by Unknown
Chapter Seventeen
Life will always be to a large extent what we ourselves make it.
~Samuel Smiles
Rimrock, Montana
Brown Bear Bar & Grill
Monday 6:00 p.m.
Jillian Remington swung the sassy red Thunderbird convertible into the graveled parking lot of the Brown Bear Bar and Grill and slammed on the brakes. Gravel spewed in myriad directions, peppering several vehicles within range.
She didn’t give a shit.
She wanted to destroy something. She didn’t really care what. No, that wasn’t true. She did care what it was she demolished, and it wasn’t a friggin’ unfeeling, inanimate piece of crap on four wheels.
She wanted to annihilate someone and that person was Kaycee Remington.
How she hated the bitch!
The little cunt had her claws in Jace. Well, she wasn’t about to lose out on the Remington billions because of that simpering sow. Jace belonged to her. He’d always belonged to her.
And she didn’t give up what she claimed. She wouldn’t mind taking Dianna out either. She hated her as much as she detested Kaycee. The snooty bitch!
As she slammed the car door shut behind her, she slipped off her sunglasses and tucked them inside her black shoulder bag. She was dressed to kill. A black leather mini-skirt, short even for a mini, clung to her slender hips like a second skin. Red stiletto heels gave her added height and showed off her long legs. Big, gold hoops swung from her ears. Her lips shined with killer-red lipstick. She was ready to howl.
Firm breasts, improved with the aid of silicone, spilled over the top of the low cut, yellow blouse she wore. She wondered how many of the men in the bar would cream their pants if they knew she wasn’t wearing panties.
But anyone who knew Jillian Remington knew from the dark expression on her face she was in a snit and pissed at the world. Jillian was born mean and just got meaner as the years passed. And she told herself she wasn’t about to change.
Born Jillian Marie Weller, in Niceville, Kansas to Steve and Dorry Weller, she couldn’t think of a worse pair of parents. Dirt poor farmers, her mama lavished free love to any man with the right price in the little farming town. Her daddy, bless his black heart, couldn’t keep his hands off his only daughter.
And they lived isolated enough for him to do plenty and get by with it. Steve Weller was plain lowdown and as mean as a rattlesnake. The summer she turned thirteen, her breasts started to develop. The firm tips poked at all her shirts like proud little acorns. She got her first period the month before.
She was in the piss-poor kitchen lookin’ for something to eat when her daddy walked in, his baggy boxers hanging loose to his knobby knees. He smelled of stale beer and staler cigarette smoke, and a strange perfume she was sure her mama never wore.
For a moment, he simply stared at her through blood-shot eyes and scratched his big belly. Slowly, as if seeing her for the first time, he walked over to her, yanked off her pink tee shirt and stared his fill. “I thought so,” he said, licking his lips. “Girl, you’re finally growing a nice rack.”
He rubbed his fingers across the small mounds, paused, then squeezed her budding breasts. Her breasts were tender, and he squeezed them too tight.
“Stop it!” She cried and twisted, trying to escape his hold on her.
Her father slapped her hard enough to knock her to the floor. She scooted back on her backside, terrified when he jerked down the baggy boxers and fondled himself.
She’d never seen anything like the long, thick thing hanging there between his legs. It resembled a big, fat sausage, and then it started to grow. It got bigger and bigger right there in his hands.
He slid his fingers up and down the long length, stared at her and grunted. “You’re gonna take care of this problem I got here, Jilly. Letting me touch your tits done gone and got me stone hard, I’m hurting now. I gotta have me some relief.” He grunted again, squatted down beside her and pushed her flat on her back.
Sometime later, he raised his head and stared down at her, his dark eyes flat and obscene. “Stop your bawling, girl. I won’t tell anyone what you caused to happen. This is our secret, Jilly. You go ‘round telling lies on me, I promise you, this is nothing compared to what I’ll do to you. Keep your mouth shut. You understand? You don’t tell no one.”
She nodded, but she didn’t understand. She only knew that somehow she was to blame for causing her daddy’s sausage to grow and hurt him, and he’d had to hurt her in return to make his pain go away.
