I used to think secrets were like perfume - easy to wear, easy to hide, intoxicating if you chose the right kind. My husband still kisses me goodnight with the same soft smile, never noticing the faint trace of gun oil beneath the scent of jasmine on my skin. He thinks I'm just another bored wife with too much time and too little purpose, but every night, when he drifts to sleep, I slip out of the silk sheets and into a world painted in blood and shadows. The men he calls friends - the ones who toast at our dinner table - don't realize their names are already on my list. And as for the man I shouldn't be loving... well, he's the only one who knows who I really am.
More details