The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(76)

“Some bullshit.” Tucking his Glock in the waistline of his Pelle Pelle jeans, T-Walk stepped around the desk and stood over Alexus.

“Ay, folks,” Squirm said, “I need them blocks to lay on Regg and Ant for handlin’ that business.”

“They gotta wait until I can verify that.”

“Nigga, what the f*ck you think this is, Burger King? You can’t always have it your way,” replied Squirm.

Those were his last and final words.

*****

As Alexus slowly regained consciousness, she heard Squirms’ voice, the voice that had always for some reason made her skin crawl.

Now the reason was clear.

Squirm was the guy who had demanded a billion dollars for King Neal’s ransom. “Bitch, what the f*ck you think this is, Burger King?” He’d said, and now he had just practically repeated the same question.

‘I have to get out of here and find my momma,’ Alexus thought, slowly pushing her hand down into the left pocket of her coat. She took a deep breath. Fought through the foggy pain that was pounding at the rear of her skull.

Then, drawing the revolver, she rolled over onto her back and buried a bullet beneath Squirm’s chin, sending the top of his head and everything inside it to the ceiling. Before his brainless body could even hit the floor, Alexus turned the gun on his bear-sized comrade and blasted him twice in the chest. She considered putting a hole in T-Walk’s ass as he fled the office, but her attention shifted to Thunder, who had just crawled under T-Walk’s desk.

“Nuh-uh, bitch,” Alexus said, walking around the desk. She grabbed a handful of Thunder’s hair and dragged her out of the impromptu hiding spot. She pressed the.44’s smoking barrel into the reality star’s left eyelid. “Did you by any chance see what happened to these men?”

“I didn’t see anything,” Thunder cried.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure. I didn’t see a thing. I was in the restroom.”

Alexus felt compelled to slap the revolver across Thunder’s face. But what was the use? And she had to hurry up and get to the church before it was too late.

So she let go of Thunder’s hair and, through clenched teeth, said, “Don’t you ever touch my man again. Don’t call him, don’t text him—don’t even look at him. Remember Nat Turner? The MTN News anchorman my mother used to date? Do you remember how he died in Southampton County, Virginia? They found him hanging from the same tree that his sister had been lynched from. You remember that, don’t you? It happened on November eleventh of last year.” She kicked the sharp toe of her Louboutin heel into Thunder’s exposed ribcage and stepped back as the equally thick-bottomed reality star curled up into an aching fetal position.

Then she turned and walked away, stopping to pry her other revolver from Squirm’s flaccid grip.

“Broke-ass hood rat,” she said, leaving the office. “I’m thee boss bitch. I’m the cocaine princess. Pablo Escobar ain’t got shit on me.”





Chapter 50

Parked behind the white Rolls-Royce limo was Blake’s matte black two-door Phantom. Its suicide doors were wide open, and Blake was sitting with his legs outside the driver’s door, rolling yet another blunt of Kush and staring at The Swagger’s rear exit door. His twin Desert Eagles were resting on his lap, and between them was his iPhone5; he was on the phone with Lil Meach, his rap protégé.

Lil’ Meach and the other three MBM rap stars who had accompanied him in the Range Rover were in front of the club, waiting on T-Walk to make his exit.

“Bruh, we’ ready,” Meach said. “Dub Life twenty cars deep out here. That nigga finna get it.”

“You say everybody leavin’?”

“Man, they rushin’ out this muhf*cka. Somebody said they heard some gunshots comin’ from upstairs.”

“They ‘bout to hear some more,” Blake said. He looked at Nona, who was standing beside Mercedes near the trunk of the limo. She was massaging Mercedes’ shoulders. Mercedes was crying, and Blake figured it was because she felt she’d betrayed him by letting Duke get ahold of her backstage pass.

But that situation was already out of Blake’s head. He’d gotten a text message from Reesie Cup a few minutes ago. Duke and another Four Corner Hustler had just been shot to death outside of a Chicago hospital. Blake owed Cup $100,000 for the hit.

“We gon’ catch this nigga drivin’ out the parkin’ lot,” said Meach.

“Just make sure y’all leave his ass stankin’. I can’t accept no f*ck ups. Not this time. Not after that highway stunt they just pulled.” His phone vibrated with a call from Cup. “Make sure Alexus ain’t with him before y’all start shootin’. I got another call, bruh.”

Lighting his blunt, Blake clicked over to speak with Reesie Cup, nodding his head to the distant beat of a Mary J. Blige ringtone as it blared from Mercedes’ smartphone.

He wondered if it was someone calling her with the news of her baby’s daddy’s unfortunate demise.

He kept an eye on her.

“You’re at The Swagger, right?” Cup asked.

“Ain’t that what I told you five minutes ago?” Blake retorted sharply. He was still upset about Reesie Cup’s involvement in his daughter’s kidnapping two years prior. “I’m parked in the alley behind the club. Why you out here?”