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.
