NATHAN CROSS STRIKE BACK..

Chapter 25

At that moment, two of the strongest-looking security guards stepped forward in response to Claire's command.

They moved with purpose, their expressions cold and professional, their hands reaching for the tactical knives they kept holstered at their belts.

The blades came out with a soft metallic whisper that somehow seemed louder than it should have been in the tense silence.

Sharp.

Gleaming.

Designed to cut through meat and bone with terrifying efficiency.

They started walking toward Nathan with deliberate, measured steps, closing the distance between them with the kind of calm confidence that came from years of training and experience in doing exactly this kind of work.

Claire watched them approach Nathan, and for the first time since this entire nightmare had begun, she felt a flicker of satisfaction.

She knew that if she actually did this — if she actually followed through with cutting out Nathan's tongue right here and now — then at least she would not be severely punished when the Sterling family found out what had happened.

At least she could say she had tried to stop him.

At least she could say she had taken action the moment it became clear that his "treatment" was making things worse instead of better.

And Nathan deserved this.

He absolutely deserved this.

She had never liked Nathan from the moment she had read his file. Everything about him screamed con artist, opportunist, fraud. Everything she had researched about him confirmed her worst suspicions — that he was a man who had built his entire career on lies and theft, who had stolen formulas and research from his betters, who had no business being anywhere near someone like Vivienne Sterling.

And even after everything that had just happened — even after he had touched Vivienne, claimed to heal her, made promises he clearly could not keep — even after Vivienne had vomited up God-knows-what and was still lying on the pavement in pain...

Even after all of that, he still had the audacity to look calm.

To act like everything was under control.

To tell her to wait.

Claire hated him.

Hated him with a visceral intensity that surprised even her.

And watching those two bodyguards approach him with their knives drawn gave her a dark, bitter satisfaction that she knew she should probably feel ashamed of but did not.

Nathan watched the bodyguards approach, his expression unreadable.

He was still being held firmly by the other two guards, their hands locked around his arms in grips that were designed to prevent any possibility of escape.

But his eyes — those calm, steady eyes that had not shown fear or panic or even particular concern throughout this entire ordeal — tracked the approaching guards with a kind of calculating awareness that made something cold settle in Claire's chest.

He looked like someone who was measuring distances.

Calculating angles.

Preparing to act.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Nathan said, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife of its own. "I just told you to give her some time. She is going to get herself back. She is going to fully revive. She is going to fully recover. What the hell are you doing? What the hell do you think you are doing? What the hell is this nonsense?"

His voice was not loud.

He was not shouting.

But there was an edge to it now — something sharp and dangerous that had not been there before.

Something that suggested he was done being patient.

Done being cooperative.

Done allowing himself to be manhandled and threatened while he tried to save someone's life.

Claire's jaw tightened even further.

"Just keep your mouth shut, huh?" she said coldly, taking a step closer to where Nathan was being held. "You crazy bastard. First, I want your tongue. First, before I cut off your hands."

She paused, her eyes locked on his.

"Remember," Claire continued, her voice dropping to something almost conversational, which somehow made it more chilling, "you promised. Yes, you bet. You used your mouth to say that if you could not do it, then this is what should happen to you. So keep your mouth shut."

Nathan stared at her for a long moment.

Then he looked past her to where Vivienne was still kneeling on the pavement.

Vivienne was still on the floor, her body bent forward slightly, her breathing labored but steadier than it had been minutes before.

And Nathan could see it.

Could feel it through the faint connection his spiritual energy still maintained with hers.

She was getting better.

Rapidly.

All of her internal systems were being flushed out, purged of the accumulated toxins and corrupted energy that had been poisoning her for years. Her body was doing exactly what it was supposed to do — expelling everything that did not belong, clearing the way for her natural healing processes to take over.

She was better.

Substantially better.

Maybe even completely healed.

But for some reason, she could not speak yet.

For some reason, she could not stand up on her own.

Her body was still recovering from the shock of the purging process, still adjusting to the sudden absence of pain and cold and dysfunction that had defined her existence for so long.

And because she could not speak, could not stand, could not defend Nathan or confirm that what he had done had worked...

He was being accused wrongly.

He was going to be punished for saving her life.

Vivienne could see it happening.

Could see the bodyguards approaching Nathan with their knives drawn.

Could see the cold fury in Claire's eyes.

Could hear Claire giving the order to cut out Nathan's tongue.

And she wanted to scream.

Wanted to stand up and stop them.

Wanted to tell them that Nathan had saved her, that he had done exactly what he said he would do, that everything he had promised was coming true.

But her voice would not work.

Her legs would not support her weight.

All she could do was kneel there on the pavement, watching in helpless horror as the man who had just saved her life was about to be mutilated for his trouble.

The bodyguards got closer to Nathan.

Five paces away.

Then four.

Then three.

Nathan's expression shifted slightly.

Not to fear.

Not to panic.

But to something harder.

Something cold and calculating.

He knew that if he wanted to use force, he could get out of here.

The guards holding his arms were strong, yes, but Nathan could feel the spiritual energy still flowing through his body — depleted, but not gone. He could feel the techniques and knowledge that had awakened within him, the martial arts forms that his body somehow remembered even though his mind did not fully understand them yet.

He could break free.

He could fight.

He could probably even win, though it would be close and he would be exhausted afterward.

But he did not want to fight in a situation like this.

Fighting would only confirm Claire's worst suspicions about him. It would make him look guilty. It would make everything worse.

But if they were actually going to cut out his tongue...