.

But a slew of CPD officers and security guards were already spilling into the hall to break up the fight.

“Are you trying to get arrested?” Cereniti asked, nudging him back inside the dressing room.

Blake was furious. Examining himself in the mirror that was attached to the back of his dressing room door, he saw that his right eye was a bit swollen, and there was blood all over his diamond teeth. Cereniti stood beside him with her hands on her hips, looking like Draya Michele from the Basketball Wives of LA show.

“Listen,” she said, “I know you’re upset right now, but there’s something very important I have to tell you before we leave this stadium.” She raised her hands and cupped them against the sides of her neck. “Remember when you asked me to get in good with one of T-Walk’s guys? It was the day you caught Alexus…you know. Well, anyways, I’ve been talking to Squirm for a few months now, and he slipped up and told me something the other night, something about collecting a million dollars after this show tonight. I, uh…I think he’s planning on killing you.”

Blake only nodded.

‘Good,’ he thought. ‘I’m in the mood for some gun play.’





Chapter 41

“…I’m live here in Michigan City, Indiana, where just hours ago a small plane crashed into this secluded beach area behind me. The plane’s pilot, thirty-eight year old Jorge Godinez, has been confirmed dead of an apparent gunshot wound to the head. Eyewitnesses report seeing someone jump from the plane shortly before the crash…”

Papi muted the television, lit his Cuban cigar, and blew a ring of smoke toward the gold-and-crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling of Blake’s marble-floored living room. Alexus was pacing a tight circle in front of the gold-framed fireplace, smoking a joint of Blue Dream Kush to calm her rattled nerves. Flako was leaning forward beside Papi, using a razor to split open the kilo of cocaine that was sitting on the white marble coffee table in front of him.

“Blake sure does have good taste when it comes to choosing furniture,” Papi said, shifting himself deeper into the white leather sofa.

Actually, it had been Alexus who’d purchased the Italian leather sofa from a furniture store in Dubai, but the sofa was the furthest thing from her mind. She looked at the television and sighed. “It’s Aunt Jenny,” she said in a despondent tone of voice.

“We don’t know that,” said Papi.

Alexus rolled her eyes. “Come on now, Papi. Name another person you know who’s brave enough to kill the pilot of a plane they’re flying in. Go ahead. Name one.”

“Even if it is her, there’s no way she’ll find us here.”

“Where’s the guy who was tracking her phone?”

“Matamoros,” Papi said, ashing his cigar. “Doesn’t matter now. We lost track of her in Texas. She must have switched phones.”

Alexus tossed the joint in the fireplace, shaking her head worriedly. Her nerves were crumbling more and more by the minute. It was days like this that she wished her grandmother Vida Costilla was still alive. Vida had kept the Costilla Family together. She’d ruled over all the other Mexican drug cartels with an iron fist, and not once had she been forced to deal with a disloyal family member.

“So, why do I have to deal with this shit?” Alexus thought.

She watched her Uncle Flako scoop a small pile of coke out of the kilo and dump it on the table. He separated the uncut powder into four long lines, then snorted two of them through a rolled up hundred dollar bill. “Back to the money,” he mumbled, slouching back on the sofa and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What was that?” Alexus asked.

“We need to get back to the money,” Flako repeated. “Our supplies are running low, and the Colombian cartels are wondering why we haven’t been buying from them. Same with the Bolivian and Peruvian cartels. They all think that we are buying from everyone, but them. Tensions are brewing. There may be a war if we don’t do something soon.”