Pearl On Cherry
““But, sir, my laundry’s inside. I have to take it home and wash it,” she protested, yanking at his grip on her hand.
“Samuel, go back inside, get her wash load and bring it in the carriage. I will drive her where I need to be. And once home, you do not disturb me. I shall be in my dark room.”
“Yes, sir,” his driver said, disappearing back into Bial’s Music Hall.
“But I . . .” Her legs barely moved, with no power to will them forward. He was turning her resolve and her bones to mush with how possessed he was.
“Quiet. Wait ‘til I have you in the motorcar, then you may speak freely,” he told her, helping her into his vehicle.
“Do you even know how to drive?” she asked when he was at her side.
“I drive this motorcar the way you drive me mad—with precision and a punishing force.”
She gulped and took to holding her wobbling knees.
“Tell me now—you will not leave, will you? Once I have you in my home, you will not desert me?”
“Why would I? Unless you mean to massacre me.”
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