NATHAN CROSS STRIKE BACK..

Chapter 24

If it could be fixed.

So there was no point in arguing with Nathan right now.

No point in wasting breath on accusations and threats.

She just needed to wait.

Claire's jaw remained clenched, but she forced herself to speak in a more controlled tone.

"Well," she said slowly, her eyes locked on Nathan's face, "I am going to give you some minutes. Some minutes to see what is actually going to happen."

The unspoken threat hung in the air between them: *And if she dies, you die with her.*

Nathan nodded slightly, acknowledging the threat without seeming particularly concerned about it.

And that calm acceptance — that complete lack of fear or defensiveness — only made Claire angrier.

But she said nothing more.

She turned away from Nathan and moved closer to where Vivienne was still bent forward on the pavement, her body trembling, her breathing labored.

Claire knelt beside her employer, one hand hovering near Vivienne's shoulder but not quite touching, unsure whether contact would help or make things worse.

"Miss Sterling," Claire said softly, her voice losing some of its hard edge. "Can you hear me?"

Vivienne did not respond.

She just kept breathing in shallow, uneven gasps, her fists still clenched against her stomach, her eyes squeezed shut.

Claire's throat tightened.

*Please,* she thought desperately. *Please let her survive this.*

One minute passed, then two.

Then three, vivienne continued to tremble, her body still clearly in distress, but she was not vomiting anymore.

That was good, right?

That meant whatever was happening was almost over?

Claire glanced back at Nathan, who was still being held by the bodyguards but was watching Vivienne with an expression of focused concern.

Four minutes.

Five minutes.

Six minutes.

Claire felt her anxiety ratcheting up with each passing second.

Vivienne had not vomited again, which seemed like a positive sign. But she also had not opened her eyes. Had not spoken. Had not given any indication that she was improving or recovering or even aware of what was happening around her.

She just knelt there on the pavement, trembling and gasping, looking like she was trapped in some kind of internal battle that no one else could see.

And then, just as Claire was beginning to think that maybe — *maybe* — the worst was over...

Vivienne vomited again.

More of the whitish substance poured from her mouth, splattering onto the pavement next to the previous puddles of black and white vomit.

Claire's heart sank.

"No."

"No, no, no."

The secretary's carefully maintained composure shattered completely.

"You are just a quack!" Claire exploded, her voice rising to nearly a shout as she spun around to face Nathan. "What you did did not work! She is getting worse, not better! You are going to pay severely for this!"

Her face was flushed with fury and fear and desperate frustration.

She had given him minutes.

She had waited.

She had held back her rage and her instinct to intervene, believing — hoping — that maybe Nathan was telling the truth, that maybe this was just part of the healing process.

But Vivienne was still vomiting.

Still in pain, Still getting worse.

And the doctors still had not arrived.

Claire turned sharply to face the bodyguards holding Nathan.

Her eyes were cold, her jaw was set.

Her decision was made.

"First of all," Claire said quietly, her voice deadly calm now, "I want his tongue. Cut off his tongue."