Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 117: Devastation

Justin POV:

I reached the lounge.

Stopped.

June wasn’t there.

I blinked.

The couch we were on was empty. Pillows still dented from where we’d been. A single empty martini glass on the table. But no June.

"Shit." My voice cut out beneath the pounding bass.

I scanned the area, quick, focused.

No curls. No bare shoulder. No glint of teasing brown eyes waiting for me with that smug smile she wore like armor.

My stomach dropped.

"Shit," I muttered, scanning the area. "June?"

I pushed past the low-lit couches, scanning faces, checking booths.

Nothing.

I moved to the dance floor, shoving through the sweaty bodies grinding to the beat. Looked left. Right. No sign of that wild, wicked hair. No flash of flushed cheeks or that blouse hanging loose off her shoulder.

Fuck. Fuck.

I told her not to move.

I told her.

I shoved through the other side of the lounge, scanning every booth, every shadowed corner, even the space by the bar.

Nothing.

Panic crawled in slow, slithering.

I pushed into the crowd on the dance floor, my head swiveling, searching for any glimpse of her. Nothing.

Fuck. Maybe she went to the bathroom. Maybe she needed air.

But something in my gut curled cold.

The drink.

Water. I hadn’t ordered it. I never told anyone to bring her a drink. Or did she order it to sober up.

My pulse spiked.

I turned sharply and headed for the restrooms, dread crawling over my skin like ice water.

If those bastards had taken her—

No.

No, no, no.

Not her. Not now. Not fucking again.

They took Meg.

They wouldn’t take June.

I wouldn’t let them.

The crowd blurred around me.

Rico’s voice came back in my head. "They’re poaching again."

And now Meg was gone.

And June wasn’t here.

And every fiber of my body screamed that I’d just made a deadly mistake.

*******

"June!" My voice cracked out through the chaos of the club as I shoved through the crowd, rage and panic fighting for dominance in my chest.

Where the hell was she?

I darted toward the restrooms, heart pounding like a war drum. The lighting in the hallway was strobing red and gold, casting long shadows across the sticky floor. Music thudded on behind me, but it sounded distant now. Like I was submerged underwater. Like nothing in the world mattered except finding her.

The door to the women’s bathroom slammed open as a girl stumbled out, laughing with her friend, lipstick smeared across her cheek. I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t have time.

I shoved through the door into the women’s restroom without thinking.

I spotted a cluster of three women around a sink, their eyes wide, hands frozen mid-cleanup of their own mess. They’d been wiping lipstick from cups, adjusting makeup.

One of them—a brunette in a low-cut black dress—shrieked, "Sir? You can’t be in here like this!" But she didn’t move.

It reeked of cheap perfume, sweat, and something sharp and chemical—like bleach that didn’t quite do the job. The lighting was dim, flickering overhead like a scene straight out of a nightmare. A couple of girls screamed when they saw me, one yanking her friend toward the sinks, clinging to her like I was a threat.

I didn’t even blink.

"Have you seen a girl—short, thick brown hair, black blouse, short skirt?" My voice was sharp, brittle, already fraying at the edges.

The girls backed off. One of them shook her head. "No, sorry. Just got in here."

I stormed toward the stalls, shoving open each door one by one. Slam. Slam. Slam. Empty.

A stall door was locked halfway down. I pounded on it.

"June?" Nothing.

I pounded harder. "June?!"

A shriek came from inside. "Occupied, asshole!"

Fuck.

I staggered back from the door, breath heavy, lungs burning. My pulse was thundering. I didn’t even realize my hands were shaking until I looked down and saw my fingers twitching like live wires.

Then I saw it.

Her bag.

Right by the sinks, half-tucked beneath the edge of the counter.

My stomach dropped.

It was unmistakable. That scratched leather she always carried. Her keychain with the little silver cat. Her lip balm sticking out of the side pocket.

I dropped to my knees and grabbed it, yanking it open.

Wallet. ID. Lip gloss. Her phone wasn’t there.

Fuck.

My throat closed.

