Rachel From the Edge Pt. 01

Rachel From the Edge

Part One

by G. Lawrence

A young woman's billionaire boyfriend suddenly dies

Rachel Montgomery is my favorite character, but I realize she's not for everybody. She has a different way of looking at the world, and different priorities. And as we shall see, she has a special genius that will change the world. Not that we could guess that from the beginning.

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Educating the mind without educating the heart is no education at all. Aristotle

Chapter One

BOTH HANDS TIED BEHIND HER BACK

Daniel lay on top of her, dead. Rachel tried to move, squirming beneath his weight, but the man was too heavy. It was hard to breathe.

It had been a warm September day. Daniel Benson, CEO of Marbury & Benson, had brought his secret girlfriend back to his hilltop estate for a weekend of frolic. Fifty-eight years old, six-foot three, broad-shouldered and handsome, Daniel was a known figure in the business world. Not always with favor. Rachel Montgomery was not well-known. Twenty-four years old, barely 5'2, she looked tiny compared to the mighty tycoon.

"What do you think?" Daniel had said when they entered his rambling hacienda on a Friday evening.

Rachel noticed the dining room table had been set for two. There were silver candlesticks, a fancy tablecloth, and a bottle of expensive wine. One year before, Daniel had proposed marriage at that table, and it looked like he was going to propose again. Rachel wasn't sure how she would answer.

It had been an exciting day. Though Wall Street was slow to realize it, Daniel was launching a revolution. He expected the value of his company to double overnight. Only Rachel understood why.

"I want to play a game," Daniel said. He drew Rachel out to the patio, the lights turned low. The sun was setting. The pool gave off a blue glow.

Rachel knew what he wanted. The first time they had played this particular game, she had been frightened. Though Daniel had introduced her to bondage after they began dating, it was all fairly mild. Bedroom games. Then, on the night she had rejected his marriage proposal, he had asked for something different. Something more. Things that scared her.

A year later, Rachel wasn't frightened anymore. The game began just like before, though without the earlier intensity. The mood was light-hearted. Daniel stripped and jumped in the pool, coaxing Rachel to follow. The late summer evening was pleasant. Then Daniel suddenly got out and dressed, leaving Rachel naked in the water. When she reluctantly emerged, he grabbed her, tied her hands behind her back, and lifted her off her feet for a kiss.

"You are the most precious thing in my life," Daniel said, enjoying the vibrant young flesh wiggling in his arms. She had nice, trim breasts. A thin waistline. A small golden-brown bush that she refused to wax. He set her down, turned her toward the hillside gardens, and smacked her on the rear.

"Get going, lassie. You know where we're headed."

There was an old barn on top of the hill, with a hidden basement underneath. Daniel liked his games, and sometimes they got rough, but he never hurt her. At least, not more than the game required. And he was always sweet to her afterwards.

They were halfway up the brick path going toward the barn. Rose gardens lay to the right, rolling green lawns to the left. The 12-acre estate filled the entire hillside. Daniel gave her butt another spank, urging her along.

"Remember this spot?" he asked, stopping on the second terrace. "I couldn't get you all the way to the playroom. I needed you right then. I was exploding. I still am."

When Daniel drew Rachel off the path, she turned to run, laughing as he tried to catch her. She was quick, and athletic. A swimmer in college. He finally managed to grab her around the waist, pushing her down into the lush green grass. Rachel landed on her back. With her hands tied, it was difficult to move. She tried to squeeze her knees together but was too late. Daniel was on top of her, between her thighs, supporting his weight with his elbows. He kissed her neck, and then her shoulders and breasts.

"Someone might see us," Rachel said, glancing around.

"That's not my problem, is it? I'm still wearing my clothes," he teased. "Don't worry. The gardeners won't be back until next week."

He kissed her neck again, enjoying her response. Rachel never faked anything.

"How did I ever get so lucky?" Daniel said, looking down into her big brown eyes.

Rachel wasn't enthusiastic about making love on a wet lawn, but it would only be another moment or two, and Daniel seemed so happy. Yet she soon realized he wasn't in a hurry. Not like before. As he took his time, Rachel got caught up in the game.

