The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(7)

“What it is bruh?” Blake answered. He leaned back against the counter and stared at Mocha’s ass as she hurried off to the bathroom. She was tall and slender, and her pink denim booty shorts showed off her sexy chocolate legs.

“Man bruh,” Kenny-Lord said, “you ain’t gon’ believe what just happened. I called Mercedes to let her know I was on my way over there to pick her up, and that nigga answered the phone.”

Blake chuckled, “So that’s why they’re out there arguing now.”

“She told me he was supposed to be in Atlanta for two days.”

“Yeah, but his flight doesn’t leave until five. It’s not even twelve o’clock yet, bruh. You trippin’.”

The gates slowly swung open.

“I wish she would’ve told me that,” Kenny said. “I’m right around the corner from yo’ spot now.”

“We’re on our way to my album release party,” Blake said, securing the bulky pistol in his shoulder-holster. “Just follow my tour bus. We’ll kick it at Redbone’s for a couple hours, throw a few hundred thousand at the strippers, holla at Twista and Ross for a li’l bit, then get the f*ck up outta here. I gotta get some rest so I can be ready to perform on 106th and Park tomorrow.”

“A’ight, bruh, I’ll be right behind you.”

Blake put the iPhone back in its Louis Vuitton clip-on case on his hip. Momentarily, he observed his MGM crew through squinted eyelids. He wondered if they would be as successful and dominant in the rap game as MMG and YMCMB’s artists and if he, himself, would be a legendary CEO like Diddy and Birdman.

His attention shifted to the cantankerous couple as his driver eased the tour bus through the driveway entrance.

Mercedes Costilla and her dark-complected boyfriend, who Blake only knew as ‘Duke,’ were standing face to face in front of her bright, white Mercedes Maybach convertible. Her hands were planted on her hips. Duke was gesticulating angrily, and both were shouting in each other’s faces. Behind their car, Alexus’ snow-white Rolls-Royce Phantom limousine was parked in the middle of the street, followed by three white Tahoes full of armed body guards.

Blake told his driver, a thick-browed black man named Joey, to stop the coach. He stepped outside and perambulated to his sister-in-law’s side, fighting the overwhelming urge to sneak a peek at her jaw-dropping derriere. In her black Gucci jacket and snug black leggings, she looked stunning, almost like Mesha Seville.

“Punk ass nigga,” Mercedes was shouting, “you shouldn’t have f*cked my li’l sister! Now you wanna get mad cause I got a friend on the side?! Fuck you, Duke!”

“How many times are you gon’ bring that shit up?! I’ve apologized a thousand times already! What the f*ck do you want me to do?!” Duke raised his hands in frustration. He was six feet tall, the same height as Blake, and his Gucci outfit screamed new money.

Alexus exited the limo and headed toward them, her fur coat shimmering in the cool breeze. Four body guards accompanied her.

“Y’all need to chill out,” Blake said.

“You,” Duke countered, poking a finger at Blake’s face, “need to stay the f*ck out of my business. This ain’t got shit to do with you.”

Blake clenched his teeth and scowled at Duke, and Mercedes slapped Duke across the face. Hard.

“Bitch!” Duke exclaimed, wrapping his hands around her neck.

Blake shot his fist into Duke’s jaw, and Duke went down, unconscious, in the middle of the street.

Mercedes gasped. “Blake! Why’d you hit him?!” She kneeled down beside Duke and cradled his head in her arms.

Grabbing Blake’s hand, Alexus pulled him to the lime-green-painted tour bus. “You’re so f*cking stupid,” she chastised, snatching him along behind her.

Halfway down the block, Kenny-Lord’s black Porsche Panamera was parked at the curb; Kenny was standing outside of his open driver’s door, smiling at Blake and shaking his head.

Blake gave a nod, then boarded the coach behind Alexus.





Chapter 2

“That was completely uncalled for.”

“No it wasn’t. He shouldn’t’ve put his hands on her.” Blake studied his fiancée’s bellicose expression, easing back on the king-size bed as she stood before him. Her arms were crossed over the chest of her Dolce & Gabbana mini-dress. “Real men don’t hit women, punks hit women.”

Rolling her eyes, Alexus turned around and cut on the 50-inch LCD television. Her 32D-24-48 measurements strained against the thin fabric of her dress. After nearly two years with her, Blake was still obsessed with ogling her voluminous ass every time she turned her back to him. She tuned the TV to MTN News, one of her three television networks. Three anchormen were discussing the ramifications of the Trayvon Martin protests.

“He didn’t hit her,” she said stretching out next to Blake on the bed.

“Oh, my fault. He choked her.” Blake scoffed. “Big difference, huh.”

Alexus sighed. “What if he decides to press charges? Did you think about that?”

“You worry too much, give me a kiss.” Blake pulled her on top of him and grinned up at her.

“Kiss my fat ass, you crazy bastard.” She began unstrapping his bullet proof vest. “Aren’t you going to ask me how my trip went? I mean I have been gone for a week.”