The road stretched out like a silver ribbon beneath the setting sun, heat waves dancing off the asphalt as the Chevelle tore through southern Louisiana. The engine roared like thunder, drowning out the sirens that had long since faded behind them.

Layla Monroe leaned back in the passenger seat, her chest still heaving from the rush. Her hand gripped the window frame, knuckles white. A cigarette dangled from her lips, trembling as she lit it with a silver zippo.

"You good?" Clyde asked, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

She looked over, a wild grin tugging at her red-smeared lips. “I’m golden, baby. You see that teller’s face when I pulled the strap?”

Clyde chuckled, shaking his head. Blood flecked his jawline — not his, but from the security guard who’d been a little too eager to be a hero. Layla had dropped him with a single shot to the thigh.

“No one told him to play cowboy,” she muttered, exhaling a cloud of smoke through the open window. “He lucky I wasn’t aiming for his chest.”

Clyde shifted gears, the car growling beneath them. “You always get wild when you're excited.”

She glanced down at the duffel bag between her boots. It was full — packed with neat stacks of fresh bills. Another two hundred grand. Enough to buy new names, new lives. Enough to disappear.

She kicked it with the tip of her boot. “One more job,” she said.

Clyde didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the wheel. "We've said that before."

“And I meant it every time.”

The highway opened into pine-shadowed backroads, winding and empty. The only witness was the dying sun and the occasional buzz of cicadas. The kind of road that made you feel like you could vanish if you wanted it bad enough.

Clyde finally spoke. “We hit Mobile, we disappear. Mexico. Real sand, real drinks. You and me—no more motel beds and fake names.”

Layla leaned over and kissed his shoulder, just above the smear of blood soaking into his shirt. “You better mean that, Kingston. Because I’m starting to write my name in the sand already.”

“I mean it,” he said, eyes still forward. “Ride or die, right?”

She smiled, rolling the window all the way down. “Ride or die.”

They drove into the night, lovers on the run with the wind at their backs and the world behind them in flames.