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Home / Werewolf / ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter / Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

All Chapters of ALHPA ABRAM: And the four daughter: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

121 Chapters

21

“You think a badge makes you untouchable, John? It just makes you easier to find,” Abram’s voice rasped through the burner phone, sounding like dry gravel grinding in a mixer.John gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning a waxy white. “Abram, stay where you are. We can talk about this. Don't do something you can't walk back from.”A wet, hacking laugh echoed through the receiver. “Walk back? I burned the bridge, the road, and the damn map behind me. Check your messages. I sent you a little housewarming gift.”The line cut to a dead hiss. John fumbled for his second phone, his thumb trembling over the screen. A video file sat in his inbox. He tapped it. The footage was grainy, shaky—shot from a chest-mounted camera. It showed a familiar hallway in the suburbs. The floral wallpaper. The small mahogany table where Sarah kept her spare keys.“No,” John breathed, the word dying in his throat.On screen, a gloved hand raised a suppressed pistol. Thwip. Thwip. Two muffled pops. The

22

"John, they'll have you in a body bag before you hit the second floor."John didn't look up from the biometric schematics. His fingers traced the jagged lines of the Syndicate's encryption. "I've studied his movements for three years. I know how he walks. I know how he stands. The facial recognition won't be the problem.""The face is the easy part. It’s the soul they scan," she snapped, pushing off the table. She paced the small room, her boots clicking a frantic rhythm on the floorboards. "Abram doesn't just walk. He prowls. He carries the weight of every person he's ever gutted in his shoulders. You? You still walk like you're carrying a grocery list.""Then teach me," John said. He finally raised his head. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin beneath them bruised with exhaustion. "You knew him better than anyone. You lived in his shadow for five years. If anyone can turn a cop into a ghost, it’s you."Elara stopped. She looked at him, really looked at him. She saw the desperation. Th

23

"You’re going to walk in there, and you’re going to tell them the Zurich accounts were drained by the Russian faction," Elara said, her fingers deftly straightening the silk tie at John’s throat. Her touch was ice-cold against his skin. "If you don't use the word 'liquidation,' they’ll know you’re a fraud. Elders don't talk about money, John. They talk about blood and flow."John shifted his weight, the heavy wool of the tailored suit itching against his shoulders. "Liquidation. Blood and flow. And the ledger? You’re sure the original is in the vault at the estate?""Positive," she whispered, her eyes locking onto his. She smoothed the lapel of his jacket, her palms lingering just a second too long on his chest. "Abram found it three months ago. He was waiting for the right moment to blackmail the High Council. Now that moment is yours. Do this, and the European Elders won't just accept you—they’ll fear you."John took a jagged breath. The scent of her perfume—something sharp and meta

24

"You’re sure this is the place? Because if we drop a Blood Hunt on the wrong coordinates, the Council will have my head on a pike before sunrise," Silas rasped, his breath hitching as he adjusted the thermal goggles.Abram didn't look away from the valley. He stood on the jagged edge of the limestone cliff, the wind whipping his heavy coat against his shins. Below them, tucked into the frozen shadow of the Swiss Alps, a concrete bunker groaned under the weight of a thousand tons of ice. No lights. No heat signatures. Just a dead, gray slab of defiance."It’s the place, Silas. Look at the perimeter," Abram said. He pointed a gloved finger toward a cluster of pines. "Those aren't trees. Those are signal scramblers. High-end Syndicate tech. They’ve been hiding the facility’s pulse for years."Silas spat into the snow. "And you aren't calling the Feds? This is a federal black site, Abram. There are laws for this shit.""Laws?" Abram turned. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them ti

25

"Drop the rifle, Abram. You’re done playing God in these mountains," John yelled, his voice tearing through the thin Alpine air. He stood thirty paces away, boots sinking into the fresh, knee-deep powder. The wind whipped between them, carrying the scent of copper and burnt rubber from the burning facility behind them.Abram didn't drop it. He leaned into the wind, his face a map of jagged red cuts and frozen soot. "You came all the way to Switzerland to die for a Syndicate that doesn't even know your name, John? That’s pathetic. Even for a cop.""I came for the girl. And I came to put you in the ground," John shot back. He adjusted his grip on his sidearm, the cold metal of the frame biting into his numb palms through his tactical gloves."The girl? Look up, hero," Abram chuckled, a dry, hacking sound. He pointed a bloodied finger toward the narrow window of the second-story observation deck.High above, Elara’s silhouette stood framed against the emergency red strobes pulsing inside

