Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits, #1)(32)

She took another draw as a tear fell from her left eye. “It was Mom’s birthday and the stupid bastard didn’t want to share her, so …” She shrugged.

Pure anger raged through my body, every muscle tightening, preparing to fight. “When are the police getting here?”

“They’re not,” said Shirley. She placed gauze over a burn and taped around it.

I fought for control. “And why not?”

“She’s sixteen and her mom was there. They’ll lock my sister up along with that no-good boyfriend. I don’t agree with how she lives her life, but I won’t send my sister to jail and Beth isn’t interested in it either.”

I waited for Beth to confirm the theory. She put out her cigarette in the ashtray, placed another in her mouth and fumbled with the lighter. It clicked several times as she unsuccessfully struck the wheel against the flint. I took it from her and, in one smooth motion, lit the cigarette.

“Thanks,” she said weakly.

The phone rang once, twice, a third time. It stopped ringing and Beth’s cell began to play The Cure’s “Lovesong”—her mom’s ring tone. Her hand shook as she flicked ashes into the ashtray. “She keeps calling. She wants me to come back home.”

“Why?” I snarled.

“He got tired of beating me and fell asleep, passed out, whatever. Probably woke up and missed his pi?ata.”

I tried to rub the anger out of my neck. “Call the police, Beth.”

“And what do you think’s going to happen to you and Isaiah if she does?” Dale wandered into the kitchen, his dark hair slicked back from a recent shower. “Your social worker has been a little nosy recently, Noah. We put a phone call in to the police, they’ll figure out Beth’s been living here. We can kiss you and Isaiah goodbye.”

Beth’s voice broke. “I can’t lose you guys.” And there it was. She sat here bleeding because she loved me and Isaiah. For the millionth time, I wished the system was a person. One person I could name, know and hold responsible for screwing every single one of us. Right now, Beth’s mom’s new boyfriend would have to do.

I stood up and kissed the top of Beth’s head. “You ready, bro?”

“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up, man.” Isaiah opened the front door, his eyes cold and deadly.

Beth’s one good eye widened. “No,” she whispered.

“I ain’t bailing you boys out,” said Dale.

“Never asked you to,” I said and walked for the door.

A car swerved coming up the street and flew into the grass of the front yard. The passenger door opened before the car stopped, and Beth’s mother hopped out. Her blond hair fell from a ponytail, eyes bloodshot, a bruise forming under her right eye. “I want my baby. I need to tell her I’m sorry.”

“Go to hell,” said Isaiah. “She ain’t your doll to play dress-up with.”

The Beamer’s headlights stayed on. A large man staggered from the driver’s side. “Shut your trap. Sky wants her slut daughter. Tell her to come out or I’m going in to get her.”

Isaiah and I stood side by side, a silent agreement that we’d kill him before he got to the front door. My brothers flashed through my mind. As much as I wanted to protect Beth, I also needed to protect them. “Leave now before I call the police.”

God damn, this guy had to be at least six and a half feet tall and he looked familiar. He stood toe to toe with Isaiah and me. The stench of alcohol rolled off of him. His eyes shifted nervously and his body flinched.

“He’s tweaking, man,” Isaiah said to me.

Fabulous. This night had shifted from the best to bad to Saw in record time. The man turned the ring on his finger. That was no regular ring—that was a damn Super Bowl ring. “Go ahead, call the police. Everybody loves me. I ain’t going to jail.”

“Aren’t you that * that got kicked off that loser team a couple hours from here?” I said, trying to keep his eyes off the house.

He blinked a couple of times, like his f*cked-up mind understood for three seconds that a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound linebacker shouldn’t be picking fights with a sixteen-year-old girl and her two stoner friends.

“I’m tired of this bullshit, man,” Isaiah whispered to me seconds before he hauled back and hit the bastard in the jaw. The impact would have sent me to the ground, but this guy only turned his head. Dammit all to hell … everything about this was going to suck.

The bastard raised his fist to retaliate, but found himself on the ground when I tackled him right at his knees. I had the fleeting thought that I should thank my gym teacher, Mr. Graves, for the three weeks of football instruction.

I rolled away from him before he could throw a punch. Isaiah came too close and the * swept Isaiah’s legs out from underneath him and pounded him in the gut as he fell to the ground. The sound of Beth’s mom screaming irritated the shit out of me.

The bastard rose, as did I, and I punched him in the kidney before he had a chance to kick Isaiah, who lay on the ground with the wind knocked out of him. Tweaker turned and swung for my head, but I ducked and landed a punch on his stomach. He grunted and swayed, but stayed upright.

I needed to get this loser back on the ground. I attempted to tackle him again, but aimed too high. My sides stung when he threw two good punches into my rib cage. The two of us crashed into his car as Isaiah stood up and cracked the guy in the back with his fist.