Jules Wallet Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

"Let, you need to tell me what the hell is going on!" "At the motel tonight,” her voice was hardly audible above a whisper. "I'll explain everything then." A male voice called out from behind them at that moment. "Ley! V!" Jules was running toward them, pulling his bag behind him, when they both turned back. His remarkable features drew attention as he passed, and he was dressed in full punk fashion with purposefully dyed silver hair that caught the late afternoon sun. He abruptly picked up Haley and spun her around in a circle after dropping his bags.

I rolled my eyes as I looked around for my first target. I saw a guy who was drunk off his ass, making out with a woman dressed as a fairy. I walked over to them, reaching into the man's pocket to pick out his wallet as he was "busy". I opened it up and whistled lowly as I made my way back to the back door. He had a lot of hundred-dollar bills in here. I picked them up, dropping the wallet on the floor as I counted. One thousand and seven hundred dollars. I smiled as I too tucked the money into my bra ad made my way down the street, back to the subway. That was surprisingly easy.

Aegon’s POV Jules hadn’t moved from her spot, but her eyes hadn’t left mine either. The flickering torchlight painted shadows across her face, Highlighting her gaunt cheeks and sharp eyes. I could almost feel the way her mind was working. It was evident through her eyes. She was Fast, Suspicious, wary as a wounded wild animal. It was smart. I’d always preferred that over the other kind—the loud ones. The ones who begged or threatened or cried. Jules didn’t cry. She watched.

I remembered the bruises on Nora’s throat and the scars she had hidden for so long. “I’m sorry I stole your scissors,” I wrote. “Oh, I don’t mind,” Jules said. “Now, come sit with me. Megan, go and bring this poor girl something warm. The shock will set in soon.” “Shock?” I wrote. “You’re not used to violence, I can tell,” Jules said. “The adrenaline is going to wear off, and you’ll crash. It’s all right, there’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just sit here with me, and let me wrap you up in this nice warm shawl I just now finished.”

An alpha. Falling back against the door, Jules all but ripped his fly open and took his leaking cock into his hand. He stroked it, hard and fast, his face buried in Devlin’s jacket, until he finally came in long spurts, his slick hole pulsing around nothing. Afterward, he felt so ashamed and guilty he couldn’t look at himself in the mirror.

I asked, “What is all this?, Is Vincent some sort of prince or what?” She asked, I didn't know if I should tell her “He is stinking rich and paranoid. What is he?” She asked, I had already noticed Taylor was a curious and Sharp person, this was probably going to bother her the whole night so I decided to tell her “I think he is drug lord, he is probably a leader of a cartel” I told her, Taylor didn't seem surprised “I thought so. There is just so much I want to ask him about Kelvin. Do you think he will talk to us tomorrow?” She asked

“No, like who was it? Rohmer! He did Fu Manchu around then too and hung out with them.” “Well, isn’t that something. How much?” “Thirty-five.” A complete rip off, but the proprietor’s hippy funk began to overpower Jon’s gag reflex. He threw down the cash and retreated with his prize. Mutterings by the old man about this “slacker generation” and kids who “had no respect” and were “dumb as shit” followed him out the door.

The room fell silent except for the hum of servers, the whine of cooling fans, and the soft, rhythmic pulse of the mirror — as if it were breathing. At noon, Aria slipped into Gutter & Spine, later than she meant to be. She carried the scent of lavender shampoo mixed with the damp, metallic tang of leftover rain clinging to her sleeves. Her hair was still damp in places, curling at the edges. Behind the counter, Jules was bent over a box, slicing it open with a pocketknife. Inside were books wrapped in plain brown paper — the kind that weren’t supposed to be circulating at all. Her hands moved with practiced care, but her shoulders were tense.

Jeremy didn’t react, eyes fixed on the road, hands steady on the wheel like he was transporting something fragile and dangerous at the same time. “That reaction right there,” I added, leaning back into the seat, “is exactly why I brought you.” “Shut up,” she shot back, already pulling out her phone. “Today is about healing, growth, and draining billionaire funds.” “Your version of healing is expensive.” “My version of healing works.” And it did. Somewhere between the third store and the fifth, Jules decided she had had enough of my “boring look,” as she called it, dragging me into a high-end salon without giving me a chance to argue.

"There's nobody inside! We've already cleared the place. You're only going to get yourself killed by going back in there. Stay out here, understood?" Julius spat at their feet and staggered back through the crowd, heading to his car. He leaned over, spitting into the grass, feeling nauseated. Reaching into his pocket, he touched the pair of Jenny's silk panties, rubbing the fabric thoughtfully. They were threadbare now, something he'd stolen from her room when he was eighteen. He watched as the fire truck hosed down the building, wishing he'd had the chance to take another pair.