“Go ahead. I want to see it. All of it. I want to see you tear his scalp back. I want to see you cut his throat. Listen to the gurgling of his lungs. Everything. I want to see the real Nathan McBride in action. I guess the man I thought I knew doesn’t exist.”

“Holly, don’t—”

“Don’t what? Tell you the truth?”

“What do you know about the truth?” he yelled.

Her voice softened. “I know that giving into hatred won’t heal you. Just the opposite.”

“You know what he did to me.”

“Yes, I do.”

The temptation to tear Montez’s scalp back and slit his throat overpowered all else. It raged like a thirst, a thirst he knew well. He would’ve sold his soul for a drink of water during his crucifixion. With every crack of the whip, every jolt of electricity, and every slice of his flesh, he’d sworn to get revenge some day. He’d dreamed of this moment thousands of times. That day had arrived. Montez must die. And why shouldn’t he? After what he’d done to Kramer. The Dalton family. The bastard tried to kill Harv. Shot him when he was defenseless. Human life had no value to Montez. None.

He gripped the knife tighter.

It would be so easy. So satisfying.

But what about Holly and the life they’d started together? Was he going to throw that away? Was killing Montez worth sacrificing that future? Her future?

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Nathan, love is stronger than hate.”

Conflicting emotions assaulted him again. His desire to kill Montez had never burned so strongly. How could they blame him? How could anyone on the planet blame him? He thought back to Director Cantrell’s visit to his hospital room. She’d asked him to consider the bigger picture when and if the time ever came. He owned Montez’s life. Was it satisfying enough to know he could kill him? Was having the power of life and death over this monster enough? It didn’t feel like enough, not by a long shot.

He could almost hear Harvey telling him this wasn’t a CIA sanctioned mission and he didn’t have a green light to take out the target. Thorny would say the same thing.

And what if Montez wasn’t lying about the thumb drive? About having other copies? Killing him could cause serious harm to the country. Did his lust for revenge overshadow all else? How many good people would be destroyed by killing one bad person?

The fork in the road branched in two directions.

One toward light.

The other toward darkness.

With clenched teeth, he tilted his head up, closed his eyes.…

And asked God for help.