The panic was rising in Harry's chest.
Kazal was rough and insistent: his lips battered Ruth's; his hands, right still clasping the gun, brutally marauded over her body.
Harry's eyes were wide with hatred, helplessness and distress.
He sat as still as possible, his hand sliding to the pocket of Ruth's coat. By touch he felt for the switch to make sure it was set to silent.
He risked a glance down at the screen and punched in Malcolm's number, keeping his thumb over the small speaker. As he saw the call connect he shouted out.
"Let her go, Kazal! Zofira's dead already, you don't want Ruth."
"Oh, don't I?" snarled Kazal, taunting Harry with a grin. And then his fingers clasped Ruth's blouse and tore it apart.
Harry couldn't help himself, he tensed, about to spring forward.
Kazal had expected it, he swung the gun and fired a single shot into Harry's left thigh.
Harry groaned in pain. Kazal laughed and glanced at Ruth who smiled convincingly at him, before pulling his head to her neck where he sucked and bit enthusiastically. She stared at Harry concern etched across her face.
He nodded, assuring her he was ok and for the briefest of seconds showed her the phone before laying it beside his injured leg, hidden beneath the coat.
They gazed at each other, both more anxious for the other than for themselves.
He felt the phone vibrate against his leg.
The call was still connected, a text message appeared on the screen.
CO19 on the way, 13 minutes. Hold on.
Harry stared at the screen - 13 minutes!
Ruth felt clawing hands pulling at her skirt, she felt the cool air around her thighs as he lifted the material, groping beneath it.
None of it mattered, she thought. None of this mattered because she was wearing a big, heavy overcoat: the overcoat that came with a legend. She chose to wear it. She was Ruth, the scorned revengeful woman that wanted this; that was the part she was playing and when it was all over she would chose to shrug off the legend, shrug off the part and the coat and be herself, untouched by this.
But then she caught sight of Harry. His tense, pained eyes watched impotently.
With a grunt of satisfaction Kazal pushed aside her knickers and thrust his fingers into her. She winced at the brutality of his touch. As Kazal struggled to unfasten his trousers she looked back at Harry, at his soft gentle face: this was to keep him alive, this was to buy them time.
Somehow in looking at him it made it easier.
But Harry couldn't watch, his eyes closed and he looked away. Torn apart.
He looked for the magazine of bullets, they were about six feet away, the gun on the other side of the room. He would never make it from one to the other. He could throw the phone, distract Kazal and then make a leap for him. He would have ten feet to cover effectively on one leg, plenty of reaction time for Kazal to shoot either him or Ruth, or both.
With every move that was made Ruth assessed the situation. Was there anything she could do to get him to drop the gun. He was strong, stronger than she had anticipated and yet for all his lustfulness, he was watchful and aware.
She could only hope that help would come soon.
But Harry knew soon was not going to be soon enough.
Kazal pushed her roughly against the wall, his forearm across her throat, the gun clutched tightly. His other hand lifted her leg, as fumbling he thrust towards her.
The air was struggling to reach her lungs as his arm pressed harder and harder. She gasped and began to struggle but he didn't see it, eyes closing in expectation.
Harry was in hell.
A bullet was no longer an issue. Waiting no longer an option.
He launched himself forward, crying out as the shattered damage in his leg screamed pain through his nerves.
Kazal turned his head, his arm releasing Ruth's throat as he swung the gun towards Harry once more. Ruth thrust out her arms, pushing him with all the strength she had. Off balance the gun went off shattering the window behind Harry's head as he fell at Kazal's feet grabbing for the gun.
Ruth kicked out straightlegged, her heeled boots connecting with Kazal's genitals.
He doubled over with a strangled cry which was drowned out by the shattering of wood and glass and then a volley of gunfire as CO19 burst into the room.