Mark Dubois Alternate Ending

The change of conversation settled down Tom's thoughts as well, and it also helped that, with Lila speaking, he could sit, with beer glass at his lips, and eyes just barely visible over the rim, and listen, without having to utter a word. Which is exactly what he did for the few minutes until their meals arrived; his silence only broken by the occasional grunt of encouragement for her to continue, and forced laughs. Whether his wife had noted the tone that had accompanied his comment about hiking up her dress and fucking her on the table, the Detective wasn't certain, but he couldn't forget the images it had brought to mind. Simultaneously, he attempted to fight them, and keep the date as he'd intended it to be. A romantic dinner between a
When it did, Tom Ross glanced around, and the creases lining his forehead grew deeper, before the expression on his face changed, and he cast his down to the place from where the noise emanated. Between his wife's legs. The Detective might not have been been the type of romantic to have purchased the gift himself, however, he was aware such toys existed, and with his ears attuned to the sound, and the knowledge of where it came from, the reasons for Lila's unusual behaviour swiftly catalyzed in his mind, and he suddenly jumped to his feet with with enough impetus to send the table crashing over.

, and the crockery and cutlery to smash on the floor, and bounce across the carpet. Tom Ross wasn't even aware of the silence that enveloped the restuarant, or that every set of the customers eyes were upon them as he brought Lila up to her feet with them, and shoved his hand under her dress and between her
"Weak bitch, you created the monster, don't fucking blame me. It was your fault." The veins in his neck pulsed, and his face grew redder and redder, as he continued to tell, and he slapped her again before his arms were suddenly gripped from behind by two men, and the toy fell from his grasp.

The actions caused him to release Lila, however, the man wasn't finished, and his blood-shot, murderous eyes remained fixated on his wife, "It was nothing less than you deserved, whore,", as he jerked, fought and flailed his fists against the combined strength of the strangers who attempted to subdue him, The irony of the situation was that, for the time that night, as Tom smirked at her reaction and the swelling his slap had begun to raise on her cheek before he was finally wrestled to the floor, he'd gained an