Body Shot Novels & Stories

He can just return it, there's no need to kill him over that. The air was filled with the staccato rhythm of gunshots. I inhaled sharply, the sound racketed in my ears. I saw his body collapsing on the floor like it was never alive. Blood. Blood. Blood. So much blood gushed out of the bullet wounds. The men around the body were composed, comfortable as if they have seen a million dead bodies before and I'm sure they had. Craziness and darkness dripped from all of their eyes.

The strong stench of blood was a great discomfort to them. Porter was the first to return to his senses. He quickly ordered, “Prepare the body bags and pack the corpses.” “Yes!” The group nodded and immediately got to work. They took out the thick black body bags from their pockets and started dealing with the bodies. As each body was placed into a body bag, Porter’s shock grew. What shocked him most was not the men with broken limbs, or those who suicided by poison. It was the four martial artists. All four were shot to death. They were hit with many bullets, and their faces were beyond recognizable. It was no exaggeration to say that there were at least thirty to forty bullet holes in each

My eyes were slicker than my brain as they slides to her hand to see the designer bag she was carrying. Then I realized that I wasn't in the same category as Zayn. He thinks that all I could give him is my body because he thought he had everything. "I'm sorry about that, Mrs. Black. I was just sitting at the second roll during the game, I just forgot to say hello." I responded to her and glanced at Mr. Black who was staring straight at me. He was so tall. At about 6ft6, I had to strain my head before I can see his eyes. Yes, I am very short.

Part One: Body Check Matt Vorchak finished cleaning out the rest of the stuff from his locker and zipped up the duffel he'd brought with him. Then he sat on the bench for a long minute just looking around. A combination of exhilaration, sadness and rage bubbled inside him. The excitement of winning The Cup didn't completely soften the fact that this was probably the last time he'd be doing this, and it was a bitter pill to swallow. He'd given his life to the game, in more ways than one, and he had been struck with a single purpose in life. But Fate had apparently decided he'd had too much fun and given him the finger big time.

I say to her, and aim my gun at her feet She would not die so easily Firing at her feet first, iI fire at her knees second, then her legs, her torso, her arms, not caring as she howled in pain, screaming like a banshee as the bullets pierce her skin, then her thighs, her chest, and finally her head, as her head rolls back, the force of the shot killing her instantly. My rage has still not died down, so I walk over to the button, and press it, hard, watching as her dead, limp body jolts in shock as the electricity runs through her body, completely shocking her, causing her body to contort, and disfigure

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, reverberating off the walls like a thunderclap. Sophia’s heart froze, time slowing to a crawl. Her mind screamed for her to move, but her body seemed paralyzed, trapped in the split-second before impact. Beside her, Ethan lunged, his body a blur of motion. The bullet missed Sophia by inches, embedding itself in a stack of old crates. Victoria’s face twisted in rage, her cold eyes narrowing as she adjusted her aim.

"And my life is worth more than yours." BOOM! The shot rang out. But it wasn't Ben's gun. Ice’s body shuddered. He looked down, expecting to see blood, but his chest was clear. The shot had come from behind Ben. Ben stumbled forward, a look of shocked disbelief freezing his features, a dark stain rapidly blooming across the back of his uniform. He collapsed, his pistol clattering onto the concrete floor.

he shouted, reaching for Max's gun. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out. [Bang] The man's eyes widened, blood splattering across Max's face. Francisco stood there, his gun smoking. He had shot the man directly in the forehead. The lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the glass shard slipping from his grasp. "Fuck, that was close," Max sighed, wiping the blood from his face. He glanced down at the body, then back at Francisco. Francisco's expression remained unreadable. "What happened to you?" Max asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

“But mercy isn’t in the Blackwood nature.” I pressed the barrel between his cracked lips, tilting his head back with the steel. His whole body trembled, blood bubbling from the ruin of his mouth. For a second, silence wrapped the room—every man holding his breath. Before he could even realize what was happening, I pulled the trigger. The bullet tore upward, a sharp crack splitting the air, and his body jerked once before collapsing limp, blood spraying all over the tile beneath him. His eyes stayed open, glassy, but there was nothing left inside.