26

"Drop the gun, Elara! You don't have to do this, just look at me!" John’s voice cracked, raw from the smoke clogging his lungs.He stood ten feet from her, boots skidding on the blood-slicked tile. Behind him, Abram was a shadow rising from the wreckage, a serrated blade gripped in a hand that looked more like a claw. The emergency lights strobed—red, black, red, black—painting the room in a nauseating pulse.Elara didn't look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the man behind him, but the barrel of the Glock wasn't leveled at a chest. It was pointed low, toward the humming bulk of the primary turbine."I’m done looking at you, John," she spat. Her finger tightened on the trigger. "And I'm done being the prize in your little war. Both of you. You want me? Come find me in the dark.""Elara, wait—"Crack.The muzzle flash was a brief, blinding white rip in the red haze. The bullet didn't thud into meat. It tore into the copper housing of the generator.A high-pitched, mechanical shriek tore

27

"John, stay down! He’s right behind the ventilation pillar!" Elara’s voice hissed through the thick, oily blackness of the sub-level. It was a jagged whisper, vibrating with a panic that felt too real to be fake.John lunged. He didn't wait to see. He swung the heavy iron pipe in a blind, horizontal arc, the metal whistling through the stagnant air. It connected with something solid—a concrete support beam—sending a jarring vibration up his arms that rattled his teeth."Goddammit, Elara! I can't see a fucking thing!" John gasped, his boots skidding on a patch of spilled hydraulic fluid. He pressed his back against the cold, damp stone of the wall, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.On the other side of the room, Abram froze. The sound of the pipe hitting the pillar had given him a target, but then came the whisper in his own ear. A soft, warm breath that smelled like copper and winter."He’s done, Abram. He’s dropping the pipe. He’s surrendering. Move now and you can e

28

"You really think a piece of glass is going to stop me? Put the knife down, Abram. Don't make me paint this nursery red," John rasped, his voice cracking as he backed into the corner of the dimly lit room. He held the small, bundled weight against his chest like a barricade. The fabric shifted—the kid was squirming.Abram didn't stop. He moved with a heavy, rhythmic limp, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He didn't look at John’s face. His eyes were pinned to the white bundle, glowing with a predatory heat that made the air in the room feel thick, like breathing through wet wool. "That's not yours to hold, Detective. You're getting blood on the silk. Step away from the crib.""I'm not going anywhere! You take one more step and I swear to god, I'll drop him. I'll drop him right on his head!" John’s knuckles turned a bloodless white as he tightened his grip on the infant’s swaddle. He was shaking. Sweat stung his eyes, blurring the sight of Abram’s advancing silhouette.Abram’s

29

"You’re going to just sit there and let him bleed out?" John shouted, his voice cracking against the sterile white walls of the medical bay. He slammed a roll of gauze onto the metal tray, the clatter echoing like a gunshot. "After everything he did to get you out of that facility? You’re cold, Elara. Stone cold."Elara didn't flinch. She leaned against the heavy iron frame of the door, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her knuckles were still stained with the dark, drying copper of Abram’s blood from the extraction. "He’s been through worse, John. He doesn't need your pity. He definitely doesn't need your sermon. Just stitch the hole and shut the fuck up.""I’m trying to save a man’s life here!" John ripped the wrapper off a syringe with his teeth, spitting the plastic onto the floor. "The Syndicate is halfway across the border by now, and you’re acting like this is just another Tuesday.""For him, it is," Elara said. She walked over to the bed where Abram lay, his chest heaving in

30

"You really think you're the one holding the leash, John? Look at your hands. They're shaking so hard you can't even keep the sights level," Elara said, her voice cutting through the damp, sulfurous air of the Catacombs. She stood amidst the stack of yellowed skulls, her own pistol steady, locked onto the center of John’s chest."I'm trying to save what's left of you, Elara! Put the gun down. We can walk out of these tunnels and never look back. The Syndicate, Abram... it all ends here," John wheezed. Blood matted his hair, dripping onto the collar of a tactical vest that had seen too many miles. He took a staggering step forward, the mud squelching under his boots. "Please. Just... just look at me. It's John.""That’s the problem, John. I am looking at you," she snapped. Her finger tightened on the trigger. "And all I see is a ghost. A memory of a girl who died in a tank while you were busy filing reports. You’re not saving me. You’re just trying to bury the evidence of your own fail

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