Page 28 of When You’re Broken (Finn Wright #11)

Finn limped through the abandoned police station’s corridor, one arm braced against the cracking wall, the other aiming his flashlight forward.

Every step sent pain lancing through his bandaged calf, but he pressed on.

Brendan, walking unsteadily a half-step behind him, looked as though he might collapse at any moment.

Yet neither man wavered. They had to find Amelia.

The building around them was a maze of half-collapsed offices and flickers of broken overhead lights that no longer functioned.

Specks of dust like phantoms drifted in their flashlight beams, swirling with each cautious footstep.

Signs of the station’s past—faded posters detailing rights and procedures, battered filing cabinets, a large coat rack—cluttered the halls, all coated in a thick layer of neglect.

Occasionally, loose tile would crunch underfoot.

"How many floors are in this place?" Brendan asked, his voice hushed yet echoing in the emptiness. His breath came in shallow gasps—weak from his captivity, he was doing all he could just to keep pace.

Finn paused by a corner, shining the flashlight around before motioning Brendan to follow.

“Probably three main floors, plus an attic storage. Seems it’s in terrible shape, though.

I doubt we’ll see anything stable on the upper levels.

” He turned to check on Brendan. “You sure you’re up for this? You’ve been through a lot.”

Brendan gave a grim nod, determination flickering in his tired eyes. “I have to. If Amelia’s here… I can’t stand outside waiting.” He put a hand on the wall to steady himself, then caught his breath. “I hardly know her, but she’s my sister. I owe her that much.”

Finn’s chest tightened at those words. He swallowed against the dryness in his throat, pushing aside the pain in his leg.

“She’s… the best person I’ve ever met,” he offered, quietly.

“Selfless, relentless, always carrying that sense of justice. She never gives up on anyone.” His voice cracked a little as he said it.

Brendan mustered a faint half-smile. “I believed someone would come for me, somehow,” he said, though his tone was raw, undercut by the memory of being Wendell’s prisoner. “I just… had this sense. And now here you are.”

Finn moved along the corridor, scanning each door that branched off.

Most were either jammed shut or empty, the rooms inside too small or too decayed to hide anyone.

“Wendell targeted you because you’re Amelia’s brother and she put him in prison,” he explained between cautious steps.

“He escaped and found out first, used it as a way to hurt her. If she’d known about you any earlier, she would’ve looked for you. She never leaves anyone behind.”

Brendan nodded, his jaw tensing. "So he's punishing her because she was the one who arrested him?"

“That’s part of it,” Finn said. “He’s got a twisted motive—he kills or kidnaps those he blames for humiliations or slights. He’s inflicted so much damage. We have to end it now.”

A distant sound—something like rope grating against wood—pricked their ears.

Both men froze, exchanging alarmed glances.

Finn raised a finger to his lips, beckoning Brendan to follow quietly.

They crept forward, each footstep deliberate.

The hallway led to a door that stood slightly ajar.

From beyond it came that abrasive rubbing sound, rhythmic in a way that spiked dread in Finn’s chest.

He pushed open the door carefully, breath caught in his throat.

The beam of his flashlight swept inside—and the sight made his stomach drop.

The space was once an office: a battered desk lay overturned, and bits of debris littered the floor.

Rats fled from the flashlight’s glare, skittering into the shadows.

But the real horror was near the room’s far side, where a thick wooden beam extended across the ceiling.

Amelia hung by her neck, her boots scraping at air. Wendell stood on a splintered desk, pulling the rope tighter, hoisting her higher. Her face was reddening, arms flailing at her throat in frantic attempts to loosen the noose. She managed a desperate gurgle, legs kicking.

A scream tore from Finn’s throat. “No!” Without thought, he lunged forward.

Wendell turned, eyes burning with deranged satisfaction, leaping down to intercept Finn.

The rope he’d tied remained taut, leaving Amelia suspended, her body thrashing in midair.

Finn rushed to tackle Wendell, but the killer’s reflexes were surprisingly swift—he pivoted and caught Finn’s collar, slamming him back.

