Page 7 of When You’re Broken (Finn Wright #11)

She readied herself, flattening behind the cabinet.

Finn edged back around the corner, eyes scanning for any potential item to use for a distraction.

He spotted a tall wooden shelf leaning precariously near the corridor’s end—maybe he could rattle it or push it over to create noise.

He snuck in a low crouch along the edges of the corridor, ignoring the pain in his cramped calves.

Another shot barked out, but it went wide.

He guessed the manager was anxious, or running short on ammo.

Finn inched behind the base of the staircase, pressing against the underside.

The manager had perched up top on the landing, gun aimed down.

Finn glimpsed the man’s shoes and ankles.

He swallowed, adrenaline spiking. The manager’s face was out of sight, but one wrong move and Finn risked a shot point-blank.

He rummaged along the floor, finding a loose piece of broken plaster the size of his fist. He seized it, drew back his arm, then hurled it against a stack of old crates near the far side. The impact rattled them with a loud crash. Immediately, Peterson’s footsteps shifted, accompanied by a grunt.

“Show yourself!” the manager barked, pivoting.

Finn turned and looked. Amelia used that moment to slip from behind her cabinet, crossing the corridor in a half-run. She had to cross about eight or nine feet of open space to get to the red alarm box. Finn’s stomach knotted, tracking her carefully. Just a few more steps…

But the manager, suspecting a ruse, turned back faster than expected.

Finn could hear the scuff of his shoes against the step.

If he looked down the corridor, he’d spot Amelia.

She froze, half a yard from the alarm, pressed against the wall.

Finn realized in horror that if the manager even glimpsed her, he could shoot her with an almost direct line of sight.

Finn needed a bigger diversion. He quietly circled behind the underside of the stairwell, ignoring the dust caking his hands.

He spotted a metal trolley parked next to a cluster of files.

Heart pounding, he lunged forward and shoved it hard.

The trolley slammed across the corridor, toppling a box with a resounding bang, scattering paper.

The manager let out a furious exclamation and fired in that direction.

The muzzle flash illuminated a glimpse of his face—knotted with desperation.

Amelia yanked the alarm’s lever, and a shrill siren erupted throughout the basement, echoing off the low ceiling.

The manager spun around, eyes wild, snapping the gun up.

He spotted Amelia. Time slowed. Finn’s mind raced: if the manager fired now, there was no cover for her.

Without hesitation, Finn scrambled out from behind the stairs, hands searching for anything to throw or strike him with.

A thick ledger lay half-buried in the scattered documents—some old record from the children's home’s archives.

He hefted it and hurled it overhand with all his might.

It smacked the manager’s upper arm. The shot he fired went astray, bullets ricocheting off the steps.

Amelia ducked, then bolted up the staircase, two steps at a time.

Meanwhile, the manager recovered enough to swing the gun back toward Finn.

Another shot rang out, dangerously close.

Bits of stone showered Finn’s ankles. He dived aside, stifling a yelp as a shard grazed his calf.

Above them, the fire alarm continued to wail.

Faintly, Finn could hear commotion from the children's home’s upper floors.

The remaining people in the building must be streaming out, some shouting in confusion .

The manager roared in frustration. Amelia was nearly gone, melting into the crowd.

The manager scrambled up after her, apparently determined not to lose both of them.

Finn forced himself to his feet, ignoring the stinging cut on his leg.

He sprinted after them up the steps, only to see that Amelia had already vanished past the door, presumably blending with staff or slipping outside.

The manager fired a round at Finn, but missed.

The bullet slammed into the banister, sending splinters flying.

Once Finn reached the top, he found chaos.

The hallway was lit by flashing emergency lights, the siren’s shriek assaulting his eardrums. Staff, mostly wearing casual attire, hurried with alarmed expressions, some shepherding children out the main doors.

Dust and a faint haze from some old extinguisher drifting in the hall gave everything a surreal haze.

Finn ducked behind a corner. The manager, gun clutched in his shaking hand, advanced up the final steps.

People parted around him in terror, some screaming when they noticed the weapon.

“Out of the building!” a staff member yelled at everyone, ignoring Finn for the moment.

