Fake Dating The Bad Boy-Chapter 59: Retribution

Justin’s POV

She was asleep now. Curled into the blanket I draped around her shoulders, her lashes twitching faintly with dreams—or maybe nightmares. Her breathing was even, soft, but the shadows on her face hadn’t left. Not completely. Not ever.

I sat just a few feet away on the edge of the cot, elbows on my knees, fingers interlocked so tightly they ached. I couldn’t stop watching her.

I didn’t want to.

But the longer I stared, the heavier my thoughts grew. They pressed in, thick and suffocating, until I felt like I was back in one of those cages again, where the air tasted like bleach and blood and the world was just a scream you swallowed so no one would hear.

Did she know?

What I’ve become?

What I’m still planning to do?

My stomach twisted.

I wanted to believe she’d still look at me like I mattered. Like I was more than the monster they built in that goddamn lab. But she already called herself one—and she hadn’t even killed the bastard. She stabbed him, yes. Brutally. Repeatedly. But she still stopped. Her soul—shaken as it was—hadn’t slipped completely into darkness.

But me?

God.

If she knew.

If she saw what was waiting in the dungeons below this mansionate—what he was going to endure before I let him die—she wouldn’t weep.

She’d scream.

Maybe not because of what happened to her, but because of what I would do in her name.

I hadn’t told her what I ordered Rico to do.

That while she was unconscious, I had the guy bound in reinforced silver cuffs and chained in a room with no light, no food, and no hope. That I had the tools ready—every blade, every vial of acid, every electrical wire I’d once ripped from a lab wall while we were being "tested."

There are rules to pain.

I know them all.

And I’ve learned how to write new ones.

Because these people—our creators, our captors, our ruin—they don’t deserve mercy. They don’t deserve silence. And the bastard who touched her? He will beg for mercy before I’m done, and I’ll deny it every time.

He will scream the way the children in the cages screamed.

The way June once did.

The way I still do, sometimes, when the nights are too long and the ghosts whisper too loudly.

I ran a hand through my hair, the grip so tight it hurt.

But June can’t know.

She can’t.

If she finds out what I’m planning, she’ll never see me the same way. She’ll flinch, not because she’s afraid of me, but because she’ll recognize what we’re becoming—the same thing. Consumed by vengeance. Hollowed by trauma. Unrecognizable.

And worse... she might accept it. Let it in. Let it grow.

I can’t let her fall like I did.

She’s the last good thing left.

And I’ll burn everything down to keep that light from going out.

Even if it means lying to her.

Even if it means hiding what’s happening in the dungeons beneath our feet.

Even if it means becoming the monster she believes she is... so she never has to be one.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead in my palms, staring at the floor like it held the answers I didn’t want to say out loud.

Maybe one day, she’ll know the truth.

But not now.

Not while the blood is still fresh and the rage is still burning.

Not while she still looks at me like I’m home.

No.

She can’t find out.

********

The door sealed behind me with a click, sealing June inside the soundproof room. I stood there for a breath longer than I should’ve, my fingers curled around the edge of the handle. I could still hear her breathing—only in my mind now, not with my ears. She was safe. For now.

She deserved silence. Deserved to not hear the things I was about to do.

She won’t want to hear the screams, one of the voices muttered.

I turned away, jaw clenched, as another voice whispered low and feral, But we do.

Rico stood just outside, waiting like he always did—calm, deadly, eyes trained on me with a kind of dark loyalty that didn’t need words. freewebnøvel.coɱ

"I have the full story," he said grimly, holding a tablet. "You’re going to want to sit down."

"I won’t," I said, taking it from him. My hands didn’t shake. They never did when I was angry. They stilled. Froze like steel.

My eyes scanned the data. Police reports buried under donations. Photos. Records from over a decade back. Names. Faces. Small children—mostly girls—bruised, broken, too many now gone.

But it wasn’t just them.

My breath caught when I reached the medical records—hers.

"She was found fourteen years ago," Rico said softly. "Barely alive. Blood loss. Coma. Mark told the hospital he was a witness, helped rush her in. She woke up months later. No name. No past. Just those green eyes and silence."

"And he adopted her," I said, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes."

"Why?" I growled.

