Pulp Fiction Dahlia Novels & Stories

Dahlia is on the floor with Cleo, holding a throw pillow like a shield, pretending she is Wonder Woman, her voice playful, exaggerated, nothing like the guarded tone she usually carries. Cleo is laughing, bright and free, looking healthier than she has in days, and for a moment I just stand there watching them. Dahlia looks… happy. Truly happy. And something about that does something to me that I do not want to understand. Before she even notices we are there, her phone rings and she picks it up immediately, almost as if she has been waiting for it. “What the fuck are you saying?” She shoots up to her feet in an instant, her entire body going rigid. She walks to the window and stops abruptly

I exhaled hard through my nose, jaw clenching as I turned from the window and looked back at the desk. Dahlia Torres sat comfortably there, too comfortably, my second in command and the old man's scout in disguise. Her heels were kicked up on the edge of my desk, her thumb flicking lazily across her phone while the other hand dangled a burning cigarette between perfectly polished fingers. Dahlia had always been like this, a walking storm in tight suit dresses and sharper words, with ombre hair just brushing her shoulders. A twenty-six year old criminal defense lawyer and one of the few people I ever trusted.

Asher inquired gently. “Yes,” Dahlia answered softly, her voice trembling. “She blamed herself for my father’s death. He was on his way to pick her up when the accident happened, so she carried the burden of it all. We weren’t there for her, and she turned to her friends. A few cigarettes—maybe more—and eventually, she was diagnosed with leukemia. We felt guilty, tried to be there for her, and thankfully, after a lot of treatment and expenses, she got better. Things were... not perfect, but they were fine. And now, her leukemia’s back. I can’t help but wonder if she’s gone back to smoking or if there’s something worse she’s hiding."

' The hands were raised higher so he knew he had to pick someone. 'How about that blonde?' Leighton offered. The poor guy was tired already and he wanted this over and done with so he could go eat — and rest. 'Okay, blondie.' He pointed to the girl who went red instantly like ripe tomato then she looked self-conscious as she stood up. 'What's your name, pumpkin pie?' he said, sitting forward. The girl couldn't go any redder or she'd explode. 'Naima Allendale,' she said in a soft voice, her eyes cast down.

Carlos gulped down the rest of his whiskey from the glass and waited for the next round. "No idea Boss." David laughed when the girl sat on his lap to give him a lap dance. He was a thorough sex addict who never thought twice before banging a girl and knocking her out. The girl kept on grinding her body on his crotch area. She was wearing bare minimum clothes and seeing her open skin only David felt hard in his pants. Carlos looked at the other girl who was waiting for his approval before approaching him. David was his old pal and only he had a bare minimum right to have a friendly session with the most ruthless American Mafia.

As she was about to move to the room, her gaze lingered on the peonies in the vase. The white, pastel-pink flowers looking back at her. Amara's emotional dam weakened by the relentless pressure of fear and frustration, finally gave way. As her knees gave out and she fell on her knees, a wave of despair crashed over her. It wasn't just tears that streamed down her face; it was the breaking of something deep within. Her heart shattered into countless pieces, the pain echoing through every fiber of her being.

"I know bu—" "It's a multi-billion dollar company, son. You will accept it.” The man’s tone brooked no argument. "Now, what of this girl your mother tells me you plan to marry?" My heart rate sped up. "She's—" "Dalia. Twenty-four years of age. Has lived with drug dealers. Been in jail. Worked in a strip club. Dated your associate, Devon, and now she's got her claws in you. Have you lost your mind? What can you be thinking? Or are you even thinking?

She stroked her chest, wishing it could relief the pain "My company, my daughter, my lifestyle, my family, everything ripped apart from me in less than two weeks. Elsie is truly a revenge genius." A strong scent wafted into Dahlia's nose, coming from the toilet pot. It had been clogged and no longer flushed. The plumber could only be available during the day. Still, these officers did not change her cell. She raised her clothes to cover her nose, trying to get lost in the perfume from the detergent she was given. Thinking of her nails, Dahlia lowered her gaze to them. She used to have gel nails on before, but they had been cut off to aid her in washing her dresses.

DAHLIA suddenly got up from the soft bed she was lying on. Her heart was pounding really fast because of the nervousness she was feeling at the moment. She barely remembers everything about last night from being so drunk! She quickly examined her whole body and somehow she didn't feel anything strange. It’s not ust like how it was in the past where she was recklessly used by heartless men! She immediately roamed her eyes around until she found Carl just sitting on the single sofa. When she stared at him intently, she realized that his eyes were still closed. The young man must have chosen to sleep there.

I heard dahlia ask and thought to myself, sometimes certain experiences in life teaches you to forgive and trust the person to do better in their second chance. "Hey." I turned and looked at Dahlia with a smile but it was not mutual which was surprising and when I looked down I realized why. "Oh geez, what happened to your dress?" from the middle of her dress to the very bottom was covered in what looked like champagne. "Don't even ask." She said glaring at me. But what happened? I knew I didn't have to force her to spill because she will start telling without me prompting her. And I was right. "This jerk, he dropped his drink on me and then had the audacity to flirt with me and you know wha