Sara Shepard - Ruthless

“Why do you care?” Spencer’s features were cold and closed.

Aria stared at her. Because we’re friends? Because we share all kinds of awful secrets together? Because you saw me push Alison DiLaurentis to her death, and I trust you with not telling anyone, ever? “I don’t want to see you get hurt,” Aria said aloud. “We could find you a rehab program. I’d sit with you while you detox—whatever it takes. You don’t need drugs, Spence. You’re awesome without them.”

“You are so one to talk.” Spencer gave Aria a half-playful, half-rough shove. “Like you didn’t do crazy drugs when you were in Iceland? You definitely acted like you were stoned when you came back. And you had to have been stoned to go after that English teacher. I mean, he’s hot, Aria, but seriously? A teacher ?”

Aria’s mouth fell open. “I’m trying to help you,” she said stiffly.

Spencer crossed her arms over her chest. “You know, you act like you’re all open-minded and cool, but deep down, you’re afraid of everything.” Then she wheeled around and marched across the lawn to Kelsey. Kelsey unwound herself from James, and she and Spencer glanced at Aria and started whispering.

Several Typical Rosewood Girls carrying dog-eared copies of Teen Vogue brushed past, yanking Aria back to the present. Hanna fiddled with a snap on her bag. “I got another note,” she admitted, her eyes darting around the room. “Whoever A is—Kelsey or someone else—A is watching our every move.”

And then, abruptly, Hanna slung her purse over her shoulder, slid from the chair, and disappeared through the library turnstiles. Aria watched the double doors slam shut, feeling a sudden chill. Maybe A was Kelsey—she certainly seemed like a girl heading off the rails. But how did Kelsey know so much about them? Could she know about Jamaica—and that Aria was a cold-blooded killer?

There was a faint cough behind her, and Aria had the distinct feeling someone was staring. When she whipped around, she nearly collided with Klaudia. “Jesus!”

“ Shhhh! ” Mrs. Norton, the librarian, called from her post at the front of the room, giving Aria a sharp look.

Aria blinked at Klaudia, whose Rosewood Day blazer looked at least two sizes too small and was pulled taut across her perky boobs. Klaudia stared back at Aria, then down at the contents on the desk. A curious eyebrow rose. Aria looked down and saw that the title page of Ezra’s manuscript was clearly visible. So was the dedication page: To Aria, for making this all possible. Yours, Ezra. She quickly covered the pages with her yak-fur bag. “What do you want?” she asked Klaudia.

“We need to talk about the art history project,” Klaudia whispered.

“Let’s meet at Wordsmith’s on Wednesday at six,” Aria answered, just wanting Klaudia to go away. “We’ll talk about it then.”

“Fine,” Klaudia said at normal volume, then turned and flounced to the back corner, where Naomi, Riley, and Kate were waiting. As soon as Klaudia reached them, the four girls started to quietly giggle. Naomi pulled out her phone and showed the girls something on the screen. They all glanced at Aria and snickered once more.

Aria gathered up Ezra’s manuscript and stuffed it back into her bag, feeling like she was on display. When her own phone rang, three loud chimes piercing the sacred library silence, Mrs. Norton’s head looked like it was going to pop off her neck. “Miss Montgomery, turn that phone off now !”

“Sorry,” Aria murmured, fumbling for her phone, which had fallen to the bottom of her bag. When she saw the screen, her heart froze in her chest. ONE NEW TEXT FROM ANONYMOUS. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the button to open the text.

What novel would Ezra have written if he knew the truth about what you did? —A

Aria let her phone fall back into her bag and gazed around the room. Kirsten Cullen glanced at her from the computer card catalogue. Naomi, Riley, Klaudia, and Kate were still giggling in the corner. Someone slipped into the stacks before Aria could see who it was.

Hanna was right. Whoever A was, he or she was watching them closely, tracking their every move.

That night, Hanna tramped down a steep slope toward the darkened windows of the old Huntley Rectory, an imposing stone building on twelve acres in southern Rosewood. The church had once been a mansion that housed an older, wealthy railroad baron and his Olympic-team-in-training of male fencers. The railroad baron had gone crazy, murdered several of the fencers, and escaped to South America. His mansion had been converted into a monastery shortly thereafter, but people were always saying they heard swordfight sounds and ghostly, tormented wails from the tallest towers.

The heels of her booties sank into the muddy soil. A twig snapped against her face. A couple of fat raindrops splattered on her forehead, making her skin prickle, and Hanna kept thinking she saw two huge eyes watching her from the trees. What was she thinking, agreeing to meet Liam here? What was she thinking, agreeing to meet Liam at all ?

She was such an idiot. How could she fall so madly and crazily for a guy she knew nothing about, just because he paid her a couple of compliments and was an amazing kisser? It was as bad as her crush on Patrick, and look where that had gotten her. When she’d left Rue Noir last night, she’d vowed to put all this behind her—there was no way she could fraternize with the son of her dad’s biggest enemy. And when she’d met her father at Starbucks this morning to discuss how well the flash mob had gone, he’d been scowling at something in the paper. Hanna peeked over his shoulder; it was an article about Tucker Wilkinson and how much money he gave to charities. “As if he actually cares about multiple sclerosis,” Mr. Marin said under his breath. “That whole family has poison for blood.”

“Not his kids,” Hanna squeaked before she could stop herself.

Her father gave her a sharp look. “Everyone in that family is the same.”

But between then and now, an achy longing had bloomed inside of her. She kept thinking of the way Liam looked at her, like there was no other girl in the universe. How he confessed that damaging secret about his dad, seeming so broken and sad. How he wanted to take her to Miami so he could have her all to himself. How the unbearable loneliness she’d felt since she broke up with Mike vanished when she was with him, and how she forgot all about A, Tabitha, and Kelsey when they were together. So when Liam texted her earlier this afternoon, asking if she’d meet him here—sufficiently secluded, she noted, so that no one would see them—Hanna couldn’t help but text him back that she would.

The old mansion-turned-church rose up before her, a huge structure of stonework, turrets, and antique stained glass. The saints etched into the windows seemed to glare at Hanna in judgment. Something scuttled around the corner, and Hanna froze.

“ Psst .”

Hanna jumped and spun around. Liam stood in shadows under an old, blown-out lamppost. Hanna could make out the shy smile on his face. A huge part of her wanted to run to him, but instead she stood where she was, giving him an uncertain look.

“You came.” Liam sounded surprised.

“I’m not staying long,” Hanna answered quickly.

Liam’s feet made squishy noises in the mud as he walked closer. He took her hands, but she quickly pulled away. “This isn’t right,” she said.

“Then why does it feel right?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “My dad would kill me if he knew I was with you. Wouldn’t your dad kill you, too? This isn’t some kind of setup, is it?”