Jane The Killer Real Face Novels & Stories

agent mackerel said handling him the bulletproof vest. " Thank you agent ma........" " It's Jane, My name is Maryjane Davies" agent mackerel correct and Desmond smiled. " your real name or a disguise?" Desmond asked. " Well unlike you, I don't get to have so many name.......so that's my real name" she said. " and you will be the first person, i'll be revealing that to after six years" Jane said. " I guess there must be some story behind it" desmond said.

Abelard and Jane are sitting together on the bank of a clear river. The two of them exchanged glances with one looking unconcerned and the other confused. “What? Are you trying to say that if it is a yes?” “You said your name was Jane, right?” ”Is it your real name or just a fake?” “Real.” “Then hear me out Jane! I just don’t like seeing those kids commit crimes. I’ve known them for a long time and I stopped them several times, so maybe they were afraid of me.”

I withdrew, and brought my hand down then turned slowly toward the direction where the voice had come from. It was Jane, dressed in her maid's uniform, her hair slightly messy. "Who is she?" I asked, turning to look back at the fascinating painting. "That is Rose Blaster, Mr. Zane's mother," Jane said as she stepped closer to me. "Isn't she beautiful?" "She is," I said, lost in the art. "I didn't see her face, but I knew she was beautiful. There was something familiar about her," I whispered. "Maybe you've seen her before," Jane said, now standing next to me, staring at the painting herself.

I felt a pang of sympathy for her, realizing she would need to explain my outburst. Gathering her courage, Italia recounted everything. The room fell silent, stunned by the revelation. Jayden began to break dishes out of frustration, while Nadia and Italia held each other, both in tears. When Italia mentioned Jane, Michael’s interest piqued, prompting him to ask what she looked like. She described a woman with long golden hair and golden eyes—a slim figure. We were all taken aback when we realized she was referring to Doctor Jane from our pack. "What was Jane doing with that guy?" Nadia kept asking, bewildered.

Because if you live outside this city, or if you don’t read the tabloids, or if you don’t listen to the podcasts — you might think he was just one more name on one more news cycle. He wasn’t. He was a ghost. He had been a ghost for years. Nobody had ever seen his face. Nobody had ever caught him on a traffic camera. Nobody had ever taken a photograph that wasn’t blurred silver and shadow. Seventeen confirmed kills, the last count I’d seen, and every one of them a man who had hurt someone smaller than himself and walked away from the consequence. A tabloid writer had called him the Verdict Killer in a piece three years ago and the name had stuck because it fit. Because what he did was not mur

I needed her to feel it all, to face it all, so she would have the strength to do what needed to be done. "Or was it your dear and loving husband?" I asked, my voice breaking now too, because this was hard, this was cruel, but it was necessary. "The powerful Supreme Alpha who was brutally murdered, his throat ripped apart. They said it was your firstborn son who did it. But it wasn't, was it? It was never Theo." "Haaaa!" Jane screamed, a sound of pure anguish. She began hitting her own head, as if she could beat the truth back out, make it disappear. "Stop it, please! Please stop it! It can't be true! It can't be!"

Her eyes slightly narrowed, and she replied, "Yeah, it's shocking. Jane is just a scapegoat. The real attacker is still out there." "What?" Julien's face fell, "A scapegoat?" "Yes, Jane's son has leukemia, and she needed a big sum of money. The real criminal would treat her son as long as Jane promised to take the rap for her and not sell her out." Sydney sighed and shook her head. Julien's thin lips pursed into a cold line. "Who is the real attacker?" "I've no clue. Jane doesn't know either. She can only describe the person's looks. Luke will send over an artist tomorrow, and the latter will create an image," Sydney replied.

said Jane with an evil look on her face and I facepalmed. Just how much they have drunk to act like this. "Where is Zanvil," I asked Jane while making her little stable on her feet. Listening to my question she looked at me with furrowed eyes. "Who is that," she asked, looking at me with raised eyebrows. And I had this urge again to facepalm myself. "Zanvil James Adams your husband" I took his whole name to enlighten her. "Oh you mean that devil," she asked with raised eyebrows.

Reality can be so deceiving. Aunt Jane was a dazzling angel from the outside who knew what we thought about her. Shockingly, she wasn’t afraid to say it directly to our faces. “Uh, I, uh,” I stuttered. Words jumbled in my mind. I couldn’t get over the fact that my father’s murderer was directly addressing me. Jane’s sparkling, smiling eyes made me wildly uncomfortable. How could I be rude or express open hatred toward such an affable face?

Jane looked tired and pale. "Jane," I said. She looked up at me. "What are you doing here?" "I heard you were giving your statement. I wanted to make sure you were okay." "I'm fine." "She's been very brave," the detective said. "Gave us a detailed description of the attacker." "What did he look like?" I asked. Jane shifted in her seat. "Tall. Maybe six feet. Wearing all black and a ski mask. I couldn't see his face."