For the next few months, Clyde and Layla lived like shadows—slipping between identities, states, and motel rooms. From Oklahoma to Mississippi, they hit small-town banks with surgical precision. Always fast. Always clean. Never the same trick twice.


They had rules.


No hostages.

No night jobs.

No hitting a place that felt too poor.


And most importantly—

No falling behind.


But in the quiet moments between chaos, love seeped in like rain through a cracked window.


They made love in a motel outside of Shreveport, the air conditioner humming, her legs wrapped around him like a promise. After, she curled into his chest, tracing the tattoo on his ribs — a snake wrapped around a rose.


“What’s it mean?” she whispered.


He exhaled slowly. “That even beautiful things can kill you.”


She kissed it softly. “I’d still choose you.”


Outside, a truck roared past on the highway. Inside, time stood still.


In a gas station bathroom near Tupelo, Layla washed blood from Clyde’s hands. A security guard had gotten too close this time. Clyde hadn’t shot to kill — but the sound of the man’s scream stayed with them both.


Layla scrubbed until her own palms were red. Then she looked up at Clyde’s reflection in the mirror. “You still think we’re the good guys?”


He looked at her a long time. “No. But I think we’re the only ones who never lied to each other about it.”


They left that town by sunrise.


At a bar in Georgia, under the name Mr. and Mrs. Leighton, they danced to an old Marvin Gaye record. Layla wore a red dress she’d stolen from a boutique. Clyde wore a secondhand suit that didn’t quite fit.


“I could stay here forever,” she whispered against his neck.


He held her tighter. “I’ll build you a house on the beach. No more alarms. No more jobs. Just waves and quiet.”


“When?”


“Soon. Just one more.”


She looked up at him, eyes shining and a little sad. “You always say that.”


And he kissed her before he could lie again.


But somewhere between love and the getaway bag, they started collecting ghosts.


Faces they didn’t mean to hurt.

Lies they didn’t mean to tell.

Memories they couldn’t run far enough to escape.


And though they still woke up in each other’s arms…


The cracks were forming.