Page 12 of When You're Broken
Wendell, unbothered, crossed to the battered table, running gloved fingertips over the array of instruments.“Now that you two are well acquainted,” he said, feigning a thoughtful sigh, “I believe we can proceed to the next stage of our… game.”
Brendan tried to speak.“Don’t do this.Whatever you’re planning, we—”
“No, hush.”Wendell’s voice turned chilly.“There’s nothing you can say to stop me.My plans always play out exactly as intended.”He turned abruptly to James, who flinched at the attention.“We’ll do it fair and square, though, so you feel a sense of fate in all this.I have a coin.”From his trouser pocket, Wendell produced a small coin, brandishing it between gloved fingers.“Heads or tails.Win or lose.”
Brendan’s throat felt like sand.“What do you mean ‘win or lose’?”
Wendell gave him a lazy shrug.“It’s quite simple: I flip.If you win, you live.The other…” He made a slicing gesture across his own neck.“Loser.”
James’s breath caught in his throat, tears sliding anew down his battered cheek.“You can’t—”
Wendell made a tsking sound."I can, actually.I enjoy a bit of drama.Don't you, Brendan?"He turned to James."Now, since you're the new arrival, I'll let you pick heads or tails."
James’s eyes widened with raw terror, his body trembling so violently the chair rattled.“Please… I… I don’t want to kill him or me.I—”
Wendell’s mask crinkled at the corners, indicating a smile.“Choose, or I’ll shoot you both right now.”
A sob tore through James’s chest.He squeezed his eyes shut, tears dripping from his chin.“Heads,” he managed, voice breaking.“Heads.”
Wendell’s gloved hand twitched in something like excitement.“Heads for James.Then tails for dear Brendan.”He extended the coin with showy exaggeration, flicked it into the air.It spun, glinting in the overhead light, then clattered to the concrete, rolling near their chairs.
Brendan’s heart lurched.This can’t be real.He felt a cold sweat bead at his temple.The coin finally came to rest near Wendell’s foot.The man stooped to pick it up, letting the tension mount.He peered at the coin, then turned with a mocking gleam.“Heads it is,” Wendell announced softly.
Shock hammered Brendan’s mind, a sense of unreality.If heads meant James lived, it meanthewas the loser.The breath stuttered in his lungs.“No—”
James began sobbing anew, guilt and relief tangling in his voice.“Oh God, oh God—”
Brendan pressed his back to the chair, forcing calm.James was unraveling, but he needed to hold the man together.“James,” he said, his own voice wavering, “look at me.”
James lifted tear-filled eyes, trembling.
“It’s okay,” Brendan continued, though the swirl of panic nearly choked him.“You’re going to get out of this.You’ll see your brother, Stanley, again.And when you do… look up my mum and dad, okay?Tell them I love them.”He couldn’t stop his voice from cracking.“Tell them I’m sorry I didn’t make it back.”
James made a strangled sound, nodding wordlessly.The heartbreak on his face was unbearable.
Wendell interrupted, clearing his throat with faux politeness.“Touching.Now, let’s make it official.”He pivoted back to the table of tools, humming under his breath.“Decisions, decisions,” he muttered, trailing gloved fingertips over the hammer.He lifted it briefly, then shook his head.“No, too ungentlemanly.”Next, the pliers.“Too messy.”The bottle of white spirit earned a thoughtful tilt of his head.“Might need this later to clean up blood.”
Finally, Wendell picked up the broad knife, the overhead bulb glinting off the blade.He turned, presenting it to Brendan with a theatrically apologetic shrug.“Just right,” he said.
A tremor raced through Brendan’s core.He clenched his fists behind the chair, trying not to panic.Keep calm.Don’t give him satisfaction.
James sobbed harder.Wendell stepped toward Brendan, the knife’s tip tracing the air in idle patterns.He gripped Brendan’s hair roughly with his free hand, forcing his head back.
“James,” Brendan said hoarsely, ignoring the blade near his cheek.“Don’t watch.”He wanted to spare James the horror.The cold metal slid across Brendan’s skin, not yet cutting but promising violence.The surgical mask made Wendell’s grin invisible, but Brendan felt it in the man’s posture—coiled, malicious delight.
Then, without warning, Wendell twisted away from Brendan.The movement was so abrupt that Brendan’s mind lagged a second behind.Wendell’s left hand released Brendan’s hair.Instead of stabbing Brendan, he pivoted and lunged at James.The blade drove into James’s side with a wet impact.James’s scream reached out like the crack of a soul, only to die in a choking gurgle.
“Sorry, James,” Wendell murmured, voice almost gentle.“But you were always going to die.I don’t believe in fate or chance… only entertainment.”He jerked the blade free, leaving James gasping, blood staining his shirt.
Brendan’s stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat.“You’re crazy,” he spat, voice ragged.
Wendell let out a low laugh and pulled James upright by the shirtfront, ignoring the man’s dying groans.Then he took hold of the chair, dragging it across the concrete, squeaking and rattling with each movement.Drops of blood traced their path.James then fell silent, lifeless as a child’s doll.
“Tomorrow, Brendan,” Wendell said, pausing at the threshold, “you’ll see just how crazy I can be.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Finn leaned on the table’s edge, gazing at the manager across from him—a man who looked far older than he likely was.The blue-tinged lighting in the Hertfordshire HQ interview room cast everything in sharp lines and shadows.Evening had settled outside, the darkness pressing against the windows of the station corridors, but inside this cramped space, bright artificial light made escape feel impossible.Amelia stood a short distance away, arms folded, eyes flicking from Finn to their suspect.
