The Cocaine Princess Part 5 (Cocaine Princess Series #5)(9)

But today was different. Blake’s album release party was an invitation-only event and he had only invited two hundred and ninety people. Nearly half of them were real niggas and ‘hood chicks from all throughout the Midwest. The rest were rappers, R&B stars, record label executives, video models, and a few Chicago Bulls players.

Cheers erupted as Alexus, Blake, and the entire roster of MBM artists walked through the club’s rear entrance, flanked by Alexus’ burly team of bodyguards. Blake had thrown on a red True Religion sweater over his bulletproof vest and wedged the Desert Eagle in the waistline of his jeans. The extra-large Louis Vuitton duffle bag he was carrying held three million dollars in bank-new Benjamins.

Fred Douglass, MBM’s music manager, was a stern-demeanored brown man with a beard that was almost as dense as his afro. Dressed in a dark, conservative business suit, he led Blake and Alexus to a VIP table in the back of the club. The table was large and circular, and it had a golden stripper pole protruding from its center. There were ten VIP tables in all. Each one had a cute-faced, big-bootied stripper dancing on its pole.

“I’ve got good news,” Douglass said, standing off to the side as Blake and Alexus sat down. “A hundred and fifteen thousand copies of your album have already been sold on iTunes, and that’s just the preorders. More than likely, we’re looking at sales of up to half a million copies in the first week, maybe more.”

“We’ll sell more than that.” Alexus was smiling and waving at Rick Ross and Meek Mill, who were seated at the table to the right of her. Gucci Mane and Waka Flocka occupied the table to her left. She turned and regarded them with the same warm smile, because if not for them exacerbating the popularity of drug dealing through their music, Alexus knew her drug empire would not be as successful as it was now. To Douglass, she added, “I have over 24 million Twitter followers; I’m sure I’ll be able to convince at least a million of them to buy the album.”

“The streets gon’ buy my music,” Blake said, giving a head nod to Ross. “I’m not worried about no album sales anyway. As long as I can put on for the real Midwest niggas and feed my kids, I’m good. I don’t give a f*ck if I only sell two hundred thousand.”

“Let’s not kid ourselves,” Douglass said. “You’re the hottest rapper in the game right now. Everybody’s hip to Bulletface. Your mix-tape sold more than eight hundred thousand copies, for Christ’s sake. You’re on the cover of XXL magazine, and not because you’ve been shot twelve times.”

Shaking her head incredulously and staring up at the talented booty dancer, Alexus said, “Fred, you know how pessimistic he gets at times. There hasn’t been a more prolific gangster-rapper since Young Jeezy and he knows it.”

Blake sat the duffle bag on the seat between him and Alexus. “We’ll see. I gotta get out here and shake some hands.” He kissed Alexus on the cheek, then got up and headed into the crowd.

“He’s a handful, isn’t he?” Alexus said, putting on her Gucci sunglasses. “How long is this event scheduled to last? I need to get home to the kids. Savaria’s probably throwing a fit by now.”

“It’ll be over with before you know it. An hour at the most.”

“Good. I don’t think I can handle much more than that.”

Douglass frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’m supposed to be at church, Fred, praising the Lord and reading the bible. Watching a bunch of slutty women rubbing all over my man was not on my agenda.”

There were twenty or thirty women encircling Blake as he conversed with 2 Chainz and DJ Kayslay, and all of them had suggestive smiles on their faces.

“He’s a celebrity now, Alexus. You have to get used to women being overly attracted to him,” Douglass said, turning to look at Blake. “It’s not him they’re attracted to; it’s his money. They’re infatuated with Bulletface and the money that Bulletface has. He’s worth five hundred and twenty-two million dollars. That’s seventy-two million more than Jay-Z has and forty-seven more than Diddy’s got. Bulletface is the wealthiest rapper alive, to some, he’s the best rapper alive; and he’s engaged to you, the wealthiest woman in history, who also happens to resemble Nicki Minaj with a Heather Bianchi-like body. Every street guy in the country wants to be like him, and every ‘hood chick wants to be with him. That’s only to be expected.”

Sighing, Alexus opened the duffle bag and grabbed a thirty-thousand-dollar bundle of hundreds. “I guess you’re right.” And with that, she began showering the stripper with cash.





Chapter 4

“Nice office,” said Trintino “T-Walk” Walkson.

Reesie Cup leaned back in his leather swivel chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Haven’t seen you in a while, Mr. Hollywood. I thought you were gonna stay in Miami.”

“The cast of Brick House wanted to drop by here with Kayslay, so I decided to come along with them.” T-Walk strolled over to the window.

The parking lot below was packed full of foreign cars. A white Rolls-Royce limousine was parked next to the MBM tour bus beneath a neon-red sign that read, Redbone’s, Chicago’s #1 Gentleman’s Club.

“I wish I would’ve killed Blake a long time ago,” T-Walk said.