Fake Dating The Bad Boy
Chapter 120: June?

Chapter 120: June?

Justin POV:

The first man was already tied to a chair. Duct tape across his mouth, nose bloodied, face bruised.

I ripped the tape off.

He screamed.

"Who sent you?" I asked.

He shook his head, sputtering blood. "I don’t know names—we were hired anonymously—we just got orders to grab the kid, that’s all—"

"The kid?"

"The girl. The one in school. That’s all we knew, I swear."

"You’re lying."

"I’m not—"

I backhanded him so hard the chair tipped sideways.

He groaned on the floor, coughing up blood.

I stepped over him and moved to the second one. A younger guy. Maybe twenty-five. Shaking.

"Please—I didn’t touch anyone—I just drove the van—I swear—"

"Who gave you the van?"

"I—I don’t know. They leave it in a garage, cash in a duffel. GPS instructions. I don’t know anything else."

My fist connected with his gut.

He wheezed, doubling over.

They didn’t know.

They really didn’t know.

They were pawns.

Disposable grunts hired to stir up panic, to kidnap Meg.

To keep my eyes off June.

The full weight of the truth hit me like a sledgehammer.

June was the real target all along.

Meg... was bait.

And I fell for it.

I spun and slammed my fist into the wall so hard my knuckles split open. Blood sprayed. My breath came in heaves.

"Gods," I muttered, dragging both hands down my face. "What have I done?"

I paced the dungeon, the lights flickering overhead. My thoughts a storm.

They wanted her.

They waited for me to get comfortable, to drop my guard, to get distracted by someone else I loved.

And now they had her.

I turned back to the first man. He was sitting up, holding his broken nose.

"Where were you supposed to take Meg?" I asked.

He blinked through swelling eyes. "A warehouse. In the east district. But we didn’t make it. Your guys hit us before we got there."

I nodded slowly.

"At least you’re telling the truth."

Then I leaned down.

"And it won’t save you."

He barely had time to flinch before I grabbed his collar and slammed him back against the wall.

"Justin," Rico’s voice cut through my fury. He stood at the cell door. Watching. Waiting. "We got more intel."

I let the man fall.

"Talk."

Rico pulled up his tablet. "There was another van that left the club five minutes later after I talked to you over the phone when you were at the club I traced it through different CCTV footage locate it and sent people after it. It was abandoned in the middle of a highway, had trace amounts of a specific sedative used by the old lab. One only they used."

I went still.

"And?" I rasped.

"June’s scent is in the back of that van."

My knees nearly gave out.

"She was taken before you got to Meg," Rico added softly. "It was a timed strike. A coordinated split. They knew where she’d be. What she’d wear. How to separate her from you."

I clenched my fists so tight my bones ached.

"She screamed for me," I whispered.

"Boss?"

"She screamed for me. And I wasn’t there."

Rico didn’t say anything.

What could he?

He couldn’t fix this. No one could.

I turned back to the dungeon.

The two goons stared at me with wide, terrified eyes.

And I gave in to the darkness.

Every scream June ever made in that lab...

Every night she woke up clawing at her throat...

Every tear she shed because of those monsters...

I took it out on them.

They weren’t the masterminds.

But they were part of the machine.

So I broke them.

Not enough to kill.

Just enough that they’d remember me.

Forever.

And maybe, just maybe, if their bosses ever sent more men—they’d remember what it cost.

Hours later, I stood under the freezing shower in the base locker room.

Blood washed off my hands. Not mine.

It didn’t make me feel clean.

It didn’t make me feel anything.

Just empty.

I braced my hands on the tile and lowered my head.

Where are you, June?

I pictured her face—those wild eyes, that wicked smirk. The girl who wore darkness like a crown and still found light with me.

The one who made me feel human again.

And now...

She was in hell.

Because I was too fucking blind to see the trap.

I turned off the water and stared at myself in the foggy mirror.

A monster stared back.

But I didn’t flinch.

Because I’d become what I needed to be to get her back.

Even if I had to burn the world to do it.

**********

They say redemption lies in the chase. Tonight, that chase is all I have—and all I need. June is gone. I’ve failed her once. Not again. I refuse.

