Fake It Till You Ace It

The freight elevator doors parted completely. The massive steel box was empty. Iverson turned to guide Brenda inside, but the heavy footsteps behind them suddenly stopped. "Well, look what we have here." The voice was thick, wet, and dripping with malice. Iverson slowly turned around. Rocco Gorski stepped out of the shadows, flanked by three massive goons. Rocco's face was scarred, and his neck was covered in faded prison ink. In his right hand, he was casually flipping a butterfly knife. The silver blade caught the flickering overhead light, flashing dangerously. Brenda let out a choked gasp. All the color drained from her face. She instinctively grabbed the back of Iverson's hoodie, trying to hide behind his tall frame. Rocco stopped about ten feet away. A cruel, ugly smirk stretched across his face. He pointed the tip of the knife directly at Brenda. "Rent's due, Brenda. Protection fee. Plus the late penalty for making me walk all the way down here to find you." Brenda's voice shook, but she forced herself to speak. "I paid you last week, Rocco! You know I did." One of Rocco's men, a guy built like a brick wall, stepped forward and spit a thick wad of saliva onto the concrete floor. Rocco laughed. "Rates went up. Inflation, baby. You don't have the cash right now? That's fine. We'll just go back to your little shop and smash everything inside until we feel compensated." Iverson stood perfectly still. His face was a mask of absolute calm, but underneath, his blood was boiling. He slowly slid his right hand into the deep front pocket of his hoodie. His fingers wrapped around the hard plastic handle of the megaphone. He calculated the distance. Ten feet. Four targets. One weapon. Rocco finally seemed to notice the kid standing in front of Brenda. He looked Iverson up and down, taking in the clean clothes and the lean, athletic build. Rocco sneered. "Who the hell is this? Your little boy toy? Move out of the way, pretty boy, before I carve a smile into your face." Iverson didn't speak. He didn't blink. He simply shifted his weight, stepping fully in front of Brenda, completely blocking Rocco's path to her. Rocco's face flushed red with sudden rage. He hated being ignored. He lunged forward, his heavy boots stomping on the concrete. He reached out with his left hand, aiming to grab Brenda by her hair and rip her away from Iverson. The moment Rocco's hand crossed the invisible line, the dead look in Iverson's eyes vanished. He became a monster. Iverson's left hand shot out faster than a rattlesnake strike. His fingers clamped down on Rocco's thick wrist like a steel trap. Rocco gasped, his eyes widening in shock. He tried to yank his arm back, but the teenager's grip was impossible. The physical strength radiating from Iverson's hand was terrifying. In the same split second, Iverson used his right hand to shove Brenda backward. He didn't shove her blindly. Instead, his right hand clamped onto her shoulder, pulling her out of the line of fire. With a surge of irresistible but calculated force, he guided her backward into the empty elevator car, using his own body to buffer her momentum so she wouldn't lose her footing. Brenda screamed as she stumbled backward, landing safely inside the steel box. Iverson released Rocco's wrist and took a quick half-step back. He raised his right leg and kicked the elevator's exterior control panel with devastating force. The plastic panel shattered. Sparks exploded from the broken wires. The safety mechanism triggered, and the heavy metal elevator doors instantly began to slide shut. "Iverson!" Brenda screamed from inside the car, scrambling to her feet, her hands reaching out for him. Iverson looked at her through the narrowing gap. His eyes were soft for a fraction of a second. He gave her a single, firm nod. Boom. The metal doors slammed shut, locking together. The gears ground loudly as the elevator began to ascend. Iverson was alone in the hallway with four angry gang members. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and tossed the megaphone onto the floor. It clattered against the concrete. He rolled his shoulders back. He tilted his head to the left, then to the right. The joints in his neck cracked loudly in the quiet hallway.