Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 67: Bloodlust Justin

JUSTIN – POV

June slowly looked up at me.

But she didn’t know—not yet—that she wasn’t speaking to Justin.

Not the boy from the orphanage who once held her hand in the dark.

Not the one who burned in the lab, scarred and bitter, bleeding rage like gasoline.

No.

I was the other one.

The one born in the dark void between their screams.

The one who thrived in cages, who grinned at the sound of chains.

The one even they couldn’t contain.

The one I had tried to lock away for years... but now welcomed like an old friend.

I was the shadow behind Justin’s name.

The real face beneath the skin.

The monster.

And I was awake now.

"You don’t have to forget him to beat him," I murmured, voice smooth like smoke and venom. "You just have to let go of what’s holding you back."

She shivered—not from fear. No, not quite.

From the instinctive recognition of something primal... something wrong.

Her lips quivered. Her eyes, red and wet, searched mine like a survivor seeking land.

But there was no safety here.

Only me.

And I wasn’t safe.

I saw it then—the flicker.

That beautiful, dangerous flicker of hatred waking up behind her grief.

She’d tasted vengeance once.

And now she craved more.

I leaned in slowly, my mouth brushing the shell of her ear. "I can make them beg."

She tensed.

"All of them," I whispered, darker now. "Every single one who ever made you feel small. Everyone who laughed, who turned their back, who held the knife or watched it fall. Give me their names... and I’ll carve them into the walls with their own blood."

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t have to.

Her fingers curled into my shirt again, tighter than before.

She was listening now.

The first time I killed, I was thirteen.

Barefoot. Hollowed out. A child-shaped corpse with hate for a heart.

They called it a psychotic break.

Said I "snapped."

They blamed the trauma. The files. The failed medications.

But none of them knew the truth.

None of them saw what really happened that night.

Why the chains failed.

Why the injections melted in my veins like water.

Why their strongest guards screamed before they died.

Because something was already inside me.

Something ancient.

Something cruel.

Something born long before their labs—before Justin even had a name.

A hunger.

It had waited in silence for thirteen years.

And when I bled enough, when I broke enough, it didn’t whisper—it roared.

I didn’t cry.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t hesitate as I shoved the scalpel through the soft flesh beneath that bastard’s ribs and twisted until his eyes rolled back.

I watched the light leave him like it was a show made for me.

And I smiled.

Now, that same hunger stirred beneath my skin again, watching her.

June.

The broken girl with shattered wings and fire in her chest.

She stood there, shaking, but not with fear.

Not anymore.

There was purpose now.

A shared darkness.

I saw it bloom.

And it was glorious.

She was becoming what they feared.

What I already was.

"Why?" she rasped, voice hoarse, broken. "Why would you want me to do that?"

I could’ve given her a thousand answers. Could’ve spun a lie or worn one of the other faces she knew.

But I didn’t.

Because monsters don’t lie to monsters.

Because she deserved the truth.

Because, in her, I saw me—not the weak parts, not the scars.

But the violence buried beneath.

The storm waiting to break.

"Because monsters have to payback," I said.

The words were velvet wrapped around steel.

Her eyes widened. She staggered back half a step.

Good.

I let the mask slip further.

Just enough.

The kindness left my expression. The softness vanished.

And in its place—something older.

Something predatory.

My irises swirled darker, the red in them like embers stoked by rage.

And when she looked at me... she didn’t see Justin.

Not the boy who kissed her. Not the boy who ran from the lab with his hands still shaking.

She saw me.

The one who never ran.

The one who chose the fire.

The one who made it burn hotter.

And for once—she didn’t scream.

She understood.

"I want to see her cry," June said at last, her voice like glass grinding against metal.

I tilted my head.

Oh, how beautiful she sounded.

"I want her to know she picked the wrong man to protect," she went on, shaking. "I want her to see his face when I tell her I survived."

I stepped closer.

Her scent was thick with pain, shame, and something sweeter rising beneath it.

Power.

"You will," I promised.

And I meant it.

That night, she fell asleep with her fingers still tangled in mine, her body folded against me like a child seeking warmth.

But I didn’t sleep.

I watched.

Watched the bruises on her wrists. The tremble in her lashes.

Watched her like a hunter waiting for a signal.

She was close now.

One push away from becoming what she was always meant to be.

And when that happened?

No cage. No mother. No memory could hold her.

"She’s mine now," I whispered into the dark, voice laced with possession so pure it almost hurt.

The monster inside me stirred. Stretching.

It had been so long since it tasted blood that mattered.

So long since it broke someone deserving.

And now... we had names. We had targets.

Not just the scientists who made us.

Not the politicians who funded the labs.

But the smiling mothers with knives behind their backs.

The fathers in priests’ robes.

