Devil (King Brothers #2)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Devil Copyright © 2019 by K.D. Elizabeth

  All rights reserved. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission in any form is a theft of the author's intellectual property and not permitted. If you would like permission to use material from the book (except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews), please contact the author at kdewrites@gmail.com. Thank you for supporting indie authors.

  The use of this book is permitted for noncommercial purposes only.

  First Edition: March 2019

  Vivre Libre Media and the author are not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the either the publisher or the author.

  The author is available for speaking events. You may reach out for more information at kdewrites@gmail.com.

  ISBN:

  ISBN-13: (paperback)

  Proofreading: Margarita Martinez

  Cover Design: K.D. Elizabeth

  Print and E-book Formatting: K.D. Elizabeth

  Also by K.D. Elizabeth

  Construct My Heart Series

  Miss InstaPrincess

  Miss ManKiller

  The Bright Series

  The Christmas Cadeau

  The Season Bright

  Christmas of White

  The King Brothers

  Monster

  Devil

  Rascal

  About the Author

  K.D. Elizabeth is the author of steamy contemporary romance novels in the small town, holiday, and suspense sub-genres. Before writing full-time, she worked in finance in Boston. She splits her time between New Hampshire and Pennsylvania, is fluent in French, and has traveled to over twenty countries. When not writing, you can find her skiing, scuba diving, traveling (although not this year!), enjoying great food, crocheting, and painting.

  Check out her work here.

  Click the icon below to follow K.D. on the social media platform of your choice.

  Acknowledgments

  Book two is done! Ten more to go in this series.

  First, thank you, Autumn and Joanne, for beta reading this story. It’s stronger because of you.

  Thank you again, Margarita, for proofreading.

  Thanks to everyone who agreed to review this book before it released.

  I wouldn’t be here without my family.

  Thank you so, so much to my readers. Send me an email with your thoughts or message me on Instagram!

  With love,

  K.D. Elizabeth

  Author’s Note

  Dyscalculia is a learning disability that involves a difficulty in comprehending math. It is often referred to as “math dyslexia,” but it is a separate condition.

  Much less is known about dyscalculia than dyslexia, and as such, it is harder to know precisely how it affects each individual, especially adults. Typically, dyscalculia makes it hard to calculate mathematical equations, follow budgets or do other financial math, or remember the precise sequence of a number, among other things. Some individuals also have difficulty differentiating between left and right and other directions.

  When I started writing Devil, I had not intended to write Axel as someone with dyscalculia, but as I drafted the story, it perfectly explained why he isn’t involved with many of the administrative aspects of the farm, why he isn’t close with his employees, even why he’s always so irritated.

  While I personally do not have dyscalculia, I hope that my readers will appreciate that I nevertheless intended to treat the condition with kindness. I wanted to show a character who long ago learned how to work around the obstacles presented by his limitations—not someone still trying to accept those limitations. If some details are not accurate, it is due to my own ignorance, not malice.

  With love,

  K.D. Elizabeth

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  I’m the only man in the King family with red hair. The only person, really, because none of the women have it either. It’s very light red hair, so it almost doesn’t count, but still.

  No one knows where it came from. None of our immediate family members have it. Somewhere up the line, some of my family came over from Scotland, so it’s got to be in the gene pool somewhere, but I’m the only bastard who got the flaming red locks.

  You’re probably wondering if I’ve got the temper to match. The answer to that would be a big fat fuckin’ yes. I don’t have time to deal with people’s bullshit, and let me tell you, people perpetually have fucking bullshit. The number of times I’ve had to deal with the fallout from a stupid dumbfuck would shock you speechless. Really.

  I’m the kind of man who likes real clear, common sense directions. With zero room for errors or misunderstanding, so even the dumbest simpleton can follow them. I give them out, and I expect the same from others. Most of the time, I’ll get compliance from people, and everything can proceed as I demand. I don’t have time, running this huge-ass farm, to constantly deal with fuck-ups from people who should know better.

  And when someone fucks up? Well, there’s a reason they call me the Red Devil.

  Yeah, shockingly enough, I’m aware of my fucking nickname. I have ears. I’ve just learned that sometimes it’s easier to rule with fear than niceness. Being nice is great and all, but people just won’t hop-to as quickly if they still like you.

  I get it. I’m the world’s biggest dick. It’s an image I actively cultivate. I’ve learned to deal with it. And you know why I do? Because responsibility for the entire family rests on my shoulders.

  You could call it oldest child syndrome, but it’s more than that. All of my five brothers love the portion of the farm’s profits they get every quarter—thanks, Dad, for that little provision in the will—but I’m the only one who actually works here.