She wouldn’t leave this. June was reckless, sure—but not stupid. Not forgetful.

I fumbled for my own phone, fingers numb as I hit Rico’s contact and pressed the phone to my ear.

"Yeah, boss?" he answered immediately.

"She’s gone," I snapped. "June’s fucking gone. She’s not at the lounge, not on the dance floor, not at the bar. I found her bag in the women’s bathroom. I need you to track her phone."

"Shit. Okay, hold on—"

I heard tapping in the background, Rico working fast. I gripped the sink counter with my free hand, knuckles white, head down.

Please don’t let it be too late. ƒгeewebnovёl_com

Please let me be wrong.

"She’s... still in the club," Rico said after a second.

"What?"

"I’ve got her phone’s location. Signal hasn’t moved. It’s still pinging from inside the building."

"Where?"

"Bathroom hallway. Women’s."

My heart kicked.

I looked down at the row of stalls.

I turned slowly.

Her phone... was here?

I started walking back to the stalls, slower this time, senses razor-sharp.

Another door was locked—farthest back. The one I hadn’t checked.

I pressed my hand against the frame. "June?"

No answer.

A soft sound came from the other side.

A moan.

My blood turned to ice.

"June?" I banged again. "Open the fucking door!"

Another breathy noise. A different voice.

Not hers.

A guy’s voice, low and strained. "Occupied, man. Get the fuck out."

Something in me shattered.

I didn’t think. I just acted.

I backed up and slammed my foot into the door just below the handle. The cheap metal lock gave way with a loud snap as the door crashed open, revealing a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and moaning.

Not June.

A random couple.

The girl shrieked, scrambling to cover herself with a flimsy top. The guy yelled, flinching backward, pants still half on. "What the fuck, man?!"

I didn’t answer.

Because there, on the back of the toilet tank, half-buried under the girl’s purse, was June’s phone.

I staggered forward and snatched it.

Still warm.

Still active.

And she was gone.

Gone.

I stared at it in my hand like it would suddenly undo the truth. Like she’d pop up behind me laughing, tell me I was overreacting, call me possessive and ridiculous.

But all I saw was black.

The couple cursed at me, the guy starting to stand like he wanted a fight, but I couldn’t even hear them. The room was buzzing, spinning.

Her phone was here.

But she wasn’t.

And whoever took her—knew what they were doing.

They left it to throw me off. To buy time.

I backed out of the stall in a daze, the phone still clutched in my hand, her bag slung over my shoulder. My chest heaved. The walls were too tight. The ceiling too low.

I stumbled out into the hallway, then turned and punched the wall so hard my knuckles split open.

Blood smeared the painted brick.

I didn’t care.

She was gone.

And I’d let it happen.

I had one fucking job—protect her. After everything we’d been through. After every promise I made to myself the day I helped her escape the facility. The day I watched her vanish through a fence from the cave with fire in her eyes.

I was supposed to keep her safe.

And I’d failed.

I looked down at the phone in my hand again. It lit up with her lock screen. A blurry picture I took of her mid-laugh. One of those candid ones she hated because she said it made her look "too soft."

I pressed it to my forehead, my breath shaking.

"Fuck," I whispered. "Fuck!"

I called Rico again.

"She’s not here," I said the second he picked up.

"What? But the signal—"

"They left her phone. In a stall. Someone took her, Rico. She’s gone."

I heard him swear on the other end. Then fast typing.

"I’ll pull exterior footage," he said, voice tight. "Street cams. Side exits. If they left with her, we’ll find them."

"You better." My voice was low. Dead. "Because if they touch her... if they so much as breathe near her..."

"I know," Rico said. "We’ll find her, boss."

He hung up.

I stood in the hallway for a long moment, her phone still in my hand, blood still dripping from my knuckles.

The music raged on in the background.

The club didn’t know. Didn’t care.

People danced. Drank. Fucked in bathroom stalls like nothing was wrong.

But everything was wrong.

Because June was gone.

And for the first time in a long, long time—I felt powerless.

Not angry.

Not violent.

Just... hollow.