Page 36 of Gator (Bourbon Kings MC #1)

Several weeks later...

Time slowly passed, and eventually, everything calmed down. Well, everything except my woman and her appetite, which was followed closely by her ever-expanding stomach.

It seemed every day it got bigger and bigger.

I couldn’t help but marvel at the transformation unfolding before my eyes.

Each passing day seemed to reveal a new layer of her insatiable hunger, a force of nature that defied logic and biology alike.

It wasn’t just the volume of food she consumed, but the unyielding resolve she displayed in doing so.

Plates piled high with decadent dishes were reduced to barren, gleaming surfaces in mere moments, as though they had never been graced with sustenance at all.

Her energy was relentless, a whirlwind of motion as she reached for platters, bowls, and trays without hesitation.

“More gravy!” she hollered at Juju yesterday; a command issued with the authority of a monarch demanding tribute.

And Juju, for all his stubbornness, had paused mid-protest, his face pale, and dutifully obeyed.

It was as though her hunger had taken on an undeniable gravity, pulling everything and everyone into its orbit.

As days blurred together, the peculiar camaraderie of the crew began to shift.

The once jovial banter was replaced with cautious murmurs and sidelong glances as we all learned to navigate the new normal.

Food rationing became an urgent necessity, not for survival, but to ensure there was something left for the rest of us.

And yet, despite the chaos she caused, there was a strange beauty in her determination—a fiery spirit that refused to be extinguished.

Her tenacity and ferocity astounded me.

It was like watching a badger fight a gator for a pig. And while I typically would believe the alligator would win, something had to be said for the badger, ’cause that was one mean ass critter.

“She’s eatin’ all the damn food!” Thore complained as I silently sat there and watched, half in awe, half in terror.

“Boss, I’m hungry,” Donut whined as he stared at my woman in horror. “She found my snacks last week. Didn’t even leave me a crumb.”

“Mine too.” Braveheart grimaced as my woman bit into a turkey leg.

“Have Juju whip you up something,” I said, my eyes glued to the scene before me.

“Ju said he ain’t cookin anymore,” Thore advised. “Not until she has those babies and acts like a normal person.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, though it was a nervous sort of laugh. My woman, determined and unstoppable, had now moved on to the bread rolls, stacking them like a small fortress on the edge of her plate.

“Boss, are you just going to sit there and let her do this?” Donut whispered, his voice full of disbelief. “I mean, she took the last of the rolls. The sacred rolls.”

Sacred wasn’t the word I’d use, but I understood the sentiment. They were Juju’s prized creations, baked fresh every morning, fluffy clouds of buttery perfection. And now, one by one, they were disappearing into her grasp like an offering to some ravenous deity.

Braveheart leaned in closer, his voice low. “We need a plan. A distraction. Maybe we can lure her outside with—”

“She’s pregnant,” I interrupted, my tone leaving no room for argument. “She can eat whatever she damn well pleases. Even Juju’s rolls.”

Donut threw his hands up in exasperation. “Boss, this is nuts. I’m tired of eating out. I want Juju’s food. The food he cooks for us. Not her!”

“Yeah,” Braveheart muttered, casting a wary glance across the table. “She ain’t no brother.”

I raised an eyebrow, letting their grumbling wash over me like the distant murmur of a storm. “You all act like you’ve never seen a pregnant woman before. Do you want to be the one to tell her no?”

Braveheart and Donut exchanged a look, their bravado deflating like punctured sails. Braveheart recoiled slightly, shaking his head. “Not me. I value my life.”

Donut sighed, sinking lower into his chair. “She’s mean.”

“She scares me,” Thore muttered.

Hell, I had to admit. She scared me too. And while I was hungry, I wasn’t about to touch a damn thing on the table in fear she’d bite my hand off.

The tension in the room thickened, the aroma of Juju’s heavenly rolls mocking us all. Braveheart shifted uneasily, his fingers drumming the table in a rhythm too quick to be casual. I could almost see him calculating, scheming, as if the rolls were a treasure waiting to be liberated.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered, leaning back with a resigned sigh. “What if—hear me out—we bribe her? Maybe chocolate? Pregnant women like chocolate, right?”

Donut scoffed, his face twisted in disbelief. “You think a single bar of chocolate’s gonna stop her from devouring every roll in sight? You’ve lost yer mind.”

“Better than sittin’ here whinin’,” Braveheart shot back, his voice rising in frustration. “Unless ya got a better idea?”

Thore, usually the quiet one, raised a tentative hand. “What if we just... ask Juju to make more?”

Silence. The absurd simplicity of the idea hung in the air like a fragile soap bubble, daring anyone to pop it.

“That’s ridiculous,” Donut snapped, waving the suggestion away. “We’d still have to wait hours. And she’d probably eat those too.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, my patience wearing thin. “Look, we’re not stagin’ a coup over bread rolls. If she wants ’em, she gets ’em. End of story.”

“This is madness,” Braveheart groaned, burying his face in his hands. “We’re doomed.”

“Boss, we gotta do something,” Donut pleaded, his desperation reaching new heights. “At this rate, she’ll eat everything.”

“We’re all gonna starve to death,” Thore whined, rubbing his stomach.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms as I watched the scene unfold. “Donut, Braveheart, Thore. Let me remind you all—she’s pregnant. With triplets. She can eat the pie, the rolls, the turkey, the universe if she wants to. And if Juju has a problem with that, he can take it up with me.”

The table fell silent, save for the sound of rolls being devoured with unwavering gusto as Worm walked in carrying a large pizza. Laying it on the table, he flipped the box open, leaned forward, took a deep breath and smiled. “God, I love a good pizza.”

Reaching for a slice, he folded it in half and took a big bite as we all gaped at him.

The second Devlyn smelled the pizza, her nose scrunched, and she stopped chewing. Slowly swallowing the food in her mouth, she asked, “Is that a pepperoni pizza?”

“Yep.” Worm smiled. “Along with salami, olives, and anchovies.”

“Oh God!” my woman said, quickly covering her mouth as she hightailed it out of the kitchen.

“What the hell?” Donut gasped as he looked at Worm.

“Yeah, brother,” Braveheart said, placing his hands on the table, glaring at Worm.

“Explain, now,” I sneered at the fucker.

Worm simply shrugged his shoulders and took another bite. “It was a simple deduction, really. Devlyn has been enjoying everything New Orleans has to offer since she arrived. From Juju’s food to her favorite sandwich, the muffuletta. But there is one thing she hasn’t touched.”

“Pizza,” I whispered, my eyes widening with glee as my stomach grumbled.

“Bingo.” Worm grinned. “She hasn’t touched a single pizza.”

“Yer a genius!” Braveheart declared, reaching for a slice only to have Worm slap his hand away.

“Mine,” the fucker sneered. “Go buy your own.”

Braveheart looked at me. “Can I really kill him now?”

Glaring at Worm, I reached for a slice, daring the fucker to slap my hand. When he didn’t stop me, I moaned as the hot gooey cheese hit my mouth. “This is heaven.”

“Give me a slice,” Donut said threateningly as he reached for his throwing stars. “Or I will permanently embed my stars into your bones.”

Knowing when he was beaten, Worm shoved the pizza box toward the middle of the table as the rest of my brothers grabbed a slice.

Slightly sulking over losing his claim to the pizza, he grabbed a soda can, popped it open, and muttered, “You’re all ingrates.

I was the one who figured out Devlyn couldn’t stomach pizza, and this is the thanks I get. ”

“You want a thank you,” I said reaching for the last slice. “Bring enough pizza for everyone.”