"You know I'm going to ask you again, don't you?" he whispered. "A year ago, I wanted to marry you. And I still do."

Rachel knew that, and doubted she had the strength to say no a second time.

Daniel grunted while heightening his amorous attention, panting harder. Expending himself. And then he stopped moving. His shoulders stiffened, and his head drooped. Rachel heard air escaping his lungs. Then his body slowly slumped down on top of her. He felt massive.

"Daniel, I can't breathe," Rachel wheezed. "Daniel. Daniel?"

He didn't respond. With her hands bound underneath her, she couldn't push him off. She continued whispering for Daniel to get up, but it gradually occurred to her that he was unconscious. Perhaps dead. And she was trapped.

Panic set in, but it just made breathing that much harder. What could she do? She had to do something. Daniel needed help, if there was still time. She tried screaming but knew no one would hear. The nearest neighbor was too far away. She kicked her legs but couldn't find traction on the damp grass. It didn't take long to grow exhausted. And frustrated. And afraid.

Daniel's isolated estate stood on a ridge above the Pacific Ocean. Surrounded by security fencing and oak trees, the sprawling complex was worth thirty-five million dollars. Daniel liked to brag about that. There was a large pool in the backyard, tennis courts, a peach orchard, walnut trees, and rising terraces for gardens. It was not a public place where passersby might see them.

A light rain rolled through, allowing her to taste a few drops of water. She was so thirsty. Hours went by. Hours and hours. Rachel tried to be hopeful, but no one visited Canby Place without an invitation. Martha would be in on Tuesday to clean house. Four days away. But there was no reason for the elderly woman to search the backyard. How long would she survive without food and water? And Daniel's weight pressing down on her. Rachel could draw short gasps, but little more.

The warm day turned into a chilly night, the grass staying wet. It rained again. Harder. Colder. Rachel cried. Mostly for Daniel, but a little for herself. She was glad her mother's dementia was so advanced, imagining the media circus Daniel's death was going to cause. The photos of her dead daughter, found bound and naked under a deceased tycoon, were going to be humiliating.

The sun rose, the sky cloudy. Rachel had no fight left in her, just struggling for air. It was a miracle she was still alive. She had slept for a while, her only relief from the fear and grief. She wanted to say a prayer, but her faith had waned in the troubled years since she was a little girl. When her father's Saturday night beatings left too many bruises on her to attend Sunday morning services. Prayer hadn't helped her then.

Rachel wondered if dying wouldn't be so bad. No more pain. No more stress. No more being called a freak for her strange moods.

No one will miss me, she thought.

Someone was speaking to her. In Spanish. Rachel wondered if that meant Jesus was Mexican. Then someone was kneeling next to her, saying something. Nothing made sense. There was a bird in the tree looking down at her. A raven. Since when do birds speak Spanish?

Daniel was lifted off her. Rolled over into the wet morning grass. Rachel breathed deeply, even though it hurt.

"Don't move, honey. Save your strength," a woman said. She spoke English. Southern accent.

Someone put a blanket on her. Two men lifted her on a stretcher and carried her as far as the brick path. Then they paused to tuck the blanket tighter.

"Ronny, wait a minute. She's tied up," a young man said.

"Better get the cops up here. Those knots might be evidence," his partner warned.

"Fuck that," the young man said.

He used his pocketknife to cut the rope free. Rachel groaned, her arms aching. Her whole body ached. They carried her down the hill, skirted the pool, and set her under an awning next to the house. Rachel had no desire to stay there. She wanted a hot bath, and a warm bed. Despite the blankets, she couldn't get warm. She tried sitting up, but her limbs were too stiff. A man knelt next her, holding a note pad.

"An ambulance is on the way, miss," the burly police officer said. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Rachel didn't understand what he was asking. She was thirsty. After getting nothing but a blank stare, the officer wandered away, leaving her alone.

Intruders appeared. People in uniforms. Yellow ribbons were going up around the terraces. Rachel wondered what all the strangers were doing in Daniel's yard. He wouldn't like that. Two men in rumpled business suits stood nearby, not noticing her.