Her mama came home an hour later and found her sitting in a kitchen corner, bruised, naked, and still crying.
“Get your ass up and go to your room. Clean up. You look like shit!”
Her mama didn’t give a damn about the things her daddy had done to her that afternoon. Instead, she hauled her up from the floor, opened the bedroom door, pushed her inside and yelled, “Do what your daddy tells you, girl. He ain’t hurtin’ you none. And don’t be tellin’ no filthy lies ‘bout him, either! It ain’t like he’s your real daddy anyway, ‘cause he ain’t. Time you paid him back for the food he puts in your mouth.”
Not her real daddy?
He was the only daddy she’d ever known.
She hated her daddy, but worse, she hated her mama for allowing him to do the things he did and look the other way.
The day she turned eighteen, her daddy came to her to celebrate her birthday. She lay there on the bed and waited for him to cram his sausage roll in her. When his cock and balls flopped out of his pants, she stuck a knife in his groin and used another to slice across his balls. She stepped over him lying there on the floor squealing and bleeding to death like the pig he was.
She went straight into the bedroom, smashed a pillow over her mama’s drunken face until she stopped breathing. All the while, she listened to her daddy’s squeal growing fainter and fainter until there was only quiet in the little farmhouse, quiet, except for the sound of her ragged breaths.
Washing up at the kitchen sink, she hummed tunelessly and watched the blood swirl down the drain. Calmly, she dried her hands, then went to her room, put on fresh clothes and combed her hair. She didn’t feel like she’d killed anyone worthy of life, amoebas, both of them.
Before she left, she doused the house with gasoline, and dropped a match on it on her way out the door. She never looked back. But her sexual education had started at thirteen. It was deeply embedded in her mind. The only thing different was she had learned to be sly. She learned to use her body to gain what she wanted instead of allowing her body to be used for nothing.
With that education deeply ingrained, she went after Miles Remington. She tricked him into marrying her by telling him she was pregnant with his child. Once her name was on the marriage license, she had no further use for her husband. Oh, but she wanted the son. She went after him the same as her daddy went after her. She schemed and manipulated until she won.
And Jace became hers.
She wasn’t about to give him up to that little milk-faced bitch.
Damn, Jace Remington, and his whoring slut of a wife! He planned to marry her a second time, like that made a big deal or made some big difference. She had to do something to get the pasty-faced little snot out of Jace’s life.
Jillian flung open the door of the Brown Bear and stormed inside to the deafening blare of Don’t Rock the Jukebox. Yeah. She was going to rock the jukebox all right. She was going to destroy Jace’s happy, little world.
Jealously clawed at her, ate at her like a hungry dog gnawing on a bone. Damn him for wanting the bitch! Damn him for fucking her in the stables earlier. Damn them both for being so engrossed in each other they weren’t aware she was in the loft above listening, watching, and overhearing them make wedding plans, and knowing they were going at it like rabbits.
She slung her purse on top of the bar and ordered a dry martini. Waiting, she lit a cigarette with her tiny gold lighter and blew out a stream of smoke. The bartender, Rodney Blake,
grinned at her and winked.
“How you been Miz Remington?”
His eyes, an intense aqua blue, slid over the curves of her full breasts. Her nipples tingled in response to his hungry look. He stood at least six foot, blond hair, sexy as hell. Big cock. She should know, she’d been riding it for the last few weeks. He’d married his high school sweetheart, Mary Lou Dexter, and kept her pregnant. They had three kids and another on the way.
A few weeks ago, and on a Sunday night, business was slow at the Bear. She’d been the only customer in the place. Bored, and a little tipsy, she gave Rodney a look at her new breasts. He slipped her blouse over her head, tossed it aside and gave a long, slow whistle of appreciation.
When he unfastened her bra and let it drop to the floor, she grinned. She watched him walk over to the window, flip the closed sign in place, and lock the door. He hadn’t said a word as he flipped off most of the lights. He hadn’t needed to. He picked her up, carried her to the pool table, and finished stripping her.
He ripped a packet and took out the condom, but she’d stayed his hand. “You don’t need it, baby,” she whispered.
