"He held the knife at my throat with one hand and with the other he started to undo the top button of my pajama top. I cringed and a cry escaped my lips. The other man with the whip moved closer. The man with the knife began cutting the threads of the next button. The knife must have been very sharp because I barely felt a tug before I heard the button drop to the floor. He moved the knife down to the third button and leered at me, and then looked down at the button. I was definitely going to be sick, I thought. "If you're going to kill me, at least tell me why you killed my husband," I pleaded, mostly to distract him. "Your husband was just a means to an end. We didn't have nothing personal against him." Another button hit the floor. "We wanted to get even with your father," he scowled. "He's going to suffer for what he did to us." Revenge may be sweet, but it often backfires