"Did you hear? The dead guy is Danny Benson," one said. "Died of a heart attack while screwing his intern. I can only guess what she was really being paid for."

"Yep, looks like someone finally got the son of a bitch," a grouchy old man said. "Ironic, isn't it? After all the crap Benson pulled over the years, he's killed by a slave girl with both hands tied behind her back."

"Hey, that's a good line. I'm going to tweet it," the young reporter said.

* * * * * *

Pamela Benson was no longer the great man's wife. Hadn't been for five years. She got the call at nine o'clock in the morning, just before the news broke. With Daniel's death fueling salacious speculation, the cable news channels would go crazy.

"M & B, Sam," she told her chauffeur, leaving her Brentwood manor for the Mitchell Building in Marina del Rey. Daniel may have been CEO, but she still owned half the company. With her ex-husband gone, it was important to see what could be salvaged.

It was a drizzly Saturday morning. Many of the staff were gathering in the 12th floor offices, some in mourning, most worried about their careers. Pamela looked at the name etched on the glass door--Marbury & Benson, Legal Financial Investigations. The office employed a few gumshoes and a lot of computer geeks. An old friend rushed to greet her.

"Quite a shock, isn't it?" Oliver Mendelson said. A lean, gray-haired lawyer in his late fifties, Mendelson had attended Yale with Daniel. And Pamela, too. Their ties went back forty years.

"Unbelievable. No one was more alive than Danny," Pamela said. "What are we going to do about this story? This horrible story?"

"Not much we can do but ride it out," Oliver said.

"What is this girl saying?"

"Nothing that I've heard."

"She's probably writing a book already. The Whips and Chains of Danny Benson. We need to get out in front of this. Make sure she has zero credibility."

"The girl is Rachel Montgomery. She's a researcher in our forensic analysis section."

"Daniel was banging an employee? That's just great. Some intern?"

"She's more than an intern, but they were discreet."

"Until now. Now she's Danny Benson's sex slave. The one who killed him with both hands tied behind her back."

"That's not funny," Oliver objected.

"Ask the internet. They think it's a hoot."

"How are the kids taking it?"

"I spoke with Johnny this morning. He's flying back from Boston for the funeral. Rory was at the hospital when the story broke. She's meeting us here after her shift. I haven't found Billy yet. He's off sailing, or gambling, or getting drunk somewhere."

"He'll know soon enough, if he cares," Oliver griped.

"That's not fair. Danny's been busy these last few years, ignoring his children. And now we know why. Tying up and screwing some bimbo."

"Pamela, watch what you say. The staff might hear."

"And if they do?"

"You have enough public relations problems already. Wall Street is asking if Marbury & Benson is still viable with Danny gone. This isn't the time to be discussing his private life."

"We can't count on the little slut keeping her mouth shut. Let's have a plan."

"Miss Montgomery knows how to be professional."

"Was she being professional while banging her boss in the executive suite? Bent over a desk? Hanging from a light fixture?"

"They never brought their personal relationship into the office," Oliver insisted.

"How can you know?"

"I know."

"We better speak with the staff. We don't want anyone jumping ship. Let's get up to speed on what Danny was doing and have a look at the books."

"You saw the quarterly report. Our best one ever," Oliver said.

"Danny issued those reports. We'll check them for accuracy."

* * * * * *

Rachel stirred as the ambulance reached the Coast Hospital, the salt air reviving her. She was strapped to a stretcher, wrapped in a wool blanket. There were no sirens, but traffic was moving fast.

"Take it easy, I'm not dead," Rachel whispered.

"Don't worry, ma'am, we're almost there," the paramedic said, a slim woman not much older than Rachel.

Ma'am? Rachel thought. Do I look that bad?

Rachel hoped to avoid another jarring ride on a gurney, but wasn't sure if she could walk. And no one was paying attention to what she wanted anyway. They wheeled her through the emergency room doors, everybody talking about using this room or that room, calling this doctor or that doctor. She just wanted to go home.

She ended up in urgent care, in a wheelchair, parked in the corner. A pregnant woman was complaining about labor pains. Probably Braxton Hicks, Rachel thought. Why isn't a nurse assisting her? A noisy kid had hammered a nail through his thumb. He needed an ice pack. A gray-haired woman was struggling with her respirator, but Rachel couldn't get over to help her. She felt caught up in chaos.