Grinning, he tossed the rubber aside. “Oh, yeah. My kind of woman, likes it meat to meat. Good,” he said. “I hate the fucking things.”
They spent two hours on the pool table going at each other. She had to admit, he knew how to satisfy a woman.
Afterward, he lit them both a cigarette and grinned. “Well, damn, Miz R., you not lettin’ me put on a slicker, well that was just about the hottest piece of pussy I ever had my cock stuck in, but, you gotta know, I might have put my kid in you tonight.”
She smiled, stubbed out her cigarette and guided his cock inside her. “Let’s see if we can work on making it a fact. Shall we?”
“Sure,” he grunted, surprised. “Anything to please a lady.”
She hadn’t thought of it until that moment, but as soon as he mentioned the possibility he might have made her pregnant, the germ of an idea started to grow that night. He didn’t know it, and it was the reason she told him he didn’t need a rubber, but she was already pregnant.
Jillian decided in order for her plan to work, it depended on how good an actress she was. She and Rodney left the bar together and finished the night in a motel room. His appetite for the kinky was as wild as hers. He told her she was the sweetest piece of ass he ever had. Better than his wife, Mary Lou, much better than the mayor’s wife, Cynthia Hemphill. He wanted to be with Jillian again. Soon.
She wanted it too, the sooner, the better. Jace was gone to Reno. He wouldn’t know what she’d been up to. She needed Rodney. It was absolutely necessary to her plan, because Rodney wasn’t going to have any doubts he gave her the baby she planned to swear Jace fathered.
But Jace, somehow she’d find a way to make Jace believe the brat was his. Jillian smoothed a hand down her flat belly and grinned. Hell, she still needed Rodney to take the edge off her need. For certain, Jace wasn’t willing to touch her.
She grinned at Rodney. “Meet me in the ladies room,” she said in a throaty whisper.
Rodney arched a brow and nodded. He motioned for his relief to give him a break and followed her down the hall to the ladies restroom. Jillian turned in the doorway.
He licked his lips. “What can I do for you, Miz Remington?”
“Fuck me,” she said bluntly.
“Damn, woman, you tempt me to leave my ole’ lady.”
“Your wife is pregnant.”
“So? Who gives a shit? I’d rather screw you. Besides, you probably got my kid in you as well. I find that thought very stimulating.”
She grinned and lit up a joint. He shut and locked the bathroom door behind him and reached for her.
“Give me that.” He took a hit off the joint, pulled her into his arms and kissed her, releasing the smoke in her mouth.
Rodney kissed like a man who had an urgent need, almost as good as Jace. If she didn’t have other plans, she might take him up on his offer to leave his sow of a wife, but she wasn’t going to. Nothing was getting in her way of forcing Jace to marry her.
The kiss turned carnal and wild. Rodney groaned, turned her to face the lavatory, hitched up her short skirt and stared at her bare ass. “Christ, woman, you come prepared.” He fumbled with his zipper and released his cock. “I can’t wait to come inside you.”
She wiggled her ass against his dick. “Put that hard thing in me, Rod. I need to feel you come in me.”
“Now, Miz R., I been boffing you for a few weeks now, never put a sock on. You got my kid in you yet? ‘Cause if you ain’t, we keep this up, it’s sure gonna happen. Gonna be some mighty upset females when they find out I fucked you, cause I mark my kids real good. You can tell by lookin’ at every one of Cynthia Hemphill’s little bastards they belong to me.”
“Rodney, put your goddamn cock in me and stop yappin’. You already put a kid in me eight weeks ago. This is for pure pleasure. So fuck me.”
He shoved his dick in her to the hilt.
Jillian groaned. “Jesus. You could have warned me. You’re big as a mule you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said and kissed her neck. “You wanted my kid, Miz R.?”
For some reason, Rodney found it fascinating that she wanted him to knock her up. Maybe it was because she had money and he was just a bartender. Jillian didn’t know. She just knew he fucked her like a well oiled machine.
