He was expecting his son ten minutes ago. When he heard the faint sound of a scuffle and a shout down the street, his relaxed posture vanished. In a fraction of a second, the suburban dad transformed into a seasoned operative.
He didn't run; he moved with a terrifying, purposeful fluidity, closing the distance in absolute silence.
Down the street, Dale drew his fist back to strike the teenager.
"I wouldn't do that," a voice echoed. It wasn't loud, nor was it frantic. It was a deep, resonant baritone that carried the chilling weight of absolute authority.
Rick, Dale, and Linda froze, turning their heads.
Marcus stood ten feet away. He was dressed in simple sweatpants and a plain gray t-shirt, but the way he carried himself made the two men in tactical gear look like children playing dress-up.
"Dad," Malik breathed, stepping back from Dale’s loosened grip.
"Are you hurt, Malik?" Marcus asked, his eyes never leaving the three adults.
"Just a scrape, sir. They grabbed my bike."
Linda puffed up her chest, recovering her false bravado. "Mr. Washington! Your son was acting suspiciously and resisting our official neighborhood security. These men have the authority to—"
"Quiet," Marcus said. The single word hit the air like a physical blow. Linda’s mouth snapped shut.
Rick, eager to prove his dominance, sneered and tapped his heavy flashlight against his palm. "Listen here, buddy. We run security for this HOA. You better take your delinquent kid and back off before we arrest you, too."