Justin – POV
Five.
Five fucking facilities.
Five goddamn false hopes.
Five empty, hollowed-out buildings full of corpses, broken kids, empty syringes, shattered chains—and none of them her. None of them June.
The last raid had ended like the others. A bloodbath. I didn’t even feel the kills anymore. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t look for answers. I only knew one truth:
She wasn’t there.
And I was losing it.
I’d never been this close to the edge—not even when we were still in the facility. Back then, I had purpose. Back then, the rage was clear. Clean. Aim it at the scientists. Bite down the pain. Shield the others. Survive.
But now?
Now, all I had was the silence.
June’s silence.
No trail. No signal. No scent. Only the fucking voice in my head—louder, darker, unhinged.
"You lost her. You let them take her."
"You were too busy fucking her to protect her."
"You were weak."
I punched the wall. Again. Again.
Blood sared down the stone of the cave. My knuckles were raw, split open, dripping. Good. Pain reminded I was still breathing.
Still human.
Barely.
I paced. Back and forth like a feral thing in a cage. Clothes torn. Face bruised. I hadn’t slept. Hadn’t eaten. My team had stopped talking to unless they had a lead. I knew what they saw in my eyes now—the monster.
The one I had fought so hard to bury.
The one she had kissed into submission.
I’d kept it in check for her. June. Fucking hell, June. She was the only one who ever made the bloodlust go quiet. The only one who could whisper my na and drown out the scream in my skull. When I was with her, I rembered who I was supposed to be—not what they made into.
But without her?
I was unraveling.
The whiskey bottle hit the floor. Shattered. I didn’t even flinch. I’d drunk myself sick the past two nights and still couldn’t sleep. The drugs? Didn’t work. I’d tried them. All of them. I needed silence. I needed peace.
And I knew one place that had once given it to .
RedBull Club.
I hesitated for maybe five seconds before grabbing my burner phone. The one I hadn’t touched since before June beca mine. The one that still had the encrypted contact line for the RedBull staff.
I dialed. The call was picked up after the third ring.
"RedBull Services. State your na and designation," a flat, feminine voice greeted .
"Shadow. Requesting session with Pretty Cat. Tonight."
Silence.
My hand gripped the edge of the sink, muscles taut. My reflection was a fucking horror movie—wild eyes, hollow cheeks, bloodstained shirt. I looked like a man who’d crawled out of hell.
Finally, the voice answered, "Pretty Cat hasn’t checked in for over a week. She’s currently unavailable."
"Unavailable?" I snarled. "You an off duty or gone?"
"We can’t disclose client status."
"Bullshit. She’s not just a client. She’s—"
I stopped. She’s what? A fantasy? A mask? A distraction I used before I realized who I belonged to?
Before I chose June.
I exhaled sharply.
"Never mind."
The call ended.
I stared at the phone for a mont. "Pretty Cat." I didn’t even know her real na. She had worn a mask. Black corset. Stockings. Voice like sin and silk. And she’d known exactly how to handle a man like when I needed to burn but couldn’t destroy. She’d never asked questions. Just given control when I needed it. Pain when I craved it. Warmth when I pretended I didn’t.
Back then, I thought it was about power. Control.
But now?
Now I realized it had been silence.
When she submitted to , the voices in my head had gone still. I didn’t want her. Not like I wanted June. But I needed to stay sane. I needed sothing—anything—to tether back before I beca the beast June would never recognize. Never want.
"She’s not gonna love what you’re turning into."
"She’ll be scared. She’ll run."
I bit down on my lip so hard it bled. Good. Let the pain ground .
I’d failed her.
I kept seeing her face in the back of my eyelids. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she’d squirm on my lap when she thought she was teasing , but really she was giving life. My little vixen. My June. My reason.
And now she was out there—gagged, restrained, terrified. I didn’t know what they were doing to her, but I knew how it felt. I’d lived it. I’d breathed it.
No.
She couldn’t be going through that again. Not my June. Not after everything she’d fought to rebuild. Not after finally healing.
I scread into the empty cave, rage exploding out of like a fucking bomb. I grabbed a chair and smashed it into the wall. Again. Again. The voices roared in my skull, louder than ever.
"You lost her."
"She’s gone."
"You’re too fucking late."