Rodney wiggled his hips. “I’m not complaining, mind you. I just wondered why you’d want my kid when you have the Remington studs close and handy. I’m gonna leave my wife, sweetheart. I done fell in love with you, baby. I want you, only you.” He grunted and thrust hard. “Oh, yes. Yes, baby, like that.”
“What did you say about your wife?” She threw a glance at him back over her shoulder.
He pulled his cock out of her, flipped her around, and backed her against the wall. He lifted one of her legs around his waist and impaled her. She cried out in surprise. Rodney could be a little rough at times, but she rarely complained.
“What about Mary Lou?” he gritted. “Jesus, you’re tight, woman. Don’t move yet. Just let it soak in you a minute.”
She locked her other leg around his waist, clamped her inner muscles tightly around his cock, and began to milk it. “I don’t have time to let it soak.”
“Jesus, woman, you know how ta’ work that thing. Yeah, oh yeah. That’s good.” He groaned. “I said I’m leaving Mary Lou for you. I love you, baby.” He threw back his head and gritted his teeth. “Shit! That feels good. You done ruined me for Cynthia and Mary Lou. I can’t stand to look at either of them.”
“No point in you leaving your wife, Rodney. I want you to fuck me, not marry me.”
He clenched his teeth, groaned and filled her with his semen. Panting, he pulled out of her, cleaned off with a wet paper towel and adjusted his pants. “Now, Miz R.,” he grunted. “You wanna tell me why you want my babe, but not me? Like I said, I’m not complainin’.”
She grinned, her dark eyes cold and merciless. “I don’t want your kid, Rodney. I want Jace Remington’s kid, and this baby is his. Understand?”
“You used me?” Rodney’s eyes darkened to aqua-green slits. He gave her a sly grin. “I have to ask why, Miz R.?”
“The brat will inherit billions.”
He laughed. “Meet me at the Pine Cone Inn at midnight, woman. I ain’t had near enough of you, yet.”
“You gonna tell your wife about us? You gonna leave her?”
He shuddered as she pressed her mouth to his and kissed him. “Fuckin’ A. Mary Lou can take care of herself. From now on, I’m takin’ care of you.”
“You can fuck me all you want, just don’t mess with my plans for Jace.”
“Sure. Whatever you have planned, I’m part of it. My kid inherits billions, his daddy will be right there holdin’ out his hand for a portion.”
She bit her lip. He did know how to please a lady. And they could be a twosome, as long as he kept his
mouth shut and didn’t ruin everything.
“You know, Jilly, you’ll have to prove this babe’s a Remington.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “I hate it! All I have to do is prove I’m pregnant and swear it belongs to Jace. That will take care of the little lovebirds. I’m going to destroy the bitch if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“What bitch? Who you talkin’ about?”
“Kaycee Remington, Jace’s new wife.”
Rodney threw back his head and laughed. “Jace has a wife? Sonofabitch!”
“Don’t sound so damned pleased about it.”
“I am pleased, because as of now, you belong to me. You done made a big mistake, Jilly. A woman catches my kid she’s mine until I say different.”
“I don’t belong to you, Rodney.”
He squeezed her belly. “Yeah, you do, Jilly. You see, baby, I want a piece of the action. There’s nuthin’ I’d like better than to know I have access to the Remington fortune. Like I said, you’re mine.” He winked. “I’ll be waitin’ at the Pine Cone Inn at eleven. I’ll bring the beer.”
She smoothed her skirt over her hips, fluffed her hair, repaired her lipstick and gave him a little salute as she sauntered out the door. The sonofabitch! He’d play hell getting his hands on the Remington money. It was hers. She wasn’t about to share it with a lousy, two-bit bartender or a kid she didn’t want. Eventually, she planned on doing away with the brat, but it would be long after she was Jace’s wife.
She looked back at Rodney, blew him a kiss, and bumped into a customer coming out of the men’s bathroom.
“Miz Remington,” the man greeted. He squeezed her shoulders to steady her before stepping around her and parked his ass at the bar.
She frowned, eyeing him. She didn’t recognize the customer. Didn’t think she’d ever seen him before, yet he knew her. She shrugged. Many people knew her she didn’t know, and everyone knew Jace.
