Twisted

He saw Spencer the same instant she saw him. The blood drained from his cheeks. Spencer quickly wrapped herself up in the bed sheet—at some point in the middle of the night, she’d kicked off her skirt and tights and was now only in her blouse and underwear. Zach shot up, too, groping for his T-shirt, which he’d also stripped off. But it was too late—Mr. Pennythistle had seen everything.

“Jesus Christ!” he screamed, his face contorting. “What the hell?”

Zach pulled his shirt over his head. “Dad, it’s not . . .”

“You sick bastard.” Mr. Pennythistle narrowed his eyes at his son. He yanked Zach up by the arm and slammed him hard against the wall. “She’s going to be your stepsister! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It wasn’t what it looked like,” Zach protested weakly. “We were just hanging out.”

Mr. Pennythistle shook Zach’s shoulders hard. “You just can’t keep it in your pants, can you?”

“We were just sleeping!” Spencer cried. “Honest!”

Mr. Pennythistle ignored her. He shook his son again and again, making Spencer wince. “You’re a twisted pervert, Zachary. A sick, disgusting pervert not worthy of anything I do for you.”

“Dad, please!”

Mr. Pennythistle’s hand drew back and slapped Zach’s face. Zach reeled backward, struggling against his dad, but Mr. Pennythistle threw his whole body against him, holding him there. The worst part was that it looked like he’d done this many times before.

“Stop it!” Spencer screamed, wriggling into her skirt from last night and catapulting over the bed to the two of them. “Just stop it! Please!”

Mr. Pennythistle didn’t seem to hear. Zach crumpled against the wall, but Mr. Pennythistle only shook him harder. “When will you listen?” he growled. “When will you understand?”

Spencer tugged Mr. Pennythistle’s arm. “Please stop! It wasn’t what it looked like! I swear!”

“Spencer . . .” Zach eyed her over his father’s shoulder. “Just go. You don’t need to see this.”

“No!” Zach was Spencer’s soon-to-be stepbrother, and she needed to protect him. She pulled at the back of Mr. Pennythistle’s oxford shirt, tearing it. “Zach didn’t touch me! He’s g*y!”

Mr. Pennythistle immediately let go of his son and whirled around to stare at her. “What did you say?”

Spencer glanced at Zach’s stricken face. He shook his head desperately, like he couldn’t believe what she’d said either, but what was she supposed to do, let his father whale on him some more?

Zach covered his face with his hands. His father turned back to him. “Is what she said true?”

A gurgling sound emerged from between Zach’s lips. His dad stepped away from him as though he were toxic. Then, abruptly, he reached out his arm and punched the faux-wood wall next to Zach’s head. Spencer jumped back and yelped. Mr. Pennythistle punched the wall again and again. Plaster flew everywhere. When he was finished, he bent over at the waist and placed his bloody fists on his knees. His face twisted with anguish. He looked like he was about to cry.

A small, timid knock sounded on the door. “Nicholas?” Spencer’s mother called. “Is everything okay?”

No one said a word. After a moment, Mr. Pennythistle turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door so hard that the walls shivered. Spencer could hear him talking to her mom in the hall.

She dared to peek at Zach. He looked rattled, but okay. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why did you tell him that?”

Spencer reached out to him. “I thought he was hurting you!”

Zach’s lips warped into a sneer, and he took a step back from her. He looked at her with utter hatred, a look she thought she’d never see in him. “I asked you to keep it a secret, but I guess that was too much to ask of a Pretty Little Liar,” he snarled. “Rot in hell, bitch.”

Before Spencer could protest, he scooped up his coat, shoved on his shoes, and stormed out of the room, too. The door slammed once more. And then, silence.

Spencer sank to the mattress, knocking one of the pillows on the bed to the floor. It still had an indentation from Zach’s skull. The mattress was still warm from his body.

Another chunk of plaster fell from the wall to the ground. Mr. Pennythistle’s blood dripped onto the carpet from the hole he’d created. It reminded Spencer of the dream she’d had that morning: the line of blood trickling from Ali’s ear. I know what you did.

Beep.

It was Spencer’s BlackBerry, which she’d set on the nightstand before falling asleep last night. Even from across the room, she could tell that the screen said ONE NEW TEXT.

No, Spencer thought. Please. Not now. But she couldn’t ignore it. She had to press READ.

Watch out, Spencer. Eventually, all secrets wash ashore. I

think you know exactly what I mean. –A

Chapter 30

She’s smarter than she looks

The Lenape medical center was nothing but a squat, square building that smelled like antiseptic and cough drops. A TV in the corner silently played an infomercial about a magical potato peeler, the chair Aria was sitting on was making her butt fall asleep, and she was about to lose her mind from the constant drone of the automaton-like National Weather Service voice on the radio. Apparently, this area was due for two more feet of snow tomorrow. Not that they’d stay the extra day to ski. Not after what had happened with Klaudia.

Aria strained to listen for anything coming from the examination room—moans of pain, screams of agony, a heart monitor flat-lining. The room was deadly quiet. Eric and Christopher Kahn lounged on the couches, reading old copies of Sports Illustrated. Noel paced around the small space, on the phone with his mother. “Yeah, Mom . . . she just fell, I don’t know . . . the ski patrol got her . . . we’re at the med center now . . . I hope she’s okay, but I don’t know.”