Pain jolted through Finn’s wounded leg, nearly buckling him, but he forced himself to remain upright and swung a fist. Wendell twisted aside, delivering a brutal strike to Finn’s ribs.

From the corner of his vision, Finn caught a glimpse of Amelia’s frantic movements growing weaker. If she doesn’t get cut down soon… “Brendan!” Finn shouted over the chaos. “Cut her down, now!”

Wendell seized that moment, smashing his forearm across Finn’s face, sending him reeling.

Spots swam in his vision. Gritting his teeth, Finn swung out again, fists colliding with Wendell’s chest. The man staggered, but his aggression returned tenfold.

He shoved Finn back, and Finn nearly lost his footing on loose debris.

Amelia’s boots twitched less and less. Her arms dangled. Finn’s heart pounded with raw terror. “Cut her down!” he roared again, trying to parry Wendell’s next onslaught.

Brendan rushed to the far side of the room where the rope’s end was anchored.

He grabbed at it, fumbling for a sharp edge.

The rope was thick, knotted viciously. He found a piece of broken metal or glass—some rusted shard on the floor—and started sawing.

Amelia’s strangled gasps rattled in the suffocating gloom.

Wendell hammered at Finn’s defenses, a wild flurry of punches.

Finn blocked a few, but Wendell’s raw power and ferocity overwhelmed him.

The man’s fists pummeled Finn’s shoulders and sides, each blow jarring his half-healed injuries.

At last, Wendell landed a solid strike across Finn’s jaw, sending him crashing down.

The floor meeting his back felt like a sledgehammer blow.

Dazed, he blinked up at the sagging ceiling, hearing the commotion of Brendan working behind him.

“Now you’re mine, Amelia,” Wendell hissed, spinning away from Finn to lunge at her limp form.

He reached her just as Brendan severed the rope.

Amelia’s body collapsed in a heap, the rope no longer suspending her.

Wendell pivoted and crouched over her, hands immediately wrapping around her throat. The sight made Finn’s blood run cold.

Brendan let out a cry and charged. “Leave her alone!” He tackled Wendell, wrestling him away from Amelia’s still figure.

Wendell snarled, shifting his grip from Amelia’s neck to shove Brendan back.

With a savage strike to his sternum, Wendell knocked him down, leaving Brendan sprawled, breathless, on the floor.

Finn forced himself to move, though his head swam.

Please, God, no . He grabbed a chunk of broken cinder block from the debris around him, launching it at Wendell.

The projectile slammed into Wendell’s back with a crack, causing him to flinch and stumble.

Fury twisted Wendell’s face as he turned to face Finn again.

Finn tried to stand, but his wounded leg gave out.

He ended up half-kneeling, raising an arm to defend against Wendell’s renewed assault.

Wendell’s fists hammered him, each blow thunderous in the echoing space.

It was all Finn could do to stay conscious.

His head reeled from the cumulative hits.

Light and color danced at the edges of his vision.

He glimpsed the swirl of red and blue lights outside the room’s single dirty window. The police…

Sirens blared from somewhere beyond the station walls, painting the interior with flickering color. “You’ll never escape,” Finn managed to rasp, voice shaking.

Wendell’s chest heaved with hatred. “Escape?” he spat, stepping forward. “I was never after that. This is about revenge, finishing Amelia. I’ll never stop until she’s dead.”

That statement sent cold dread and fierce anger coursing through Finn.

He clenched his jaw, ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth, and remembered the makeshift weapon in his pocket.

The shard of wood from earlier. Summoning the last of his strength, he yanked it free and drove it into Wendell’s shoulder with a desperate thrust. The man let out a pained roar, staggering back.

Finn forced himself upright, heart pounding, adrenaline fueling him past the pain.

He advanced, each step an effort, but the rage in him burned bright.

He started delivering blow after blow, fists connecting with Wendell’s torso, forcing the man to crumple.

Wendell fell to the floor with a grunt, pinned beneath Finn’s fury.

