Dylan pointed his handgun toward him.
"Then shut up."
Gabriel watched the weapon.
His expression didn't change.
"Nobody here wants trouble."
"Then do what you're told."
"That's what we're doing."
Dylan glanced around.
Eleven men.
Black leather.
Heavy boots.
Weathered faces.
Several had long gray beards.
Others wore dark sunglasses despite the late hour.
He had heard stories about the Hells Angels since childhood.
Some were exaggerated.
Some were contradictory.
Some were frightening enough that people repeated them in whispers.
Dylan didn't know which stories were true.
What he knew was that these men did not appear frightened by him.
That was a problem.
He tried to make his voice sound stronger.
"Everybody empty your pockets!"
Gabriel looked toward Evelyn.
"How much money you got in there?"
She hesitated.
"Maybe six hundred."
Dylan snapped, "Don't answer him!"
Gabriel turned back toward Dylan.
"Six hundred dollars."
"What?"
"That's what you're risking your future for."
Dylan tightened his grip.
"Don't lecture me."
"I'm not."
"Then stop talking."
Gabriel leaned back slightly.
"All right."
The unexpected cooperation made Dylan hesitate.
He had prepared himself for threats.
He hadn't prepared himself for somebody treating him like a frightened child.
Trevor moved toward another rider.
A tall man with a shaved head and a thick scar on his neck.
"Wallet."
The man placed it on the table.
Trevor reached for it.
But his glove caught against the table edge.
The revolver slipped.
For one terrible instant, the weapon pointed toward the floor.
Trevor grabbed it awkwardly.
Owen shook his head.
"Easy."
"Shut up!"
"Keep your finger away from the trigger."
"Don't tell me what to do!"
Gabriel raised his hand slightly.
Owen fell silent.
Dylan heard the exchange.
He moved toward Trevor.
"What's taking so long?"
"Nothing."
"Then get their money!"
Trevor stared at Gabriel's vest.
A large emblem occupied the back.
The lettering was unmistakable.
His mouth went dry.
"Dylan."
"What?"
"I think we should leave."
Dylan turned sharply.
"Not now."
"Seriously."
"Get the wallets."
Trevor lowered his voice.
"Look at who they are."
Dylan looked.
He had already recognized the club.
But hearing Trevor say it aloud made the situation suddenly more real.
He swallowed.
Gabriel noticed.
He watched the young men's eyes move between the riders.
Then he said, "You two didn't know who was inside."
Dylan pointed his gun toward him again.
"I said shut up!"
Gabriel didn't flinch.
"All right."
Owen carefully placed his fork on the plate.
Lucas remained seated with both hands visible.
The other riders followed Gabriel's lead.
They understood that any sudden movement could turn a dangerous robbery into a fatal confrontation.
There was no advantage in proving how fearless they were.
A gun didn't become harmless because the person holding it was inexperienced.
In fact, inexperience made the situation more unpredictable.
Gabriel knew that better than anyone.
Years earlier, he had witnessed a frightened young man accidentally discharge a weapon during an argument.
Nobody involved had intended to kill.
But intentions had not stopped the bullet.
The memory remained with him.
He was determined not to repeat it.
At the counter, Evelyn continued placing bills into the bag.
Dylan glanced at the money.
"Faster."
"I'm trying."
"Then try harder."
Her breathing quickened.
"Please don't hurt anybody."
Dylan looked toward her.
For a moment, his expression softened.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
"Then put the gun down."
The request surprised him.
He almost answered.
Then he remembered Raymond's threat.
The money.
His sister.
The consequences of returning empty-handed.
His face hardened.
"Just give me the cash."
Evelyn reached toward the lower compartment of the register.
Dylan's nerves snapped.
"HEY!"
She froze.
"What are you doing?"
"Getting the larger bills."
"Don't reach down there!"
"I told you—"
"Hands where I can see them!"
Evelyn raised her hands.
The canvas bag slipped from the counter.
Bills scattered across the floor.
Trevor jerked toward the sound.
His revolver swung across the room.
Gabriel's expression changed.
"Careful."
Trevor pointed toward him.
"Don't move!"
"Nobody's moving."
"Stop talking!"
Gabriel's voice remained steady.
"Then keep the gun away from the lady."
Dylan turned.
"What?"
Gabriel looked at him.
"Your friend's frightened. His hand is shaking. If somebody gets hurt, nothing that happens afterward is going to matter."
Dylan stared at Trevor.
For the first time, he noticed how pale the younger man had become.
Trevor's arms trembled.
His breathing was rapid.
Sweat ran down the side of his face.
Dylan suddenly realized that Trevor was closer to losing control than he was.
"Trevor," he said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Lower it."
Trevor swallowed.
"Okay."
But just as he began lowering the revolver, the diner door opened.
A man wearing a delivery jacket stepped inside.
He stopped when he saw the guns.
Dylan spun toward him.
"GET DOWN!"
The newcomer instinctively raised his hands.
Trevor stumbled backward.
His heel caught against a chair.
A shot exploded.
The sound echoed through the diner like a cannon.
Glass shattered.
Someone screamed.
The newcomer dropped to the floor.
For one frozen second, nobody moved.
Then a woman near the counter cried out.
"HE'S BEEN HIT!"
Gabriel was on his feet.
Dylan stared at Trevor.
Trevor stared at the smoking revolver.
And the night transformed from a robbery into something far worse.
Because somebody was bleeding.
And the security cameras had recorded every second.
The wounded man was lying beside the entrance with one hand pressed against his upper arm.
His name was Peter Lawson, and he had stopped at the Copper Moon to deliver a replacement refrigerator part before returning to his warehouse.
He had never seen Dylan or Trevor before.
He didn't know about Raymond Voss or the impossible debt that had brought them there.
He only knew that he had opened a diner door and heard a gunshot.
Now blood was spreading across the sleeve of his blue work jacket.
Evelyn dropped to her knees beside him.
"Peter? Can you hear me?"
He nodded weakly.
"Yeah."
"Where are you hurt?"
"My arm."
She carefully examined him without moving him unnecessarily.
The bullet appeared to have struck his upper arm, but she couldn't tell how serious the injury was.
"Somebody call an ambulance!"
Dylan stood motionless.
Trevor's revolver hung loosely in his hand.
"I didn't mean to," he whispered.
Nobody answered him.
"I swear I didn't mean to!"
Gabriel approached slowly, his hands visible.
"Put that gun on the floor."
Trevor stared at him.
"He's bleeding."
"I can see that."
"Is he going to die?"
"I don't know. Put the gun down so somebody can help him."
Trevor looked toward Dylan.
His older friend seemed incapable of speaking.
"Please," Gabriel said. "Don't make this worse."
Trevor lowered the revolver to the floor.
He stepped away.
Gabriel looked toward Dylan.
"Your turn."
Dylan swallowed.
His handgun felt impossibly heavy.
He had spent hours convincing himself that he could control the situation.
Now he understood how foolish that belief had been.
One accidental movement had changed everything.
He put his weapon on an empty table and raised his hands.
Owen moved the weapons away from the two men without threatening them.
Gabriel turned toward Evelyn.
"How's he doing?"
"Conscious. Bleeding."
Lucas had already called emergency services. Another rider retrieved a clean first-aid kit from his motorcycle while a customer brought fresh towels from the kitchen.
Gabriel knelt beside Peter.
"Hey, buddy. What's your name?"
"Peter."
"I'm Gabriel."