After deciding their patient wasn't at death's door, a nurse pushed Rachel into a curtained cubicle and helped her on an examination table.

Rachel was quiet, at first. Speaking to strangers was always difficult for her. Until a few years before, it had been nearly impossible.

"May I have some water?" Rachel finally asked.

The nurse brought her a plastic bottle. Rachel drank all of it, though her hands shook so badly that some of it spilled. A doctor arrived, Helena Stromberg by the name tag, and started poking her.

"Broken bones?" Dr. Stromberg asked, a silver-haired woman in her early fifties. Tall and thin. She sounded German.

"I don't think so," Rachel said.

"Trouble breathing?"

"A little."

"You've got bruising on the ribs. They must hurt."

"A little."

"I've ordered a rape kit."

"I wasn't raped."

"Better to play it safe," Stromberg said, marking her chart.

"No, it's not better," Rachel insisted.

"We've seen the photos of you being pinned to the ground by that beast," a plump red-haired nurse said. Her name tag read Midge. She wore thick glasses.

"Photos?" Rachel asked.

The nurse took out her cell phone. Someone had taken long distance shots of the lawn. Daniel's hunched body, dressed in khakis, was fairly clear. Barely visible beneath him was the image of a woman. Rachel was thankful her face was obscured.

"No one asked my permission," Rachel said.

"It's on the internet. Nothing you can do about it now," Midge said.

Rachel read the caption under the photo. The late Danny Benson and his slave girl.

"Danny Benson's slave girl?" Rachel asked, rubbing her wrists where the rope had burned deep.

"At least you're a pretty slave girl," Midge said, earning a frown from the doctor. Rachel did not consider herself savvy about celebrities or the media, but she recognized a disaster in the making.

"I want out of here," Rachel said. "Can someone find me some clothes?"

"We've still got tests to run," Dr. Stromberg said. "You should be okay with ointment for those bruises, but we need to be sure. And the rape kit isn't here yet."

"If you won't give me clothes, at least loan me bus fare," Rachel insisted.

"You can't run around the city wrapped in a blanket," Midge said.

"If I can be a slave girl on the internet, I can do whatever I want," Rachel said, more harshly than she intended. It was rare for her to raise her voice.

"Miss Montgomery, are you all right?" Dr. Stromberg asked, noting the sudden aggressiveness. Rachel pulled the blanket off and threw it on the floor, sitting nude on the table. Her skin was streaked with mud, grass stains, and bruises. The long brown hair was a matted mess. Her eyes looked shrunken.

"I can walk home like this, or you can find clothes for me," Rachel said, crossing her arms and frowning.

Midge brought her gray sweatpants, white sports socks, and a pink sweater with a Chesire Cat on it. The clothes were too big, but Rachel didn't care.

"Which way to the door?" Rachel asked.

"I can't authorize your release," Dr. Stromberg said.

"You can't stop me either," Rachel replied.

Rachel waited for the doctor to leave, then slid off the table, finding her balance with difficulty. She had no shoes.

"Loan me five dollars. Please," Rachel said. Midge reluctantly took several dollars from her pocket.

"Honey, don't let those twitter bums bother you," Midge said. "Men are like that. They're just a bunch of pigs."

"Thank you," Rachel said. With clothes and a few dollars, she felt more in control. "I'm sorry I got so mean. Please forgive me."

"Anybody would be upset after something like that."

"Which way to the door?"

"Dr. Stromberg will be back in a minute."

"And I won't be here."

Rachel wished she had a wheelchair, or crutches. Walking hurt. Everything hurt. But she wasn't going to sit around waiting for reporters to find her. She snuck out the side entrance into a damp afternoon, stood at the bus stop for a few minutes, and headed home. It would take five transfers.

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There are 18 Rachel From the Edge chapters, published and copyrighted in 2020, and I'll be posting all of them here on Literotica if there is interest from the readers. There are also two more novels, Rachel Running on Empty and Rachel the Warrior. I hope to post those, too.