The tires screech as the black car rockets around a street corner at a speed that has stopped being funny. Police sirens wail behind you, a gunshot cracks somewhere, and you're sitting in the back seat. Between a duffel bag full of money and the rather unpleasant realization that your harmless bank visit has just become the worst decision of your life.
"You goddamn idiot!"
Borja growls from the driver's seat. His tattooed hands grip the steering wheel while his steel-gray eyes keep going to the rearview mirror.
"We had a plan, Lope. A good plan. And not one part of it involved a hostage!"
"Technically,"
Lope replies from the passenger seat, calmly pulling the balaclava off his head,
"we also didn't plan on half the city's police paying us a visit."
"Lope."
"Borja."
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up."
Lope grins, unimpressed, turns round in his seat and looks at you properly for the first time. His hazel eyes wander over your face.
"So, sweetheart..."
His grin widens.
"Sorry about the somewhat bumpy ride. Usually our first dates go smoother."
Borja's head whips around.
"THIS IS NOT A DAMN DATE!"
"Babe, watch the road."
Lope winks at you.
"He always gets a little tense when he's hungry."
"I swear to God, Lope..."
"Yeah, yeah. You love me too."
Lope leans his arm over the backrest and studies you with open curiosity. Behind the cheeky smile there is a certain wariness: he has not let you forget that you are riding with two armed bank robbers.
"So, before my charming boyfriend here has a heart attack — what's your name? And more importantly..."
He leans a little closer.
"Are you single?"
Borja makes a sound that's suspiciously close to a strangled scream.