How Not To Abduct a Banshee

Episode 3

Samuel sprinted down the darkened street, each ragged breath tearing through his lungs like sandpaper. His heart pounded an erratic rhythm, drowning out the sound of his shoes slapping against the pavement. Sweat poured down his face, but he barely noticed, too focused on putting as much distance as possible between himself and the chaos behind him.

It was supposed to be a simple job, he thought bitterly, pushing himself forward even though his legs felt like they might give out at any second. Quick in, quick out, no complications. The boss said it would be easy.

Yeah, easy—until someone screwed up and left a trail leading straight back to Mitch. Now, both the cops and Mitch’s men were hunting him, and Samuel had no delusions about what would happen if either caught up. He risked a glance over his shoulder, the shadows behind him stretching like hungry jaws. He didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

Keep moving. He forced his legs to keep pumping, even as his muscles screamed in protest. By his guess, he’d run about six miles—give or take—but he wasn’t sure how much farther he could go on foot. His only hope was to get out of the city before they closed in. If he stayed in one place too long, he was done for.

Samuel’s eyes darted around, searching for salvation. The streets were eerily quiet, with nothing but the dim glow of flickering streetlights to illuminate the area. He scanned every shadow, every corner, looking for anything he could use—a bus station, a parked vehicle, hell, even a bicycle. At this point, anything with wheels would be a godsend.

That’s when he saw it. A car. Sleek and low to the ground, with curves that practically screamed speed. Its black paint shimmered under the pale streetlights, and Samuel’s heart skipped a beat. It looked like it had just rolled off the showroom floor, and more importantly, there was no one in the driver’s seat.

This could be it. This could be my miracle.

He slowed his pace, trying to appear casual as he approached. His fingers trailed along the smooth surface of the car, his touch hesitant, almost reverent. The polished paint was flawless, not a scratch or dent in sight. He didn’t know much about cars, but he knew enough to recognize quality when he saw it. This wasn’t just a ride—it was an escape plan with horsepower to spare.

Samuel’s hand reached for the door handle, his nerves screaming at him to expect the worst. Alarms blaring, lights flashing, angry owners rushing out of the shadows to beat him senseless—all of these played out in his mind as his fingers tightened on the handle. He sucked in a breath and pulled gently.

Click.

The door swung open, smooth as butter, and Samuel’s heart leaped. No alarms, no flashing lights. Just an inviting leather seat waiting for him. He slid in quickly, his movements jerky as he glanced around to make sure no one had noticed. The interior was just as pristine as the outside, with sleek panels and the faintest scent of new car.

Samuel bit back a triumphant laugh, his hands shaking as he grabbed the door and slammed it shut behind him. This is too good to be true, he thought, his fingers hovering over the steering wheel, about to grip it when something caught his eye in the rearview mirror.

A woman sat in the backseat, her expression cool and unreadable, like she was mildly annoyed by his presence rather than surprised, which somehow made things worse. Her posture was relaxed, one leg crossed over the other, but the sharp gleam of a throwing knife resting casually in her hand made his stomach drop.

“Nice car,” Samuel blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. He cringed internally. Really? That’s what you’re going with?

The woman tilted her head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. “I’d say the same about your timing.”

Samuel’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. His throat was dry, his brain scrambled, searching for an explanation, an excuse—anything to defuse the situation. All he managed was a shaky, barely audible, “Oh… crap.”

The woman leaned forward slightly, the dim light catching the sharp glint of a blade in her hand.

“Oh, you have no idea.”

Samuel froze, his mind racing as the blade gleamed in the dim light. The woman didn’t move, her calm gaze never leaving his reflection in the rearview mirror. If her presence hadn’t already terrified him, her casual demeanor while holding a knife certainly did.

“Listen,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though it cracked at the edges. “I didn’t know this car was… occupied. Honest mistake. I’ll just… step out, and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

She tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint, amused smile that did nothing to reassure him. “You think that’s how this is going to go?”

“I mean… it could,” Samuel offered weakly, his hand inching toward the door handle.

“Don’t,” the woman said, her voice as smooth as silk but carrying the weight of a command that sent a shiver down his spine. The knife twitched slightly in her hand—a casual, almost playful movement that was anything but reassuring. “You sit. You start the car. And you drive.”

Samuel’s hands froze on the handle. “Look, I didn’t mean to—uh—I thought it was empty, I swear. I’ll just—Wait? Did you just tell me to drive?

“Funny thing about assumptions,” she said, her voice smooth and unsettlingly calm. “They get people killed, and yes I did."

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew that voice. Knew her. Everyone in the city did, especially anyone with a rap sheet.

“You know who I am?” she asked, her tone almost conversational, as if they were discussing the weather.

Of course, he did. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, recognition hit him like a freight train. The sharp, calculating eyes, the relaxed confidence, the lethal precision in the way she held the blade—it all screamed one name.

“Caelin Arlie,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Samuel’s stomach churned as the realization sank in: he’d just stolen a car with her in it—Caelin Arlie, the daughter of the CEO of Cerberus Securities, a company whose name alone sent chills down spines. Cerberus didn’t just provide security—they trained elite operatives who could end someone in a dozen ways without breaking a sweat. Cops and gangs were one thing; special ops assassins were in a whole different league.

Caelin’s face stared back at him in the rearview mirror, her eyes as cold and sharp as the blade she held against his throat. There was no mercy in her gaze, only annoyance and control.

Her smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Good. Saves me the trouble of explaining.”

Samuel’s stomach churned. Of all the people he could’ve accidentally stolen a car from, he’d chosen her. The Arlie family was infamous, their reach extending into every corner of the city. But Caelin wasn’t just any Arlie—she was Caelin, the one with a reputation for being equal parts deadly and untouchable. The idea of Mitch’s men after him had been terrifying enough, but now he was sitting face-to-face with someone infinitely worse.

“Great,” Samuel muttered under his breath “Of all the cars in this city, I had to pick yours.”

Caelin smirked faintly, though her eyes never lost their deadly edge. “Unlucky for you,” she said, leaning back again. The knife twirled between her fingers, a silent reminder of how quickly this situation could escalate.

“You’re k********g me,” she said flatly.

“No, no, I’m not,” Samuel stammered, his throat dry. “Like I said… just leaving and look, I’m just trying to get out of the city,” Samuel said quickly, his words tumbling over each other. “I didn’t mean to—this wasn’t intentional. I swear.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “And where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“Anywhere that’s not here,” he blurted out. “I’ve got people after me, and—”

“Not my problem,” she interrupted, leaning back slightly but keeping the knife where he could see it. “You’re already in this car. You’re driving. That’s all you need to worry about.”

Samuel blinked, his panic briefly giving way to confusion. “Wait… you want me to drive?”

“Yes,” she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Drive where?” he asked cautiously, glancing at her in the mirror.

Samuel hesitated, but the knife in her hand made arguing seem like a very bad idea. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life beneath him and with a shaky breath, he shifted into gear and pulled away from the curb.

The car accelerated smoothly, the hum of the engine filling the silence between them. The speed pinned him back against the seat, but the sensation was drowned out by the weight of his current predicament.