All Chapters of ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter: Chapter 91 - Chapter 100

"Stitch it or don't, Elara. Either way, stop staring at the meat like you've never seen a hole in a man before."Abram’s voice was a jagged rasp, scraping against the cabin’s bare timber walls. He lay sprawled across a rough-hewn oak table, his left shoulder a geography of torn muscle and crusted copper. The luxury of the penthouse—the silk sheets, the climate control, the scented air—had been replaced by the smell of pine resin and the bite of the Alpine winter whistling through the floorboards.Elara gripped the curved surgical needle. Her knuckles were white, the steel biting into her palm. "You’re losing too much. If I don't close this now, you won't make it to sunrise.""Then let me go." Abram’s eyes, normally predatory and sharp, were filmed with a hazy, feverish gloss. He bared his throat, the tendons straining. "Take the kid. Take the car. Disappear into the snow. You’re wolfless, Elara. You’re a ghost to them. You could be free of the Syndicate, the Council, and me. Just let

"Keep your feet moving, Elara. Don't you dare stop now," Abram rasped, his voice a serrated blade cutting through the howl of the Alpine wind. He gripped her upper arm, his fingers digging through the thick wool of her coat into the meat of her shoulder."I can't... the snow is too deep, Abram! My legs are like lead," Elara choked out. She stumbled, her boot catching on a submerged root. She lurched forward, her center of gravity shifted by the heavy seven-month swell of her stomach. The wind ripped the breath from her lungs before she could even inhale."Get up. What the f**k did I tell you? We stop, we freeze. Or Silas's dogs find us. Pick one," Abram growled. He jerked her upright. His face was a mask of gray exhaustion, sweat freezing into ice crystals on his beard. A dark, spreading stain had already turned the left side of his tactical jacket into a stiff, frozen board of crimson. The stitches she’d put in him were failing. Every step he took left a red Rorschach blot on the pri

"Pull the trigger, Elara! What the f**k are you waiting for? Shoot the tires!" Abram roared, his voice cracking as he wrenched the steering wheel of the rusted truck. The tires screamed against the icy asphalt, the scent of burning rubber and diesel filling the cramped, freezing cabin."I’m trying! It’s a goddamn blizzard out there!" Elara shoved her torso through the shattered passenger window. The wind whipped her hair into a stinging frenzy against her cheeks. She braced the grip of the Glock against the door frame. Crack. Crack. The muzzle flashes were orange stabs in the gray morning.The lead black SUV didn't flinch. It surged forward, its reinforced bumper slamming into the truck’s tailgate with a bone-jarring thud. Elara’s head snapped back, her teeth slamming together."They aren't stopping for a billion-dollar prize, Abram! They want to crush us!""Then let's give them something to hit!" Abram’s face was the color of curdled milk, his shirt a soaked, dark ruin. He slammed th

"Don't touch the handles, Vane. If I see your fingers twitch toward that latch, I'll put a round through your collarbone," Elara snapped. She leaned against the reinforced steel door of the bunker's utility closet, the weight of her pregnancy making her spine ache. The Glock was steady in her hand, the muzzle leveled at the center of Vane’s chest.Vane raised his palms, his shoulders tight. "Relax, Elara. I’m the one who forged the death certificate, remember? I’m the only reason Abram isn't a slab of meat in a Syndicate freezer right now.""You did it for the payout Sera promised you. Don't play the saint," she spat. She adjusted her stance, her boots scuffing against the grit on the concrete floor. "What’s the real play? Sera wants the kid for the Council. What do you get out of it?""Survival. Just like you," Vane whispered, stepping closer until the muzzle pressed into his tactical vest. "The Council is moving units into the sector. Sera thinks she’s in control, but she’s a puppet

"Check the perimeter again, Vane. My skin is crawling and this basement smells like a goddamn funeral parlor," Abram rasped, his voice scraping against the back of his throat. He leaned his weight against a rusted metal support beam, his hand pressed hard over the fresh blooming red on his side.Vane didn't look back from the keypad at the heavy blast door. "The sensors are green, Abram. Calm the f**k down. You're bleeding out and it's making you jumpy. Just breathe.""Breathe? Look at this place." Abram spat a glob of copper-tasting phlegm onto the cracked concrete. "Too clean. The Syndicate doesn't leave safehouses this stocked unless they're planning on staying. Or unless they want us to stay forever."Elara stepped past them, her boots clicking sharply on the grit. She gripped the handle of her suppressed pistol until her knuckles turned a bloodless white. "Stop barking at each other. Vane, get that door open. We’ve been in the open too long.""Working on it," Vane muttered. His f