“He needs the money,” Zihan shouted, and I flinched at the swift change in his attitude. Outside the room there was a thump, as if someone hit the floor. “He needs it to carry out his agenda.”
Rowdy bent toward Zihan and rested his elbows on the table, wiggling his shoulders before he said, “The agenda of Charles Waterhouse is getting free cash and ass. You’re playing into it. I’m sure you’ve thought about it. Every time you see him walking into someone else’s bedroom. Every time you see one of the women at the compound turn up with a rounded stomach full of his brat. Your money is going to their babies. Your money is going to support other people who fuck your boyfriend.”
Zihan’s jaw tightened, and his lips trembled. “Stop it. You don’t understand.”
I tried to signal Rowdy to cut his shit because he was crashing into the wall of conditioning here, but he ignored me.
“Charles is using you and everyone on that compound. What makes him so great?”
Zihan dashed the short distance across the kitchen to a drawer and was rooting around in it before my brain kicked in. Cursing, I shot to my feet and followed him, but it was too late. He had a wicked fillet knife out of the drawer. The wooden handle fit perfectly in his palm, and the silver flashed in the soft light that glowed above the sink. He backed himself into a corner, print kittens galloping on the wall above him, all before I could do a damned thing about it. I wanted to fucking kill Rowdy, but he always believed in ripping off the blinders like a Band-Aid, no matter how many times I’d told him it was cruel. Zihan raised the knife to his throat and closed his eyes, his breaking heart twisting his face into a mask of grief.
“Don’t. You won’t get to see him again if you do,” I murmured. The knife stopped far too close to Zihan’s neck. The tip pressed to his skin beside his Adam’s apple and a small dribble of scarlet blood rolled down his neck to gather at the collar of his sweater. Rowdy sat at the table, mouth hanging open like a stunned fish.
“I can’t see him now,” Zihan sobbed out. “I just want to go back, and no one will help me. No one cares.”
“That’s not true.” It was a challenge, but I kept my voice steady. “You have a good family here. They care a whole lot about you. Everyone wants you to come out of this alive and healthy.”
His body vibrated like a tuning fork and more blood ran down his neck. “I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home to the scion.” He screwed his face up, and I could tell he was working himself toward something awful—and final. I’d seen it happen in the AS too many times, though usually not with self-harm. Usually they were winding up to hurt someone else. I’d found men swinging in prison cells. It was unacceptable that Zihan should be next.
“What’s there that isn’t here? Love? Understanding?”
He nodded, and tears dripped down his face, a river that gained momentum and didn’t seem to have an end. “Will you help me?”
“Yes, but not the way you think. You can have those things for real with someone who respects you, cares about you as a person, and isn’t taking all of your money. That’s not love, Zihan. I promise.”
“No, I can’t have that! Other than the scion, who could love me? No one! He told me. Only his benevolence makes me worthy.” He stumbled and propped himself up against the corner of the room, the knife still scaring the shit out of me as he held it in place with a shaking hand.
Hua distracted me as she slipped around the doorframe and into the kitchen with her back against the wall. She was crying, too. “Stop this. Stop being stupid. Snap out of it.” She let loose a barrage of words in an Asian language I couldn’t begin to guess at, and she seemed to be continuing on from where she’d left off in English. His hand stiffened on the knife.
“No,” I said because I could see his shoulder tightening, just like before an inmate took a swing, and then he was driving the knife in, but he squealed and dropped it to the floor about two seconds later, slapping a hand to the wound. Blood gushed, but not enough to make me think he’d murdered himself off just yet. I rushed forward as he slid to the floor and sat hard on his ass.
“Why did I do that?” he asked, his sad brown eyes imploring me for answers I really didn’t want to give. Rowdy’s chair scraped back from the table, and he swore under his breath.
“Because you’re in love with an idea of something that doesn’t exist,” I said quietly, fighting off my panic. “Let me put pressure on the wound.” I chased his fingers away and quickly replaced them with mine. He hissed as I used as much force as I thought was safe on his windpipe.
“Don’t let me die,” he begged.
“I won’t.” The fact that he would say such a thing probably meant there was hope for him yet.
His sister stood by, hands over her mouth. Rowdy was already on the phone requesting an ambulance, and he paced between the kitchen archway and me on a loop.
“You people were supposed to help him,” Hua shot at me, hot accusation making her voice low.
Spinning in place, anchored by trying to keep her brother’s blood inside his body, I shook my head at her. “Then why didn’t you let me help and stay out of it?”
Her face contorted the same way Zihan’s had seconds before he’d driven the knife into his flesh. Nothing she did made her look anything except scared, and I ignored her while she yelled at me. I knew it wasn’t me she was furious with—not really.
“Enough,” Rowdy roared at her, and she snapped her mouth shut. “We told you not to interrupt once we got started. This isn’t a fucking intervention.”
“Shh, you’re doing okay,” I said to Zihan, when he scrabbled at my wrist, and his chest rose and fell faster. His eyes were far too wide and had gone glassy. “There’s blood, but I don’t think you jabbed the really important bits, okay? Just relax. Relax, I have you. You’re going to get through this.”
He barely nodded and closed his eyes. Minutes later, someone was pounding down the front door and opening it to shout inside. “EMT! Where is the patient?” a woman yelled.
“In here!” Rowdy fired back.
The ambulance had arrived, and I was more than happy to hand Zihan off to the paramedics. The switch-off was scary. When I moved my hand, blood spurted. A woman with a grim set to her mouth took my spot. New Gothenburg Emergency Services was emblazoned on the backs of their blue winter coats, and those words were all I could see as both workers focused fully on Zihan. They rushed him out, strapped down to a stretcher, and Rowdy followed after them to give a quick rundown of everything that had gone on this morning. I felt about a thousand years old as I washed my hands in the kitchen sink and watched the life of someone else swirl down the drain.
“What will they do to him?” Hua asked. She gave me a look that was about as miserable as a person could get and brushed her long hair behind her ears.
