Alessa Gillespie Burned Novels & Stories

"Whenever you feel like you can't do it before giving up...ask God for help." Katrina was illustrating everything to her great-granddaughter. Lidia was also there to watch the show. Alexandra took a step at the stream...the water was too hot that it burned her skin. "Ouch!" she hissed in pain taking the step back. "What is it?" Pyke and Katrina asked worriedly while Althea gasped. "The water...its so hot, it burned my skin," she mentioned taking a look at her burned leg. "Be careful..." Pyke said examining the burned wound.

He was the old man who ran into her when she and Alyssa were in the coffee shop. "Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!" Gregorio was screaming because of the pain all over his body. His skin was slowly peeling. He turned around until he didn't notice that he was on the side of the hole where the fire was raging. A deafening shout, could be heard from the artist as he finally fell into the hole, and the fire eventually spread all over his body. Alyssa leaned against Carlos' chest. She couldn't bear to see the artist fall into the hole with the blazing fire. She heard his wailing. Somehow she also felt pity for him. Carlos hugged her tightly, caressing her back.

Dashiell let out a low grunt, sliding his shirt up and sticking his fingers inside his stomach to remove the bullet before tossing it across the floor. Davina's smile quivered as she noticed that she had been cornered. She slowly placed me on the floor and walked toward Lisa before grabbing her arm and walking toward the altar. "This isn't over!" She said as Lisa tapped a part of the stone, leading the podium to open up and start lowering them into the ground. "Shoot!" Dashiell yelled, and everyone began to shoot at them. But the floor sealed shut before anyone could get them. Dashiell rushed toward me, pulling me into his arms, and stroking the side of my face. I clung to him, my body tremb

However, from the moment you watched your mom burn me in the fire without doing anything and helped her turn me into a completely paralyzed, vegetative person, my daughter was already dead. "You're nothing but a cruel and merciless accomplice to Delilah after all!" After that, the police dragged them up from the floor without mercy. Before being escorted off the stage, Delilah screamed at me, "Aaron Bradshaw! How the hell did you do this? We injected you with the drug! How could you still be moving like this!" I didn't answer her. Instead, I just looked toward a dark shadow standing at the door to the control room. It was Nelson, the reporter from before.

The whole place was burning, and the tears in my eyes vanished as soon as they hit the air. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming for help. I didn't owe Caleb anything anymore—not in this lifetime. He left with Brianna. I quickly covered my mouth and nose, struggling to hoist Phyllis onto my back. It took everything I had, and my stomach twisted with pain as I tried to keep myself from collapsing. Caleb's child was inside me, and his mother was on my back. I stood there, surrounded by flames, hearing their voices echo in the distance.

It was funny how I'd been kept in the dark for five years, as I'd fallen for her claim of wanting to keep a low profile again and again. It wasn't that she didn't want to celebrate it. It was that I didn't deserve to be celebrated. With my eyelids drooping and my breathing growing faint, the paramedic started crying out of desperation. Seeing how bloody I was and how close I was to death, she borrowed an electric scooter from a kind stranger and rushed me out of the ambulance. We were so close to the venue that I even heard Brandon ask, "Babe, what's that thing on the scooter? It's gross…"

He searched my face for any trace of the love I used to have for him, but found nothing. He opened his mouth to explain, to argue. "Ronan, my stomach hurts. I think I broke a bone when she pushed me. Let's go..." Jessica sobbed perfectly on cue, practically dragging him out of the room. I watched their backs disappear and simply closed my eyes, shutting them out. A few days later. The deep ache from my wound still throbbed, but I had to leave the hospital. With Chloe by my side, I returned to the pack house to gather evidence of that night's attack. The top-floor master bedroom had been destroyed by the fire. The pack had moved whatever survived to the guest house.

Unless. "Alpha Grayson."

Her scream echoed through the parking lot, but no one understood what she was saying anymore. In the end, both fires—and Finn's injuries—were pinned entirely on Alyssa. She was sentenced to life in prison. As for Finn, Darren had pulled him from the flames, but the man who survived was no longer the same. He quit his job at the hospital. His body was covered in burn scars, and every day he was forced to face a stranger's face in the mirror. He regretted ever agreeing to hide that phone call for Alyssa. But he could never stop hearing the sound of her legs being crushed—the wet, cracking noise that haunted his dreams.

I opened the tablet and pulled up the files Xavier had sent over earlier. “Giselle,” I said, voice low and business-like. “Last confirmed sighting was three weeks ago in a private club on the east side. High-end, invitation only. She was seen with two known Russian associates and a man we haven’t identified yet. Financial trails show large cash withdrawals from accounts linked to Celeste before she went dark.” Arielle leaned in, her shoulder pressing against mine as she studied the photos. Her scent, clean skin, faint shampoo from our shower filled my head and made concentration harder than it should have been.