Court desperately tried to think of something he could do to ward off this impending event before it started. He tried to come up with a way to scare off the three robbers before they committed to their act, but he knew if he stepped any closer to the register he would show his face on the camera, and if he shouted out he would only draw attention to himself, ensuring all three guns would sweep in his direction first.

Short of drawing his own piece right now, Court didn’t see any options.

Other than one. He knew he could simply turn around and push through the glass door. He could be in his car before this robbery began.

It was his only safe play, the one sure way he could get through this unscathed.

But Court Gentry stood his ground.

He looked the men over quickly, trying to figure out who would be the quickest on the trigger.

Determine the will—determine the skill.

He knew if any of these three young men pulled a gun, then all three of them would die. He wouldn’t wait around to see if anyone wanted to drop his weapon and pray to Jesus for mercy.

Nope, if this went down, Court was determined to kill every threat in front of him.

Loud and messy.

He flitted his eyes up again to LaShondra, and he willed her to go ahead and pop open her register’s till and hand over all her money to the two men standing there—before things turned violent.

But she just watched her TV while they pretended to shop.

The African American couple standing at the cooler each had a six-pack of soda, and the man selected a bag of potato chips. They had just turned to head up the aisle to the counter when the man in the back corner behind them began moving quickly towards them. Court couldn’t see the man draw a weapon because of the shelves between his position and the back corner of the market, but the female’s shout of alarm made it clear something was terribly wrong.

Court heard yelling at the front counter, then a flurry of movement there. The two men at the register pulled their knit caps down, revealing them to be ski masks, and they each produced a chrome automatic pistol from their jackets. The weapons reached out across the counter, nearly into LaShondra’s stunned face. The third man racked a pistol grip shotgun he’d strapped to his shoulder under his black jacket and he held it high, then he shoved the couple away from the freezer and pushed them ahead of him to the front of the store. He forced them down onto the ground, and they huddled together with their hands on their heads at the opposite end of the front aisle from where Court stood.

Now gray hoodie pointed the twelve-gauge directly at Court, thirty feet away.