The shard of wood jutted from his shoulder, blood staining the fabric of his jacket.

Finn, chest heaving, straddled Wendell, ripping the shard loose in a spurt of blood.

Wendell tried to block, but Finn slammed the makeshift weapon downward, pressing it toward Wendell’s throat.

“You. Will Not. Hurt. Her!” he seethed, voice trembling with white-hot wrath.

Wendell’s hands scrabbled at Finn’s wrists, trying to push the shard away.

They locked eyes—Wendell’s full of fear and terror, Finn’s brimming with raw vengeance.

Just then, a weakened voice cried, “Finn! Don’t do it!”

He froze, the shard’s tip hovering an inch above Wendell’s neck. Amelia. She was alive, though her voice was faint, raspy from strangulation. She was propped on an elbow, her eyes wide with distress. “Don’t… kill him,” she choked out.

Finn’s breath hitched. “He won’t stop,” he whispered, tears stinging his eyes.

Her face, bruised and exhausted, held unwavering resolve. “That’s the risk that comes with what we do,” she managed. “Killing is who Wendell Reed is, but not who we are. Please… don’t cross that line.”

He gripped the shard so tight his knuckles blanched. For a second, he almost drove it down out of unstoppable rage. Then, as if a tether snapped, he let out a ragged exhale, releasing the pressure. Wendell’s muscles went slack beneath him, the fight drained in the face of such an imminent end.

Finn withdrew the shard, tossing it aside with a clatter. Amelia's gaze held relief. He climbed off Wendell, panting, as the battered killer slumped, half-conscious, blood trailing from his shoulder. The swirl of police sirens grew louder.

At that moment, the door burst open, and uniformed officers poured in—Clint leading the charge, with McNeill behind him. Their flashlights flooded the scene, illuminating Amelia’s bruised form, Finn crouched near the fallen Wendell. The reek of blood and sweat saturated the air.

McNeill strode across the debris to check on Amelia. She let out a ragged cough but gestured that she was okay, or as okay as one could be after near-strangulation. “Not bad, Winters,” McNeill said softly, his tone revealing an uncharacteristic flicker of respect and care.

A bitter smile crossed Amelia’s lips. “That’s about the highest praise I’ll ever get from you, I guess.” Her voice rasped as she tried to stand, only to nearly collapse.

He smiled. “Let’s get you seen to.”

Medics rushed in behind the officers, kneeling at her side to assess her injuries. Meanwhile, an officer cuffed Wendell, who let out a faint moan of protest, pinned by McNeill’s men.

Finn struggled to rise, wincing as the paramedic turned to him. “I’m fine,” he insisted, though blood trickled from a split in his lip, and his leg felt like it was on fire. He grimaced, glancing to see Brendan stepping over with concern in his eyes.

Outside, strobing lights colored the night. With Wendell secured and medics on scene, the tension inside the old station ebbed. The paramedics carefully lifted Amelia onto a stretcher, strapping her in while they offered oxygen. She coughed, wincing at the strain on her throat.

Finn limped behind them as they guided her out, but the lead paramedic halted him with a raised hand. “Are you immediate next of kin?”

Finn shook his head, eyes darting toward Brendan.

Brendan, battered but determined, stepped forward. He looked lost as he took in Amelia’s pale face. “Amelia,” he whispered. “I… I’m sorry I never found you sooner.”

She glanced at him with watery eyes. “We’ll have time to fix that,” she managed. “I promise.” Then she closed her eyes, letting the paramedics wheel her out toward the exit, leaving only the battered remnants of the building behind.

Brendan hesitated, torn. Finn placed a hand on his shoulder, speaking quietly but firmly. “Go with her. She needs family.”

The paramedic repeated, “Only room for one. Who’s coming with?”

Finn watched the swirl of red and blue, the bustling police and medics streaming around them.

He looked at Amelia’s on the stretcher, her hair matted with dust and dried blood.

Everything in him wanted to remain glued to her side.

But he forced himself to step away. “I’ll follow in a car, Brendan here will go with her… He’s her brother.”