The manager’s eyes darted around, scanning for Amelia.

He paid little attention to Finn, assuming perhaps Amelia had run outside.

This is my chance, Finn thought. If Amelia was outside calling for help, he just needed to keep the manager pinned or distracted.

He pressed himself behind the corner, waiting, heart thrumming.

The hallway cleared swiftly as the staff fled.

Now, only the manager's determined footsteps sounded above the alarm.

Finn saw him pass, presumably trying to push through the main foyer.

Then he realized the manager had changed direction, possibly suspecting Finn might still be around. The footsteps circled back.

Careful to remain unseen, Finn found a recessed area near a leftover coat rack.

He spotted a bright red fire extinguisher mounted on the wall, still secured in its bracket.

The manager’s footsteps drew closer, each one resonating in Finn’s chest. He removed the extinguisher as quietly as possible, his mind racing.

We used one in training for small-scale fires, never as a weapon.

But if he could blind or disorient the manager… it might give him an edge.

The manager emerged from around the corner, muzzle raised, scanning. The corridor was vacant aside from drifting bits of paper, flickering overhead lights, and the unrelenting siren. Finn crouched, hiding behind the coat rack. He waited until the manager was nearly upon him.

With a sudden lunge, he stepped forward and squeezed the extinguisher’s handle.

A blast of thick white foam billowed out, hitting the manager in the face.

The man screamed in shock, stumbling backward.

He fired blindly, the bullet punching into a plaster wall.

Finn pressed the advantage, batting the manager’s arm aside.

They grappled, the manager trying to shake off the foam in his eyes.

Without a gun of his own, Finn had to rely on muscle.

He managed to shove the manager into the hallway.

They slammed into a table, sending an old vase crashing.

The manager coughed, half-blinded, but refused to relinquish his weapon.

He lurched sideways, hooking an arm around Finn’s waist. Finn gasped as the manager pressed the muzzle into his ribs.

Finn pulled the hand away as hard as he could.

They thrashed for control of the pistol. The manager jammed it forward; Finn twisted his torso, forcing the muzzle away from vital organs. The fire alarm’s wail hammered Finn’s ears, fueling the sense of panic. If that trigger was pulled once more, he might not be so lucky.

Then, as if answering a silent prayer, Amelia reappeared behind the manager.

She must have circled in through another corridor or a side door after ensuring staff evacuated.

Her hair was disheveled, eyes blazing with determination.

Before the manager could sense her, she kicked him square in the back of his knee.

He buckled, the gun swinging wide. Finn seized that moment to wedge the man’s wrist with both hands, wrenching the weapon free.

It clattered to the floor, spinning away.

Amelia snatched the manager’s arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him face-down into a swirl of foam.

The manager struggled, spitting curses, but he was half-blinded from the extinguisher discharge and reeling from the sudden assault.

“Hold still!” Amelia snapped, breath ragged. She pinned his wrists together.

The manager let out a furious, choked cry, but his strength was sapped by confusion and exhaustion.

Amelia found a pair of plastic restraint ties—likely scooped from a staff area or an emergency kit—and used them like makeshift cuffs.

She tugged them tight, the manager grimacing.

Meanwhile, Finn stumbled back, leaning on a damp patch of wall for support, lungs burning.

He was covered in white foam, streaking his jacket and face.

Amelia turned, chest heaving, and for a heartbeat, they just locked eyes.

Relief washed through him in a dizzying wave.

She gave him a shaky grin that hovered between laughter and relief.

Then, in the swirl of sirens and the manager’s thrashing, she fished out her phone from her pocket.

She eyed Finn—soaked, breathing hard, foam spattered across his hair—and snapped a quick photo with a forced grin.

“Amelia!” Finn sputtered, still panting. “You’ve got to be kidding—”

She let out a short, breathless laugh. “For Rob,” she said, tucking her phone away. “He’ll love it.”

Finn half-laughed, half-groaned, pushing away from the wall, head spinning with leftover adrenaline. “I can’t believe… you circled back in. I thought you were calling for backup.”