I crumpled to my knees, panting. Sweat dripping down my face. The cave spun. Or maybe I was just losing what was left of my mind.
I needed to pull it together. I needed a win.
I needed to find her.
Not Pretty Cat. Not booze. Not pain.
Her.
And if I didn’t get a lead soon—I didn’t care what happened to . I’d burn the world. I’d paint the streets in blood if it ant one whisper of where they’d taken her.
But the silence answered.
And I was falling apart.
********
The cave was too quiet.
It had been hours since I’d thrown my last tantrum, wrecked the table, smashed the mirror, and bloodied my hands. My knuckles were taped now—one of my guys had dared to offer help before I sent him away with a glare that could lt flesh.
I stood under the cold spray of the shower, trying to let it rinse off the madness.
It didn’t.
The water rolled down my back, over the bruises, the scars, the jagged reminder of who I’d beco again. The man I had fought to kill. The man June had kissed back into control.
But without her?
There was no goddamn control.
There was no peace.
Only the blood and the voices screaming at again.
"She’s dying."
"She’s forgotten you."
"They’re erasing her, just like they tried with you."
I slamd my fist against the tiled wall.
No. I wouldn’t let them.
Not her.
Not June.
She was the only reason I’d survived the last few years without drowning. The only one who ever looked at like I was human. Not a soldier. Not a weapon. Not so broken monster.
But the mont I lost her, I lost that version of too.
The burner phone rang.
I froze.
Nobody called that number unless it was intel. But intel hadn’t co in for two days. My team was on edge. Half of them thought I’d snap and burn down the next facility with all of us inside.
The screen blinked with an unknown number.
Encrypted. Private.
I answered without a word.
Static.
Then a slow, eerie voice ca through. Male. Calm. Like soone who enjoyed making others bleed.
"Number Nine," the voice rasped. "We have what belongs to us."
Every muscle in my body locked.
"What did you just say?" My voice was ice. Death wrapped in velvet.
The static crackled. Then: "She’s alive. For now. But if you want her to stay that way, you’re going to do sothing for us."
I gritted my teeth so hard I could taste blood.
"Put her on the fucking phone. Now."
A laugh.
"You think we’re that stupid? She’s our most valuable asset. You’re the loose end. You want her back? Turn yourself in."
I went silent.
Not because I was shocked.
But because I’d feared this.
They weren’t stupid. They weren’t reckless. This wasn’t just about revenge or retrieval. This was calculated. Planned. The way June was taken—the waiter, the timing, the water, the club—it was all too perfect. Too surgical.
A goddamn setup.
June wasn’t just a loose experint.
She was a fucking target.
"You want ?" I growled. "Fine. But let her go first."
Another laugh, colder this ti.
"You’re not in a position to negotiate. You will co alone. If we sense backup, we kill her. If we see your team, we kill her. If we think you’re not playing by the rules, she dies. And this ti, there will be no mistake."
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth felt like they’d shatter.
"You expect to believe you’ll let her go even if I do what you ask?"
A pause.
Then that cold, calm tone again:
"No. We expect you to hope."
The line went dead.
I stared at the phone like it had turned to ash in my hand.
Then I scread.
The kind of scream that didn’t sound human. That tore from my throat like my soul was trying to rip free. I smashed the phone against the stone floor, again and again, until it was nothing but shards and silence.
And still, the voice echoed in my head:
We have what belongs to us.
They had her.
They knew exactly what she ant to .
And they were using it.
The worst part?
They weren’t lying.
If I gave myself up, they wouldn’t let her go. They might kill her anyway. Or worse—keep her. Use her. Destroy her from the inside out like they tried to do to all of us.
I dropped to the floor, head in my blood-streaked hands, pulse pounding like a war drum.
What the fuck was I supposed to do?
If I didn’t go, they’d kill her.
If I did... they’d kill us both.
Or break her beyond repair.
My mind flashed back to the little girl I first t in the cells. Huddled in the dark, knees to chest, talking to her voices in a whisper because the doctors told her not to scream.
I had promised her one thing:
You’ll never go back there again.
And now she was there.
Alone.
I gritted my teeth, breathing like I was dying.
I couldn’t not go.
But I couldn’t walk into this trap either.
I needed to think.
To plan.
But I had hours. Maybe less.
And June didn’t have ti for hesitation.
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