The teachers. The neighbors. The guardians with wolves’ hearts and lambs’ masks.

Those who preyed on children and called it parenting.

They would burn next.

Together—June and I—we would build a pyre tall enough for all of them.

And when the screams started?

I’d hold her hand and kiss her fingers as the fire climbed.

Let her see what justice felt like when it wasn’t watered down or polished in courtrooms.

Let her feel it.

Because this time?

We weren’t victims.

We were the punishment.

And the world was about to remember why monsters should be afraid of the dark.

*********

The battlefield was inside me.

Three voices.

Three lives.

All pretending to be me.

And now—screaming over each other.

"She’s not a weapon!" One voice cried, voice quivering with useless tenderness. I could feel his desperation bleeding through the cracks—he wanted to cradle her, fix her, love her soft. He stood barefoot in the void of my mind, dripping with warmth and old scars. His hands trembled as if holding her ghost. "She needs healing—not more pain. Not this!"

His eyes were wet. Weak. Always had been.

Pathetic.

"She deserves softness. Peace. A chance to be more than what they made her," he whispered. "You’re going to destroy her."

Another snarled next, cocky and cruel but still chained by his own damn heart. He scoffed from his throne of broken glass and flame. Lean, tattooed, reckless grin twitching. He rolled his eyes like this was all boring foreplay.

"Oh, grow a pair, Lover-boy." He cracked his knuckles and smirked. "She likes danger. You saw it. That fire? That fury?" He bit his lip. "She moaned when we kissed her like she was the world ending."

But then, even he hesitated.

"I like her wild," he admitted, tone darker. "But bloodthirsty? Nah. That ain’t her. She ain’t built for that kind of hate. She’ll drown in it."

And then...I stepped forward.The real me.

Bloodlust.

The one born in the white room. The one who tasted blood before he knew what love meant.The one they buried.The one who crawled out laughing.

My voice was the sound of iron bending under heat.

"She’s not yours to protect," I growled. "She’s mine."

They both turned.

I walked slow, each step echoing like a death knell.

"She’s already changing," I said, low and deliberate. "She’s tasted what revenge feels like. She liked it."

"She was hurting!" the soft voice cried. "You took advantage of that!"

"No," I snarled. "I understood her. I spoke to the thing inside her. The thing you’re too afraid to name."

"She’s not a killer," the cocky said, lip curling. "You turn her into one, she won’t come back."

I smirked.

"She won’t want to."

They were screaming again.

The other versions of me.

Pathetic echoes.

One begged. The other barked.

All noise. No power.

Weak.

"She’ll be gone by the time you’re done with her."

Gone?

No. She’ll be free.

I get it.

They want to protect her.

I want to awaken her.

And I’m not asking for permission anymore.

*******

She was dreaming now. Then she woke up with a scream and I was there to hold her.

She stood up quickly still shaking. She stayed still, helpless and bare beneath the weight of her own silence. I could smell it on her—fear. Guilt. Hunger. Not just for food or touch.

But for power.

For revenge.

I stepped behind her, breath curling against the nape of her neck.

"I know how to quiet them," I whispered. My voice—her trigger. Her comfort. Her damnation.

She didn’t run.

She couldn’t.

"The voices in your head," I murmured, tracing my fingers along the shape of her waist. "They’re not torturing you. They’re begging you to listen."

She shuddered.

"You just have to stop pretending you’re a good girl."

My mouth grazed her neck, slow. Possessive.

"You’re not. And neither am I."

"I can help you sleep again, sweetheart." My lips brushed her ear. "All you have to do is stop pretending you’re not like me."

She turned, slowly—eyes wide, chest rising like she’d been drowning.

And there I was.

Not the sweet orphan boy who kissed her scars.

Not the wild one who ripped through her defenses with a smirk and a growl.

No.

I was him.

The thing born in chains and silence and screams.

The thing that doesn’t ask to be let out anymore.

Her breath hitched. I could see it—recognition.

The part of her that still wore the little girl’s fear was cracking.

And underneath it?

Rage.

Good.

"You want to break him," I said, my voice velvet wrapped in barbed wire. "The man who made you bleed. The woman who let him. You want them to feel it—every moment they stole from you."

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

Her hands clenched. Her pupils dilated. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

"You want to see them cry."

I leaned in closer.

"I can give you that."

Inside my head, they fought harder now.

"She’s not a monster!" Lover me wailed.

"Don’t do this to her!"

Bad Boy tried to punch through—tried to knock sense into me with his fists made of guilt and old charm.

"You’ll lose her!"

But I was already gone.

She was already mine.

I could taste it on her breath.

The hunger. The shift.

And when she looked at me next, she didn’t flinch.

She didn’t whisper no.

She whispered, "How?"

That was all I needed.