I stopped pounding and shouting, jumped from the countertop, and frantically searched around me. I pulled open a drawer in one of the two cabinets on either side of the sink and grabbed a steak knife.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

I whirled toward the door and froze when I saw who was walking in.

A petite, elderly Chinese lady and, with her, a very not elderly, not petite, very good-looking Chinese guy.

The woman came to a halt four feet in. The guy closed the door and moved in, looking around.

Then he muttered, “Jeez, what is it with Abel? This place looks like a safe house for terrorists.”

I couldn’t agree more.

“And would it kill him to put a door on the toilet?” he carried on.

“Chen, quiet,” the woman admonished.

He shut his mouth, stopped staring at the toilet area with amused disgust, and turned his gaze to me. His eyes dropped to the knife I held out in front of me. He grinned, settled in, and crossed his arms on his chest.

The woman took a step forward and I kept the knife where it was but moved it toward her an inch.

She stopped.

“I’m Jian-Li, niece, sister, mother to Abel,” she announced bizarrely, then motioned to the guy behind her. “And this is my son, Chen, nephew, then brother to Abel.”

Well wasn’t that just brilliant? I had hoped with the Chinese guy’s opening remarks that these two were sane and might help me escape.

But from her introductions, which made no sense, I was thinking not.

“And you are…?” she prompted.

“Wanting to leave,” I replied. “Like, right now.”

She tipped her head to the side and her lips curved up in a soft smile. “Abel came to us and shared you were distressed about this evening’s events. He’s asked me to come down and explain a few things to you, thinking perhaps you might find me a little less…imposing.”

She was right.

But seeing as she was crazy, she was also wrong.

“And since Ma can’t open the door, I’m here,” the son put in. I looked to him and he was still grinning. “Another thing I don’t get about our boy, why he has steel doors installed in every pit he occupies. It’s whacked.”

I blinked.

Every pit he occupies?

“Chen, your opinions are not needed at this juncture,” the woman noted.

“Ma, look at her.” He swung an arm out toward me. “She’s freaked.”

“I can see that, and if you’ll be quiet, I’ll do something about it,” she shot back.

He again settled in with his arms on his chest, mumbling, “This oughta be good.”

“Chen!” she snapped.

“Ma, no joke, what you’re about to say is gonna freak her more,” Chen retorted.

Excellent.