“Because I struck a bargain with Remo about keeping quiet.”
She wrung her tresses so hard suds foamed between her knuckles. “I don’t understand. I thought Karsyn attacked you . . .”
“Remo arrived mid-assassination-attempt. He helped me stop Karsyn.”
The corners of her already bowed lips turned down some more. “I willkillthe little twerp. Along with his grandfather and Joshua Locklear.”
“I appreciate your savage compassion, cuz, but I don’t want you going anywhere near them.” I shot her a smile meant to ease her vengeful temperament, but it mustn’t have been very effective, because her lips didn’t unbend and her eyes didn’t brighten. “Want some help with your hair?”
Her eyebrows stayed flat, unmoving, but her mood . . . it raged and writhed through her body. I wanted to reach out and steal her anger, lob it atop my own, let it fester inside me instead of inside her. The Farrows and the Locklears were my burden to carry, not hers.
“Giya . . . let it go.”
“Would you let it go if someone hurt me?”
“No.”
“Then don’t expect me to let any of it go.” Giya dipped her head back, rinsing out her hair before squeezing more soap into her palm and kneading the lengths anew. There was something cathartic about the spectacle, as though it wasn’t only dreadlocks unraveling but also our collective tension.
As I watched new strands break free, a bolt of horror shattered the serenity. “How did Remo kill himself?”
The aloe spear jolted out of Giya’s grasp. “What?”
“How did he take his life?”
“Amara—”
“How?”
She pursed her mouth. “I don’t know. I was sort of trying not to look. With the machete, I think.”
My palms became ice, and the back of my neck fire. He’d used the machete on the apple. I pressed a trembling hand to the organ beating too hard and too fast inside my chest, feeling as though it was about to detonate like the train.
Giya frowned and then she didn’t. Then her eyebrows popped up. Both our gazes arrowed toward the top of the cliff. Quinn would come back, but would Remo? Cruz had said the apple needed to be ingested. What if a residue of apple had remained on the machete, and the blade had nicked his stomach?
“Where, Giya?” Foam danced around the cracked polish on my toes.
“Where what?”
“Where on his body did he . . .?” I couldn’t finish my sentence.
Again her expression turned guarded. Did she think I was asking because I wanted to torture myself with the details?
“I don’t know,” she confessed.
I closed my eyes and strengthened the dam, needing to keep myself together a while longer.
“Are you two having a relaxing bath?” Kiera’s voice pierced the torpid air.
Slowly, I stared over my shoulder toward where Josh’s sister stood, her outline unfocused, mere dabs of color—white, gray, red. Another person stood beside her. Although the contours of his body were as hazy as hers, Cruz was unmistakable. Then again, he was the only man left in the valley.
“Is that . . . the apple?” Her navy eyes gradually came into focus. They jumped between the fruit and my face.
Cruz froze. “Where are all the others?”
I couldn’t get my breaths to coalesce into sounds.
Giya, suds still streaking her hair, strode out of the water. She sank to her knees in front of me and placed gentle, sunshine-scented palms on either side of my face. “He’ll be back, Amara,” she whispered softly but firmly. “He will.”