“I did call for backup,” she said, scanning the corridor. “The local police should be on their way. Couldn’t just leave you to wrestle this psycho alone.”

His chest rose and fell, still fighting to regain composure.

On the floor, the manager let out a defeated moan, foam dripping from his brow, arms secured behind his back.

Amelia knelt, checking the manager’s pockets for any other weapons.

She found none, though a phone turned up, locked behind a password.

The manager spat at them, rage twisting his features. “You have no idea… what you’re dealing with,” he rasped, voice raw. “He told me… you’d come.”

Finn wiped foam from his eyelashes, heart pounding. “I bet he did,” he murmured. “Wendell Reed.”

Hearing the name, the manager twisted, cursing. Amelia pressed a knee against his back, steady. “Stop struggling,” she ordered.

At that moment, the children's home’s main door banged open somewhere down the corridor. Muffled voices echoed: the local police responding to the alarm or staff reentering to see what was happening. The manager coughed, throwing them a baleful glare. Finn’s mouth tightened.

He bent down slightly, gazing at the man. “Why’d you do it? Why help Wendell Reed?” He half-expected the manager to rant or stay silent, but the man just scowled, tears of anger forming.

“You can’t stop him,” the manager hissed. “He promised me… He said if I took you out, my brother would be safe. That he’d release him. Now you’ve ruined everything.”

Finn exchanged a grim look with Amelia. So Wendell blackmailed him, he thought. That would explain the manager’s desperation, his shaking hands on the gun, the raw mania in his eyes.

Footsteps approached, and a uniformed officer peeked around the corridor, wide-eyed at the scene: foam-coated floor, random bullet holes, a subdued manager pinned under Amelia.

The policeman raised his arms in confusion, speaking into his radio.

“We have a suspect in custody… Shots fired… Looks like the staff evacuated.”

Amelia nodded at Finn to confirm they were fine, though battered. She relinquished the manager to the policeman, stepping back to let official procedure unfold. Finn took a few shallow breaths, foam dripping from the tips of his hair.

When the manager was handed over to a second officer, Amelia quietly leaned to Finn’s ear. “You all right?”

He managed a grin. “Soaked in extinguisher foam, a bullet nicked my calf, but I’ll survive.” He brushed a stray fleck from his jacket. “Let’s hope he talks.”

She nodded, eyes flicking to the manager, who was now being half-dragged by the police.

“If Wendell is behind this, we’ll push him to tell us everything he knows about my brother’s abduction.

” She hesitated, then lowered her voice.

“Brendan... Every minute we waste, Wendell’s got more time to hide him. ”

Finn’s breath came unevenly. His mind flashed to the memory of how Wendell had once boasted about punishing Amelia by hurting those close to her.

Now he had her brother. The manager had nearly killed Finn, trying to isolate her.

“We won’t let that happen,” he said, voice taut with determination.

“We’ve beaten his stooge here, we’ll do it again for the bigger fish. ”

Officers swiftly taped off the corridor, yelling instructions over the alarm’s continuing screech.

Another policeman found the master control for the alarm and switched it off, plunging the children's home into a new hush.

The manager stared blearily at them, heartbreak overshadowing his anger, as though realizing the cost of obeying Wendell.

Finn locked eyes with Amelia, seeing the resolution in her gaze.

This manager was about to be questioned thoroughly.

Amelia put a hand on Finn’s shoulder, guiding him away from the swirl of policeman activity. “Come on, we can let them handle the scene.” Her lips quirked in a subdued smile. “You need that foam wiped off, or you’ll look like the abominable snowman in all the official photos.”

Finn huffed a small laugh, running a palm over his sticky hair. “Thanks for the mental image.” She rummaged in a corner for a stray rag or towel. Nothing. He shrugged, standing stiffly, stifling a wince at the stinging cut on his leg. “I hope Stanley knows more than he’s letting on.”

Amelia exchanged a glance with Finn, then spoke quietly: “Right. Let’s find out what he knows about where Wendell is keeping Brendan. It’s our only lead.”

“Yeah,” Finn said. “And let’s hope he doesn’t have anyone else working for him out there.”