  I do all of the work and get one-sixth of the money. Does that seem fair to you? Would you like to get seventeen cents out of every dollar you make? Don’t kid yourself—you wouldn’t.

  Obviously, I don’t want to screw my brothers out of their own inheritance, but you’d think they could at least lend a fucking hand a few hours a year during the harvest. But no, they’ve all got immeasurably important lives.

  While people disobeying my orders is generally a pain in the ass, nothing’s worse than when one of my brothers does it. The thing is, my temper, though not inconsiderable, doesn’t exactly make me one of a kind; all of the King brothers can be extraordinarily hardheaded. So when I tell one of them to do a task and he ignores me, thinking he knows better—and he never does—I’m frankly going to have only a limited amount of patience.

  Take now, for instance, with my moron of a brother, Jackson.

  “What day is it?” I ask.

  My brother, sitting on the other side of my desk with his legs propped up where they don’t belong, rolls his eyes and says, “It’s Sunday.”

  I make an elaborate show of looking at the calendar hanging on my wall. “Yes, I have been operating under that assumption since this morning. So what the hell are you doing here? You
’re well aware that this is my only day off. Do you really believe I want to stare at your ugly face today?”

  The corner of his mouth jerks up in an annoying smirk I’d like to bitch slap off his annoyingly handsome face because he’s too annoying to merit an actual punch. And there’s the whole shared-blood aspect; the familial bond that prevents me from doing so. I’m not a complete devil.

  And Jackson’s face is annoyingly attractive. I might give them shit about it, but none of my brothers are unattractive. Neither am I, for that matter. Square jaw, broad shoulders. You know the drill. We’re devilishly appealing, so we get away with murder. Not actual murder, mind you, but more than you’d imagine.

  Jackson’s face sobers and he drops his feet to the floor. I frown; I’ve been telling the bastard to get his damn feet off my desk for years. The fact that he’s now doing it unprompted doesn’t bode well for my peaceful Sunday morning. Wonderful.

  “Axel, I’m well aware you need this day of rest so you can continue the harvest. I wouldn’t be here, believe me, if I didn’t have to be.”

  I lean back in my chair, the sense of foreboding growing stronger. “All right then. Give it to me straight.”

  I don’t like beating around the bush either.

  “You know how Rory and I kept disagreeing over the offering price?”

  My eyes narrow at him. Rory Larson has been trying to sell her family’s peach farm, which is located literally next door to ours. She also happens to be the woman my idiot brother here has been in love with since childhood, but they’re both too stupid to do anything about it.

  So I hired my brother as my real estate agent to buy the Larson farm. For two reasons, the main one being I need to expand production to remain profitable with rising costs. But at the time, I also hoped it would give them an excuse to get their heads out of their asses and admit they still like each other. So far, it’s just been a lot of yelling and fucking around with the offering price for her farm.

  Or maybe that’s just their fucked-up form of foreplay. I could see that with this little brother.

  “Yes, Jackson, I’m well aware you deliberately lowballed her just to piss her off enough to come talk to you in person.”

  Jackson smirks, his momentary seriousness forgotten. “And it worked, didn’t it?”

  I stare at him for a long moment. Interesting. If I were a betting man, I’d wager that something very sexual happened in the days since I last saw my brother, but I’m not one to wager. I don’t leave shit to chance—I take what I want.

  “Apparently so. And I’m simply thrilled for you, dear, but I swear if you decided to take up my precious Sunday by sharing all the gory details, I’m going to strangle you, then give you not one damn penny of the commission from the sale.”

  Jackson shakes his head in disgust. “You’d do that to your own brother. Delightful.”

  “I would, and have done a lot worse, and you know it. Now spill it before I die of old age.”

  Jackson sighs, staring off into the distance. For the second time, I wonder if the topic Jackson wants to discuss might actually be serious.

  “Rory and I were both right about our values for the farm because someone deliberately lowered the numbers in the financial package I received.”

  I just stare at him, trying to make sense of a single word he just said. No luck. “Are you serious?”

  Jackson nods. “Deadly.”

  “Who did it?”

  “Mike Lipton. He wanted to make sure he had a job lined up after the sale. He was also pissed that Rory dumped him a few years ago.”

  Somehow, I’m not surprised. Lipton was a year ahead of me in high school, and to put it politely—because occasionally I’m capable of doing that—I never liked the fucker. He was a fat kid throughout childhood until he decided to lose the weight. But when he started to get all of the positive attention, it turned him rotten. Went straight to his head—and by head, I mean the head of his cock, literally—and turned him mean. Cruel. Or perhaps, more aptly, vindictive. Thus, apparently, his desire to fuck over Rory, his boss of the last six years.

