“I’m at your mercy,” Ali said in a fake, high-pitched drawl. But inside, she laughed. As if Nick would ever control her.
Ali was at Nick’s mercy, though—it was his money and cunning know-how that got the tickets and fake passports to Jamaica. But she also knew Nick would stick by her if Jamaica didn’t go according to plan. And when things did go wrong and they had to regroup, lay the groundwork for framing the girls, and get them on even bigger secrets than ones they’d ever kept, he helped every step of the way. When she and Nick had to return to Rosewood instead of escaping to other Caribbean islands and plant Nick in key roles in each of the girls’ lives to orchestrate their downfalls, he’d done it so willingly and devotedly. Ali put Nick through trial after trial, positioning him as a drug dealer, a bartender, even dragging him to Iceland and forcing him to woo Aria and steal a painting. And Nick—sweet, sensitive, borderline-personality Nick—complied again and again, so dutiful, so loving. Her perfect little soldier.
We’ll leave after they’re in jail, Ali convinced him. And then, later: We’ll leave after they die. And if they don’t die, well, we’ll both go down together.
But even that was a white lie. Deep down, Ali had been laying another set of tracks, a just-in-case plan Nick didn’t know about. It started with that letter he’d written to the girls for her, and it ended with the video of him killing Tabitha alone. There were other things, too. Things she’d done when Nick wasn’t looking, using pliers and wincing in pain, using a leaky pen and her imagination. Last-ditch-effort things, only in play if she was pushed to her most desperate limits.
The only thing that mattered was that those bitches died.
Only then would she be done.
1
HANNA’S BIG BREAK
On a warm Monday morning in mid-June, Hanna Marin walked into Poole’s, an old-fashioned ice-cream parlor in downtown Rosewood. The inside hadn’t changed since Hanna had been here last—the same penny candy under the glass, black-and-white checkerboard floor, wrought-iron stools and tables, and long, marbled counter. The owners even offered the same flavors of ice cream, including the Phillies Fundae, a sundae in honor of the Philadelphia Phillies baseball team. Just breathing in the heavenly scent of homemade waffle cones and cookies-and-cream ice cream made Hanna’s empty stomach growl.
Her old friends Aria Montgomery, Spencer Hastings, and Emily Fields were in a back booth underneath a large poster of a 1950s-styled girl daintily eating a banana split. It had been two weeks since Hanna had seen them, but she and the others had received a note from Emily asking if they could talk today. It was pretty obvious what Emily wanted to talk about. Hanna wasn’t sure, though, if she was ready.
“Hey, Han.” Spencer slid over to make room. The others said hi, too.
Hanna threw her leather satchel on the seat and sat down. For a moment, silence hung over them. Spencer sipped a cup of the parlor’s famous fresh-brewed coffee, her blond hair falling in her face. Aria picked at a bowl of sherbet. Emily peeled off a wrapper of a Charleston Chew.
“So,” Hanna finally said, “what’s new?”
Everyone chuckled awkwardly. Hanna hoped nothing was new with them. The last few months had been a whirlwind of activity—and hell. First, a diabolical text-messager who called herself A had returned, tormenting each of them with their secrets. After all that, A had framed them in the murder of Tabitha Clark, a girl they’d gotten in an altercation with while in Jamaica on spring break of their junior year. The police had false evidence showing all four of them beating Tabitha to death.
It was clear who was behind it: Alison DiLaurentis, their old best friend’s twin sister. Two weeks ago, the girls traced Ali to an old, abandoned house in Rosewood. But Ali and her boyfriend, Nick Maxwell, had trapped the girls in the basement and pumped in noxious, suffocating gas. The police had saved everyone just in time, and Nick had been arrested.
But Ali? She’d slipped away, unseen. Without a trace.
Aria looked at Spencer. “Did you have a good vacation?”
Spencer shrugged. Her family had gone to their house in Longboat Key, Florida, for two weeks, and she’d just gotten back. “I beat Amelia at tennis.” She looked at Hanna. “How was Cabo with your mom?”
“Not too bad,” Hanna murmured. Unexpectedly, her mom had swooped in after Hanna was released from the hospital and announced that the two of them were going to Mexico. “And I’m not bringing work,” Ashley Marin had even added—a huge shocker, as her mom practically conducted conference calls in the shower. They’d spent the week tanning, drinking virgin margaritas, and rating hot surfers. It’d been actually kind of . . . fun.
Aria pouted. “I’m jealous you guys got to go somewhere. I was stuck here all this time.”
Emily raised a finger. “I was stuck here, too. Thinking about Ali.” She lowered her eyes.
Hanna shuddered at Ali’s name . . . but it was inevitable. They were bound to get around to her soon enough.
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Emily admitted. “How was there no trace of her in that house?” Forensic teams had swept the crime scene after pulling the girls and Nick out, and though they had found tons of pictures of Ali—Nick had set it up like an Ali shrine—they didn’t uncover a single fingerprint. The cops were back to thinking Ali had died in the Poconos.
“Well, we know what we saw,” Hanna mumbled, that night still haunting her. Ali had looked so . . . crazed. She’d raised a gun to Emily’s head. The gun had gone off . . . but the next thing Hanna remembered, Hanna and the others were lying in hospital beds. Alive. What had happened in between?