Cheryl
Mr. Han was taking longer than I expected. Panic clawed at my chest, but I forced myself to believe he was just having trouble getting the money.
Mark leaned in close, his breath hot against my cheek as he grabbed my jaw. “The longer your husband takes, the more I want to pluck one of your pretty little eyes and send it to him,” he sneered, laughing.
I jerked my head away, disgust curling in my stomach.
Then his phone rang.
Mr. Han.
Mark smirked as he answered. “Come to the basement, Han. And pray the cops aren’t with you, because if they are, I’ll kill Cheryl and gladly go back to jail.”
Minutes later, the door burst open.
Mr. Han stepped in, still in his work suit, his tie loosened, his face dark with fury. He looked disheveled, rougher than I’d ever seen him. Without a w
