3. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Kane
The only reason I know that I have half-siblings out there, in this vast mecca of chaos, is because of a file I found years ago; by accident, in Jasper’s home office.
I don’t even remember what I was looking for at the time, but I remember the moment I moved something over and a stack of papers fell to the floor.
I picked them up, and it just… fell out.
Sometimes I think it was fate. Other times, I think it was the opposite of a blessing.
There, in plain printed type, in my hands were phone records between Jasper and some woman named Veronica.
He’s never spoken of her, and she wasn’t mentioned in relation to my mother’s murder, nor is she listed as one of my dad’s twelve “roses”.
The fancy moniker that true crime enthusiasts and his “fans” gave to his victims. I hate it.
Not only is it pretentious, but it detracts from the truth of what he did; makes it seem romantic or something.
My father killed twelve women. On purpose.
I’ll never understand why he did it, nor do I want to.
Understanding the mind of a killer is beyond sane comprehension.
And while I’m not a detective by any means, following my mother’s murder and my father’s arrest, I was fostered and adopted by one of New York City’s finest, and soon enough I found it was impossible not to soak up some of his obsession with the details, too.
Make no mistake, Jasper is not my father, and I’m not grateful for what he did.
I can’t be. My mother’s dead because of him—because she trusted him.
Because she was pregnant with his kid, just like my father accused her of being, and she thought he was her white knight in shining armor.
Detective Jasper Carson ruined my life, and there’s nothing he could do, apart from doing what he should have done a long time ago.
Kill the fucking bastard.
I guess that’s one thing we have in common.—an unwavering dedication to finding my dad and putting him away for good.
Six feet under, preferably.
I don’t waste a second as I slip my shoes on, grab my coat, and hurry out into the hallway.
With shaking fingers, I tap the notification; my heart in my throat as I wait to see the results of the match.
It’s not a strong match—only thirty percent of shared DNA, but it’s more than I thought it would be.
I stare at the profile—which has no photo, just a random username likely generated upon someone’s registration that they haven’t bothered to change yet.
The only details available are their age—thirty-six, a year younger than me—and their sex, which they’ve listed as “rather not say”.
It’s nothing.
But still… it’s something.
It’s more than I thought I’d ever find after I went behind Jasper’s back and sent my DNA in to be tested.
I close out of the app, sliding the phone into my pocket as I make my way towards the subway, feeling a spark of hope.
Because somewhere out there is Unknown, and I’m going to find them if it is the last thing I do.