  “That would explain why you kept thinking it wasn’t worth as much as it was.”

  Jackson raises a brow at me in derision. “Oh, and you didn’t?”

  I shrug. “Nope. You keep forgetting that I’m the one who actually works in this business. I am well aware of the size and output of Rory’s farm, from the trees right down to the number of damn peaches. I’ve known the exact value of that place for years.”

  “Then why did you bother having me work on this deal?”

  I give him a sly smile. “Because someone had to help your sorry ass find an excuse to talk to Rory.”

  Jackson gapes at me, and I have to say it’s a rather enjoyable experience since the smug bastard is usually the one pulling the strings himself. I smile, winking at him purely because I know it will piss him off, then lean back in my chair.

  “Well, I’m certainly glad that mystery is finally solved,” I continue. “Now everyone can accept I’m spending the money I intended to spend from the beginning anyway.”

  Jackson’s jaw twitches like he’s trying not to shout in irritation. Then he sobers again, and a look I could almost swear is pity flashes across his face.

  “Axel. Someone put Lipton up to it.”

  “Who cares? It all worked out; everyone got what they wanted.”

  Now there is definitely a look of pity. “It matters because that person was Howard.”

  I stare at him mutely, my brain refusing to process what he’s just said. Because the simple fact of the matter is that there’s simply no fucking way that Howard Dawson, our foreman of nearly fifty years, would do such a thing.

  And if he is stupid enough to have done it, then he’s a dead man.

  Chapter Two

  “Axel.”

  “Hey, Ax, man, hold up.”

  “Stop a second!” Jackson only gets me on that last one because he accompanies this statement with a hand that grabs my shoulder. I’m the largest of my brothers—by far, obviously—which has been excellent at keeping them in line over the years. But from time to time, I like to give them hope that they can take me, so I refrain from putting him on the ground.

  I swing around, glaring at him. “Don’t even try to stop me right now.”

  “Don’t do it like this. Howard’s been here for almost fifty years.”

  “Exactly,” I growl, heading once again for the barn. “He should fucking know better. I’m not going easy on him.”

  I vaguely hear Jackson mutter something under his breath that sounds like “God help me,” but I don’t deign to answer him. I’m far too busy gearing up for the confrontation.

  When I storm into the barn office, door banging against the wall behind me, the bastard slowly rises from his chair, a serious expression on his face. He totally knows why I’m here, doesn’t he?

  “Why’d you do it?”

  To his credit, he doesn’t pretend he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, but Howard has always been an honest sort—or so I thought. “I did it for the good of this farm.”

  While probably a sufficient answer for a normal person, his words only enrage me further. “How long have you been working here?”

  “Nearly forty-seven years now,” he says, voice steady.

  “And for how many of those forty-seven years have we operated dishonestly?”

  He remains silent.

  “That’s what I thought. I know it’s crazy, but I’ve been operating under the assumption that we’ve never done any business deal in bad faith. Or have I suddenly woken up in bizarro world?”

  “You have not woken up in bizarro world, sir.”

  “We’ve gone over this before. You were born the same year as my father. There will be none of this ‘sir’ shit, not after all these years, and certainly not in the middle of firing your ass.”

  “Axel!” Jackson growls, but Howard’s face remains expressionless. He always has been a st
oic bastard.

  I stare him down, literally; I’ve never shied away from using my size to get what I want. It’s a dickish tactic, but it gets the job done.

  “No, we never enter into a deal in bad faith,” Howard says finally.

  “Perfect. Then you know why you’re being fired.”

  Howard nods once, Jackson makes an exasperated sound, and I wind up to ream Howard out a second time for good measure, but the lot of us pause when the office door swings open and Andrea enters.

  I barely spare her blonde-haired, bespectacled, baggy-clothes-wearing form a glance before jerking a thumb over my shoulder and snarling, “Now get the hell off my property.”

  “What’s going on here?” Andrea says, stepping between me and the desk Howard still stands behind.

  “What’s happening here is that I’m doing a little spring cleaning with the employee roster.”

  “It’s July,” she says in confusion.

  “Exactly. I’m overdue.”

  Andrea rubs her temples in a gesture I’ve seen many times and am a little ashamed to admit has been the result of my doing on many an occasion. “Let me just get this straight. You’re firing your foreman of nearly half a century because it’s overdue? Did you eat lunatic beans for breakfast this morning, or is there something I’m missing here?”

  “What you’re missing, if you must know, is that Howard here conspired with Mike Lipton over at the Larson farm to ensure that the farm was sufficiently devalued so we wouldn’t have to spend as much purchasing it. Almost got Rory killed when Mike wrecked her tractor.”