Man On Fire Audiobook Novels & Stories

Another one roared. "Can someone call security?" The others suggested. "Don't worry, ladies. I'll handle this." They all looked satisfied when a man walked towards Marionne. He looked like in his mid-40s, yet still, look formidable and elegant. "I know you, Marionne, right?" Marianne felt like he was showered with ice-cold water. The man in front of him was the father of Ava. "Uhm—yes—yes, sir." He struggled to answer.

“I know nothing.” The man ignited a fire in his hand and made sure that his fire would create a big explosion. When the fire was big enough, it immediately dispersed and his eyes met a glare that made his body tremble. “You. . . dare?” The vines surrounding him started to wrap tighter. Bit by bit, it was becoming harder to breathe. “I-I’d rather. . . die,” he said as he tried to catch his breath. “Then die.” He realized that the man in front of him was useless so he just did what he normally does.

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He arduously swung the briefcase and slapped Ember's hand causing her gun to throw away from her grip. "Hey!" a deep, synthesized voice shouted and started to fire its rifle. Ember rushed to get her gun and saw that the man with an anonymous mask drove his motorbike and quickly left the place. Ember saw another masked individual from a five-meter distance moving towards her position with a rifle in his hand. "Shit," Ember whispered and rushed towards her motorcycle. She then hastily started the engine and tried to chase the anonymous masked man. But he was too fast, the speed of its motorbike is extremely fast.

He stared at it for a long moment, his face completely unreadable. "What is that?" Alara whispered, her voice trembling in the freezing cold. "This is the last thing my father recorded," Kaan said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "The night the house was set on fire." He pressed the play button. The machine hissed with loud static. Then, a man's voice came through the small speaker, rough, deep, and breathing heavily over the sound of roaring flames in the background. "If you are listening to this... it means I am dead," the voice rasped out through the static. "Hakan Vardar didn't plan this fire alone. He couldn't have. He had help from inside my own house. From someone I trusted wit

Claire thought she had the perfect life as the wife of billionaire media mogul, Damian Thorne. But on a Tuesday morning, her world shatters when she sees the headlines: Damian has been caught in a steamy reunion with his stunning ex-girlfriend, Selena Vane. When she confronts him, he doesn't apologize—he coldly hands her divorce papers, admitting he only married her because she was "safe" and "predictable." Humiliated and broken, Claire is ready to walk away with nothing. But a mysterious stranger slips her a message: "I have the files. If you want to destroy him, meet me." Claire soon discovers Damian isn't just a cheating husband—he's a fraud, a criminal, and a murderer. He embezzled

Henry's voice was shaking, a raw mix of terror, desperation, and hysteria. In the background, I could faintly hear the pop of gunshots and screams. He roared, his voice cracking, “Madeline, what the hell kind of intel did you give us?!” “The deal with the Colombians went south, they’re killing our guys! You need to get back here and fix this mess!”

His voice is so sharp that I feel like it's going to kill me at any moment if I get the answer wrong. I swallowed again. I wouldn't have helped this man because he didn't even thank me—instead, he wanted to kill me. This kind of person is annoying. Those whom you helped, are still angry. "We're traveling on a mission. I can't tell because I don't even know what it is." I answered him. I can't say what we want in this place because I don't even know who this man is. It can be an ally or an enemy. But if I think of it as an enemy, the chance is remote because of its reaction.

Ambrose asked the question, angry at the mans unwillingness to answer. Rhae felt her emotions rising with the fire inside her, sending her spiralling from the inside. She tried to take a deep breath to calm herself, but the fire took over, hungry for more. The fire took a life of it's own and spread throughout the mans body, causing him to scream louder and convulse on the floor, hot, steaming blood spurting from his nose, mouth and eyes. Then the screaming faded and the man stopped moving, staring up at the ceiling, covered in blisters.

I held that nozzle down and kept the flame there and didn’t stop until I’d coated him head to toe with flames that looked like the purest, cleanest things I’d ever seen. The man in yellow, painted in vibrant shades of red and orange, stood there and burned. No screams of rage or pain, no thrashing or wailing. He just stood there, on that stage, burning. When the flames touched that book, it exploded. No shit. It leaped into flame and exploded. For a moment its flames looked bright green, as if something foul and poisonous was burning.