The Heart That's Meant to Love You [COMPLETED]

Chapter 77: Thieves

Naomi couldn't stay in the apartment, even days after the fiasco with Oliver. Laying in bed was making her anxious, and pacing would only wake up her mother. So Naomi did what she always did when the stress was too high.

She sneaked out.

The pressure had built again, too heavily to think about it. Thus, Naomi headed for her usual stress relief. If a bowl of black-label ramen couldn't soothe her frazzled inner self, Naomi knew she had a real problem.

Perhaps this was a test on how much she actually trusted Oliver. If she couldn't straighten out her thoughts, Naomi would have to deal with the fact of what Oliver had done. Making deals behind her back, assuming she and he would be perfect for one another. Naomi had thought that they were friends, but maybe she had always misunderstood Oliver's intentions.

As always, Naomi bypassed the convenience store closest to her home. If she stopped there, her mother would find out one way or another. Her best option for privacy had always come several blocks out of her way, under the dim sign of a more run-down store.

Naomi sailed through the front door without much thought. The man who ran the counter at this time of the evening greeted her with a lift of his hand. Naomi raised her chin in acknowledgment. They had seen each other often enough to develop that form of mutual salutation.

Naomi grabbed her usual bowl of black-label ramen, dropped the payment on the counter, and headed for the hot water dispenser in the back of the store.

A flip of the nozzle sent steam soaring. The smell of cooking noodles, dehydrated vegetables, and spice seared the inside of Naomi's nose and throat. As it should be.

The convenience store's door dinged as it opened, allowing another late-night customer into the shop.

Naomi ignored them, instead focusing on shutting off the hot water and lifting the steaming ramen bowl up and away. She turned for her usual spot by the windows.

The other customer passed by her, a man smoking a cigarette and wearing clothes too big for him.

Naomi paid him little mind, too intent on getting to eat her late-night snack.

A second customer—this one in a red sweatshirt with the hood over his head—entered as Naomi took her seat.

Both customers bypassed each other in the candy aisle.

Then the shot rang out.

Naomi jumped to her feet, sending her ramen splattering to the floor.

Pieces of the ceiling tumbling down around him, the man in the red sweatshirt pointed his gun at the man behind the counter. "Gimme the money, old man."

Naomi ducked behind the nearest shelf, her fingers fumbling in her pocket for her phone.

As per protocol, the man behind the counter opened the cash register drawer. Naomi heard it ding and click.

"Nah, not that." The man in the sweatshirt chuckled. "You think I don't know the owner keeps a safe full of cash in here? Move it. Get me the real bucks."

"I don't... I don't know what you're talking about." The convenience store worker's voice trailed higher with each word, a sure sign of panic.

Naomi managed to pull her phone out of her pocket, her brain on repeat telling her call 9-1-1, call 9-1-1, call 9-1-1...

A blade landed at her throat, accompanied by the distinct smell of cigarettes.

Naomi froze.

"Don't think of trying nothin' stupid, beautiful girl," the first customer warned. "Hand over your phone."

In such a situation, Naomi no longer had a choice. She held out her hand, phone in her palm, and allowed the man to snatch it and toss it to the ground. At least he hadn't decided to steal it altogether.

"Don't know what I'm talking about?" The man in the red sweatshirt laughed again at the man behind the counter. "Don't test me. You know I'll put a bullet in you."

"You... you can't kill me. You don't know where the safe is."

The man with a blade at Naomi's throat gave a nod as if he had thought of something important. "Looks like that's our cue."

Naomi didn't have time to register how much she hated the sound of that before this man's hand was in her hair and gripping hard. The knife never left her throat, and between the two inconveniences, Naomi had no other choice but to move with the man toward the front of the store.

"Hey!" The man holding her shouted to his buddy. "Look what I found."

The Red Sweatshirt Man gave a quick glance over his shoulder, but focused mostly on angling the gun toward the man at the counter. "Pretty thing," he commented briefly.

"That's not the point." The man holding Naomi released her hair long enough to lean his chin on one of her shoulders. "We may not be able to shoot you, old man, but the girl isn't a loss."

The man behind the counter stared at Naomi with the same intensity that Naomi stared at him. Both, in their own way, knew the situation was hopeless. The man working tried to hold out longer than he needed to.

"I still don't know what you're—"

The man behind Naomi pressed the knife closer to her throat, eliciting a hiss of pain from Naomi when it pierced her skin.

"Okay, okay! I know. I'll open the safe. Just let her go."

"Open it first." The Red Sweatshirt Man waved the gun like that would be more threatening. "Get on it. Let's go."

The worker and Red Sweatshirt Man disappeared into the back room.

"You're a quiet one," the man behind Naomi pointed out. His blade moved away from her neck, but only to trace patterns on her cheek. "Got me wondering what it would take to make you scream."

Though the tears pressed behind her eyes, Naomi refused to let them fall. If she allowed herself to cry, it meant these bullies had won. She had no intention of backing down and bowing to their whims. They could rob the place, take the money, even injure her, but they would not humiliate her.

"Come on, baby girl. Say something for me." The blade's tip pricked her cheek, not enough to cause it to bleed but enough to tell Naomi it could. Cigarette breath swirled up and around her face as the man leaned still closer. "Cry. Yell at me. Do something."

Naomi disliked the derogatory way he spoke to her, and thus she didn't do anything. She didn't even breathe.

The man's hand clamped into her hair again, pulling her head back as he straightened to his full height. "I said, say something."

Naomi merely glared. Trapped as she was in his unwanted embrace, she didn't dare do anything else.

Thankfully, Red Sweatshirt Man reappeared from behind the counter, carrying two sacks full of money. "Bro, we ain't got time to fool around with some girl. Cops'll be here any minute."

"Fine." The man holding Naomi used his grip on her hair to push her away.

The force sent Naomi tumbling. Her hands reached out to stop her fall, but only managed to scrape along a shelf that she also managed to push over. She hit the ground with her hip, then her scraped hands.

"See you around, pretty young thing," the man laughed as he and his buddy went running.

The worker scrambled out from behind the counter and bent beside Naomi. "Are you okay?"

Naomi shook her head as the first tears fell. She wasn't okay and she doubted she would soon overcome that. The man with the blade had wanted more than money, but Naomi couldn't quite place her finger on what his ulterior motive might be. She just hoped he never came back.

In the distance, shooting relief straight to Naomi's gut, a police siren blared.