Rico’s intel came through quietly, through the layers of digital noise I’ve built—encrypted breadcrumbs, whispers between drops, the gut-level instincts born from years hunting them down. There, in the signal, was a pattern: odd traffic, rental vans, supplies buying out of nowhere—a quiet warehouse rebranded as a front. The pattern of The Lab’s footprint.

I gather my team: Rico, Arlo, Zane, Mira. The rest hold a perimeter. Clear roles: extraction, rescue, intel, containment.

We strike at midnight—low moon, high tension.

The stale air hit me the moment we pulled up. Dust, chemicals, sweat—a rotting underbelly of something monstrous.

We were on the outskirts of the city—a ramshackle section where abandoned warehouses sat like tombstones. The tip came from Rico’s confidential source: an operation moving fast, unregistered shipments, strange nocturnal activity.

June’s face was on my mind, ghosting every shadow outside the SUV. I couldn’t breathe. I could only move.

Silence reigned in the base as we briefed the team. Blueprints, guard rotations, timing windows. By sunrise, we’d hit it. No witnesses. No survivors—except the children.

"Prepping on my mark," I whispered, voice husky. "We go in heavy. Quiet, quick, and we sweep through. Get them out."

My team nodded—battle-worn, focused. We’d plotted scenarios, safe exfil routes, extraction protocols. But none of it mattered until I found her.

The sun was low—half-bleached sky, sharp and cold. We approached on foot, sliding through broken concrete and charred pillars. We swept entry points. I moved last, boots silent, gun raised.

We approach the facility in two Trucks, blacked-out windows, engines silent. The door is a slab of metal behind a rusted loading dock. Surveillance cams circle—motion detectors.

I assign Mira to disable external cameras. Arlo and Zane follow me. Rico holds comms and med support.

The signal drops us behind a shipping container. I crouch, pulling down my hood. "Remember," I whisper, voice stone. "We get in, secure kids, extract. June remains priority one. Don’t call people hostages—they’re victims. Move fast."

A hum of agreement. We make our move.

Six of us burrowed in. I felt the adrenaline—sharp focus, no room for fear.

The first door went down with a swift punch. Lights flickered off. We moved through tight corridors. Every turn felt like death’s lair.

I could hear kids—a soft hum of sobs, whispers, human fragments.

And then we hit the steel door. Heavy. Electronic lock.

Zane placed the charge. I stepped back, heart pounding.

BAM.

Door split open. Smoke. Flash.

Bodies converged.

We swept in. Guards down in seconds. Taser shots, rubber bullets. No mercy. No hesitation.

Inside, corridors branched off like tunnels in a maze. I heard whimpers, tears. I heard her name on my tongue.

We cleared rooms. One by one, children—pale, bruised, shell-shocked—folded into our arms. We locked them in a safe zone, letting medics and social workers handle triage.

Empty cells, rusted tables, scattered files.

Concrete floors. Fluorescent hum. A fluorescent sign: "Psych & Development Lab – S3 Wing." My heart sinks.

I sheath my anger. Controlled moves: Arlo takes right corridor, Zane clears left. Me in center.

I walk in tense, scanning. Closed doors, small windows. Equipment humming: freezers, trays, metal tables.

We advance.

The first cell—two girls strapped to chairs. My hand goes to my gun even though they’re tranquilized. They come to as I kick the door open.

"Are you going to help us?" one breathes.

I scoop her out of the chair gently. "You’re safe now."

Fear floods their eyes. I keep my tone soft—professional.

Arlo holds back two men, silent, armed. Mira ghosts through the hallway.

I move forward. No sign of June yet.

Finally, we reached a room behind bulletproof glass.

A glass wall reveals a central chamber. Inside: a girl strapped to a table, panoramic like some twisted operating theater.

She looks like her.

Same dark hair, same slender frame.

I rush forward. Zane and Arlo freeze.

Scientist in white: scribbling into a moleskin pad. Vial and syringe in hand.

"No, Doc," he mutters. "She’s not responding."

Something cracks inside me.

"Let her go now!" I bark.

He looks up, startled. Mouth open behind mask.

"Open the goddamn room!" I shout at Rico.

Two security shutters identity unlock with Rico’s override.

Doors buzz open. I burst in.