Page 27 of When You're Broken
A moment later, Rob stood in the threshold, scanning the living room.He saw Eleanor, saw the gun, and froze.His voice cracked with alarm.“Eleanor—my God, what have you done to her?Let her go.”
Wendell eased the gun’s muzzle a fraction higher, close to Eleanor’s hairline.“Move another step, and I’ll blow her brains out.Is that clear?”
Rob lifted both hands in the universal sign of surrender, eyes darting between Wendell and Eleanor.“All right, all right.I’m not armed.Just… talk to me.”
Wendell’s lips curved in a half-smile.“I’ve heard that you and Amelia Winters are close friends, Rob?I read about your joint operations in the newspapers—someone said you two were unstoppable.She’s also overly close with Finn, from what I gather.Interesting circle.”
Rob’s eyes flicked to Eleanor again and then back to Wendell.“This is pointless—please, let Eleanor go.She’s done nothing to you.”
Wendell let out a thoughtful hum.“You have all brought this on yourselves, one way or another.”
Rob stepped sideways, trying to place a piece of furniture between him and Wendell.“Look, I can get you anything you want—money, resources, you name it.Just let her go.”
Wendell’s grin widened, though it lacked warmth.“Can you get me Amelia’s head on a plate?That’s the only ‘resource’ I’m interested in.”
Rob’s face twisted with revulsion.His breathing quickened.“That’s— You know I can’t do that.If that’s what you really want, I can’t help.”
“Thought so.”In one fluid motion, Wendell lifted the gun from Eleanor’s head and fired at Rob’s stomach, pulling the trigger without further warning.The crack echoed, deafening in the modest living room.Rob’s eyes went wide, shock overshadowing pain for a split second.Then he collapsed behind the kitchen counter with a ragged groan.
Eleanor made a guttural, muffled scream behind her gag, jerking against the ropes.Wendell kept the gun raised, the scent of gunpowder biting the air.Rob sprawled on the floor, hands pressed to his abdomen.A bloom of crimson stained his shirt.He let out a gasp, trying to speak, but only half-coherent words emerged.
Wendell exhaled, calm.One bullet.One kill.Perfect for sending a message.He circled around Eleanor, crouching so she could see the gun in his hand, pressed dangerously close to her forehead.
She cried out again, eyes brimming with terror, and he said nothing—just smirked and leaned in.“Bang!”he shouted, voice echoing through the house.She flinched violently, tears streaming.Wendell laughed, a sharp bark of mirth, pulling the gun away.“Relax, I’m not going to kill you.Not this time.But you’ll still be part of my little demonstration.”
She whimpered, trembling from head to toe.Wendell rose, stepping across the living room.He suppressed a sneer at the coziness of it all.“This really is a lovely house,” he mused, drifting towards where Rob lay.
Rob had managed to drag himself partially upright against a cabinet, though his face had gone pale, sweat shining on his brow.His breathing came in shallow rasps, his lungs filling with blood.It wouldn’t be long.Wendell pulled a brown envelope from inside his jacket, the top unsealed.He knelt, ignoring Rob’s half-lidded stare.
“Here,” he said, tossing the envelope onto Rob’s bloodied chest.“A small present for your colleagues to find with your dead body.”
He rose, adjusting his coat.Rob tried to form words—maybe “stop” or “help”—but only a guttural moan escaped.Wendell left him slumped there, turning back to the living room.Eleanor had her eyes screwed shut in terror.He paused near her, leaning close enough that she could feel his breath.She let out a muffled sob.
Wendell patted her shoulder, almost gently, then walked past her toward the front door.“Lovely place,” he repeated with a sardonic twist of his lips.“Hope you both enjoyed my visit.”
He unlatched the door and stepped outside, the hush of dusk greeting him.No immediate neighbors peered from across the lane—this secluded property ensured minimal witnesses.Wendell felt a grim satisfaction.The plan was unfolding neatly.Amelia’s dear friend, dead.The girlfriend left traumatized.He might have killed them both, but that would remove too many chess pieces from the board at once.He liked to keep certain pieces in play and allow Eleanor to convey the horror of Wendell to the others.A witness was often preferable.
Wendell climbed into the car Renfield had provided.The engine started up as the skies began to head towards twilight.He steered onto a quiet country road, ignoring the faint pang of hunger in his stomach.Brendan Wilson’s life is the final noose around Amelia’s neck.Soon enough, she’d be in his sights, and there would be no escaping the revenge he’d planned for her.
He intended to savor every second of it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Finn stood at the evidence board in the Hertfordshire Constabulary’s main briefing room, absently tapping a pen against his palm.On the cork surface hung photographs of crime scenes, pinned maps with roughly scribbled notes, and a web of pinned string connecting possible locations.The chaotic arrangement mirrored the swirl of tension Finn felt inside.He’d been staring at this board for the better part of an hour, trying to see if anything new jumped out, but his mind kept drifting back to the morning’s arguments and the friction he couldn’t shake.
Behind him, Detective Clint flipped through thick folders brimming with interviews and suspect lists, occasionally shaking his head with mild frustration.A tall, lean figure, Clint wore a perpetually focused expression, brows furrowed as if always searching for a missed clue.
Across the table from Clint, Amelia sat, posture rigid, eyes fixed on a laptop screen.The hush of her presence pressed on Finn.He couldn't forget the tense atmosphere between them—he'd suggested she leave the country for her own safety, and she'd reacted with anger and hurt.Now, as the day wore into evening, her silence felt like another barbed reminder that she was upset with him.
Exhaling quietly, Finn turned from the evidence board to face the room.The large overhead fluorescents reflected on the polished floor, while sunlight struggled through the tall windows.A pair of constables walked by in the hallway, their voices echoing faintly in the corridor.
Finn tried to break the tension.“Anyone need coffee?”His words sliced into the hush.“I can run to the machine.”
Clint offered a small smile, shaking his head.“No thanks, I’m good.”
Amelia’s gaze flicked toward Finn—briefly, without warmth.“I’m fine too.”Then she returned to scanning the text on her screen, tapping out a few notes with terse keystrokes.She didn’t meet Finn’s eyes, her posture upright in that quietly furious way that told him she still simmered with anger.
Biting back a sigh, he set his pen down.“All right,” he said softly, trying not to sound crestfallen.“I’ll take a quick breather, then.”He left the briefing room, feeling the subtle weight of an unresolved conversation trailing behind him.