"That’s the part that’ll make you want to kill everyone."

I looked up. Rico’s mouth was tight with hatred. It took a lot to get to him. But this—this had done it.

"The adoption wasn’t out of charity," he continued. "It was his wife’s idea. She was tired of hiding the bodies—tired of the scandals. They decided... it’d be safer if he had a child under their roof. Someone ’quiet,’ someone broken. Someone who wouldn’t talk."

June.

My June.

She’d promised me she would come back with help. She’d disappeared.

And all this time...

She was under his roof.

Sleeping in his house.

Eating food he prepared.

Alone.

And I had no idea.

The tablet cracked in my grip.

"Where is he now?" I asked, the words sharp and dead.

"In the dungeon," Rico said. "Stripped. Shackled. Exactly as you wanted."

I nodded. "And the wife?"

"Do I bring her in?"

"No," I said after a moment. "Not yet. I want him to break first. Then I’ll show her what her ’solution’ really cost."

The walk to the dungeon was silent, but inside my mind it was screaming. How many children? How many lives did he twist into nightmares? And June—

He touched her.

The voice snarled like an animal, guttural and monstrous. He touched what’s ours.

I descended into the dungeon.

The cave mansion above was a place of power. But this? This was where pain was born and baptized.

The dungeon didn’t smell of rot or blood. It was clean. Luxurious, even—tiled floors, sterile instruments, surgical lighting.

Because suffering, real suffering, was art.

I stepped into the main chamber.

There he was.

Mr. Mark. Naked. Hands bound overhead with reinforced cuffs. Ankles chained wide. His back arched slightly from the pull, his legs trembling. He’d been crying—good. The tears still glistened in his beard.

He looked up with his one eye.

And froze.

He’d seen monsters before.

But now he saw the one coming for him.

"P-please," he stammered. "I don’t know who you think I am—"

I didn’t say a word. I walked slowly toward the table of tools. The metallic shine caught in the overhead lights.

Forceps. Bone saw. A blowtorch.

I selected a scalpel. Let it gleam in my hand.

"Please," he begged again. "I’m a respected—"

"You’re filth," I said.

A voice echoed inside me—Make him confess. Then punish.

"Start talking," I said, stepping close. "Tell me what you did."

"I—I never hurt anyone. I swear."

Wrong answer.

I plunged the scalpel into his thigh—shallow, deliberate.

He screamed.

"Again," I said calmly. "This time with honesty."

His jaw trembled. His eyes darted.

"J-June—she... she came to me," he tried. "I found her! On the road! I helped her!"

I dragged the blade across his other thigh.

"You mean you saw a girl with no memory and thought, ’perfect.’"

"I—she was quiet! She didn’t fight back! I thought—I thought—"

"That you could finally keep your filth behind closed doors," I said.

He sagged.

"She was so small," he whispered. "So quiet. She never screamed. Just cried sometimes."

The world tilted.

My head felt full of bees, angry, buzzing, stab stab stab STAB—

I gritted my teeth. No. Not yet.

Rico’s words echoed in my mind.

She wasn’t the only one.

"You used your ’foundation,’ didn’t you?" I asked coldly.

His face turned grey.

"I—" he licked his lips. "I was helping them—"

"Say it," I hissed.

"I raped them," he sobbed. "I used them! I—GOD—I couldn’t help it!"

"And your wife?"

"She knew. She told me to adopt. Said if I did it legally, we could make it look like charity. Said if the girl couldn’t remember anything, then we were safe."

Silence.

Cold. Absolute.

I looked at him.

This wasn’t a man. This was something wearing skin. Something that needed to be erased.

The voices inside me laughed. He’ll scream so sweetly when you take it from him. The thing he used to hurt her.

I didn’t smile. Not with my mouth.

But the monster inside me did.

"You hurt her," I said.

"I—I didn’t mean—"

"You used your hands—" I broke a finger. He shrieked.

"You used your mouth—" I smashed in a few teeth.

"And you used your dick."

His eyes bulged in fear.

I picked up the cauterizing knife.

"Wait—WAIT—PLEASE!"

The voices roared in my ears.

He didn’t give them mercy—why should you?

"God isn’t here," I whispered.