Lance Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

He was already feeling guilty for not telling the truth, but he became angry with Fernand’s arrogance. “Who are you to say that I’m lying? Were you there? Oh, I forgot. I wouldn’t be there if you had the guts to go there in the first place!” Lance had a sharp tongue and would never succumb to someone he hated. “If I said it fell off the cliff, that’s that. You can go to the bottom of the cliff and get it back if you want! Do you think I don't want the beast? Do you know how amazing the meat is?”

Lance crouched in front of him. Close enough to look him in the eyes. For a moment, the courtyard held its breath. The old man sobbed harder. Lance stood again and took the knife Marcus casually offered him. Ragnar moved a step forward instinctively. “Enough.” Marcus blocked him with one arm, smile never fading. “Watch.” What followed was fast. Too fast. Lance struck with brutal precision, dropping the man before he could even scream properly. The knife flashed once, then again, each movement efficient and merciless. There was no rage in it, no wildness—just skill sharpened into cruelty.

A piercing stab into my abdomen followed, this one deeper than the last. Death by a thousand cuts. Lance liked to take his time before getting to organs and limbs. The screaming was fun for him. I was different. I went straight to work. Killing was a chore. Just another job. Not a fun kink. Nevertheless, I was flawless at it. Studied before attempting Marino's sick preferred method of torturous death. Lance moved back, light on his feet, movements quick despite what I took from him. He laughed hoarsely. “Still think you’re better? My charm made those words sparkle. My kills were—" Lance mouthed off.

“We’re trying our best to find something, but it seems like the work of a professional. No DNA traces, no fingerprints, nothing. If it weren’t for the footprints on the floor, we’d have thought there wasn’t anyone there at all.” “I see…” Honestly, I was confused as fuck. Why was my father surfacing after ten whole years? If he was alive, why didn’t he come back? Is he associating with the mafia or something? “Come to think about it, the only people I’ve seen to be that clean about something are hunters.” Lance muttered to himself, almost like an afterthought. “Hunters?” I asked. Who were they? “Yeah…they’re the ones who take down rouges, the ones who don’t follow the rules of our society.” L

, I paused and cleared my throat, "someone of your years" Alan's face grew red with mortification and he stood abruptly. "I won't stay here and have this chit insult me, Langford". With that he stalked off and my dad blubbered something under his breath, his face red in embarrassment as he rushed off after his friend. Well, good riddance, I sighed and leaned back into my seat. I took a sip of the wine, enjoying my hard work. "I wonder if you'll be able to 'get it up' with me", a sensual voice said and the hairs on my body stood ramrod straight.

Sounds of heavy footsteps echoed throughout the quiet house as the military showed up. "Lance Nichols, you're under arrest for attempting, aiding, and abetting murder. You have the right to remain silent as everything you say or do will be used against you in the court of law!" Another man, separate from the group, announced in a firm voice as he walked into the living room. Lance grimaced and placed the muzzle of the pistol on the side of his head. "I'd rather die than live with werewolves!" Outside the house, the sound of a gunshot sent shivers down the spine of many.

I had forgotten about him for the last few weeks as I was having a good time with my new friends. My eyes rested on his composed persona while all kinds of thoughts on how I could expose him to the whole world devoured my brain. Lance was a monster in a suit. Beneath that expensive attire and that gentlemanly facade, he was a manipulative bastard who deserved to rot in the darkest prison cell. His cold, aquamarine eyes met mine for a brief moment and my blood froze in my veins. The corners of his eyes were wrinkled as a result of smiling at whatever Director Emilia Dior was telling him.

I wanted to get on delivering the justice he deserved. Lance took out his hood from over his head and revealed his face. He had a different face now, the seemingly polished face that swoon the girls at school had turned to beaten and hardened. He had grown a little bit of facial hair and had no regard for his haircut. Before, he was prim-looking but now, he seemed a killer was standing in front of me. A few meters gap between us, Lance took out a transparent bottle and played it in his hand. “I know you are familiar with this. New inventions of our Coven,” he smiled mockingly.

“Bianca is currently covering both of Starr’s ears and she is also closing her eyes.” “Bianca?” “The one who became Madame Celine’s friend.” “I want to see my daughter.” Zak nodded and went to Bianca to talk to her. Lance removed his black leather jacket, revealing his fit, muscular physique in his black shirt and black pants. He used a jacket to wipe his hand and face until the blood stain disappeared. He placed the jacket on the face of the man’s corpse he had been punching until he died. Not because he felt sorry for him but so that Starr wouldn’t see it.

“But I figured if she needed it, better get it out of her system before we tied the knot.” Lance nods, taking another long drink, but there’s something off about his reaction. He’s being a little too casual. I narrow my eyes at him. “So, were you clubbing during that week?” Lance freezes for half a second, but it’s enough for me to catch. He shrugs, trying to play it off. “Yeah, the usual. Old habits die hard, you know?” “And?” I press, leaning forward a bit. “You see Winona out?”