He saw them then, in his mind’s eye. Autumn colored leaves. Descending like harbingers of truth. The leaves fell by the hundreds. Then by the thousands. Surrounding him in random but beautiful patterns. They brushed his skin, healing savaged flesh from a past that no longer controlled him, no longer held his fate.

He loosened his grip on the knife.

Love is stronger than hate.

A lot stronger. He’d been so misguided all these years. Bitterness? Hatred? Revenge? Deep down, where only the truth lived, he knew they weren’t just words. They’d become prison bars. He thought about the words inscribed on the FBI seal—words that Holly honored. Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. And they weren’t merely words. They were tenets of the truth, a truth he’d lost sight of. He could never face Holly again if he gave into his dark nature. Hatred and rage might be permanent parts of his soul, but they didn’t have to control him.

He slammed the door on the other and threw the knife aside.

“You’re a coward, McBride.”

Grangeland stepped forward, brushing Nathan aside with her body, and delivered a solid haymaker to Montez’s bloody jaw. “And you’re unconscious.”

Nathan backed away, allowing Grangeland to take over.

Holly hugged him. “It’s over, Nathan,” she whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to fear him anymore.”

“I didn’t mean the things I said. I’m sorry.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Her words echoed again. You don’t have to fear him anymore. He held her, unsure if she meant Montez or the vicious thing inside him. Perhaps they were the same, cut from the same dark cloth. It didn’t matter.

Holding Holly, he sensed something he hadn’t felt in a long time.…

He felt safe.

Chapter 48

Chapter  48

Nichole Dalton heard a voice. A man’s voice.

For a split second she saw Montez’s grinning face and bloody gloves.

She remembered being rescued by a tall man with long scars on his face and body.

Nichole, can you hear me?

She opened her eyes but couldn’t focus. Her chest and stomach stung. Where was she?

The plastic surgeon. She’d been taken to a plastic surgeon’s office. She remembered lying on her back and feeling cold, remembered feeling an IV inserted into her arm. There’d been classical music in the background. And some kind of chemical smell, alcohol maybe? She couldn’t remember anything beyond that.

“Nichole, can you hear me?”

She turned her head and saw Dr. Reavie.

He took her hand. “I’ve got a couple of girls who want see their mother.”

“You found them! They’re safe?” She tried to sit up. Fiery pain made her wince. She didn’t care.

“Don’t sit up. I’ll elevate the bed for you. You’re recovering from anesthesia. Everything went well. You have more than a thousand sutures, though.”

“My girls!”