She puts her hands on his chest. "Wait," she says.
Kane doesn't stop. He is kissing her neck. He is lost in the fantasy of saving her, of possessing the woman he couldn't save twelve years ago.
"Thomas, stop," Ivy says louder. She pushes him.
He doesn't move. He pins her wrists.
"It’s okay," he says, his eyes glazed. "It’s okay, Ivy. We need this."
My blood freezes.
This wasn't in the script. He isn't hesitating. He is crossing the line from unethical to rape.
"Silas!" Ivy screams. It’s not acting.
I rip the headset off.
I don't bother with the door.
I grab the sledgehammer I left leaning against the wall—just in case.
I swing it at the plaster wall between the rooms.
CRASH.
Dust explodes. The drywall crumbles.
I swing again.CRASH.
A hole opens up, big enough for a man.
I step through the wall like a nightmare emerging from the fog.
Kane spins around on the bed, shock plastered across his face. He reaches for his gun.
He is too slow.
I am on him before he can clear the holster.
I grab him by the back of his cheap suit jacket and yank him off Ivy. I throw him across the room. He crashes into the dresser, shattering the mirror.
Ivy scrambles back against the headboard, clutching her hoodie closed. She is shaking.
Kane groans, trying to stand up.
I walk over to him.
I kick him in the ribs. Hard. I feel the bone snap.
"You touched her," I snarl.
I kick him again. In the face.
"You put your hands on my wife."
Kane spits blood. He looks up at me, one eye swelling shut.
"She... she wanted it," he wheezes. "She asked me..."
