When I returned, this urge to see her sleep had been ardent. I'm not concerned about her—if that's what you're thinking. The only thing I am concerned about is the barter. And her being alive and breathing is the only condition of it.
I stop outside the door and find the mattress lying on the floor, empty. The sheets are untouched. I check my watch, and it reads 11 p.m. Her training gets over by now. Why is she not here?
Walking down the stairs, I happen to cross paths with Dom, and he looks at me like he hates my very appearance. Not that I give two shits. I've gotten the more prominent and beautiful features from our parents—and he knows it.
"Dom," I say.
"What?" he snaps, irked. I ignore it.
"Where is that woman?"
He scoffs in disbelief, rolling his eyes at me.
"That woman? I'm sure you know your wife's name—or do I have to tell you that?"
When I'm talking to him, that gnawing in my chest returns. That feeling of dread.
