Pulp Fiction Jules Bible Quote Novels & Stories

Julio stammered, an immense fear registering in his eyes. I reached into my jacket pocket and grabbed my pocket flask. “What’s the problem here, Julio?” I asked as I unscrewed it and took a swig. His eyes grew wide, almost popping out of their sockets. Yes, pudgy traitor. I know you. “I asked a question,” I said, tapping my feet patiently on the floor. “Ah!” he rushed forward, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Yes. Pardon my tardiness in delivering a response.”

"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.

"We'll take the yacht and staff, to find a new island." "The Knights own a yacht?" "We have a yacht, Ajay. Stop speaking as if it's you against us. It's just you and me now. And the two will become one flesh, right?" I chuckle, "What? Are you quoting Shakespeare now?" "I'm quoting the Bible. You don't study your faith?" Feeling stupid, I scrunch my nose and ask, "Why are you reading the Bible?" Jude whispers in my ear, "Know thy opponent."

Jules fucking refused to be pathetic and pine for something impossible. He was resolved to ignore Westcliff starting from tomorrow. *** “Tomorrow” passed in a daze of heat. By the end of the day, Jules felt like crawling up the walls—or crawling out of his skin. Everything ached. And when he said everything, he meant everything: his muscles, his bond, his cock, his hole—hell, even his hair hurt, which was something that shouldn’t have been possible. At some point, he thought he might be dying.

In front of me, Jules sat puffing on a cigar, and his hair lay in greasy strands on top of his head. The lights shook with every crack of lightning. A thick fog of smoke filled the car, intertwining with the fragrance of Jules's top-tier bourbon. The ice in my glass clinked as I brought the amber liquid up to my lips. I let the warmth of the booze burn my throat as I tried to numb away the evening's events. "So, what is going to happen to Pepper?" I finally asked the question that had loitered in my mind since I plunged the knife into John.

Silence. Heavy. Suffocating. “Zio—” “When was the last time you got your hands dirty, Julian?” Pedro cut in. “Hmm? Blood… money… which one was it?” Julian’s pulse spiked. “You know I didn’t have a choice.” Pedro tilted his head, studying him with his lips curled into a mocking smile. “Didn’t you?” he asked. Julian said nothing, only shaking his head and trying to breathe as much as he could.

Was that my excuse? Julian whistled low. “Damn, you look good. If Gabriel doesn’t pass out when he sees you, I will.” I threw him a glare that didn’t even scare him. My phone buzzed again Gabriel Anderson: You coming or should I honk? I sighed, grabbing my bag. “If I die tonight, I’m haunting you, Jules.” He grinned. “Deal. But at least you’ll die hot.” I flipped him off on my way out, but I was smiling. Sort of.

Luiz goes toe-to-toe with Liam, dodging sweeps and snapping back with his axe, drawing blood with a low growl. He roars, proud, fangs gleaming, eyes blazing. Cocky. Predictable. I get up, spit blood onto the floor, and laugh. “You’re gonna have to do better than foreplay, big guy.” Lucy skids back toward me, panting, bruised. “This is gonna be fucking tough. Got any ideas?” I grin. Pull out another cigar. Light it. Blow smoke straight at the bastard. "You look so damn proud, don’t you?" I smirk at Julius, who's cracking his knuckles, thinking he’s already won. "But pride’s a bitch. And I’ve been killing bastards like you longer than you’ve been growing teeth."

“I saw your body and held your hand.” The thoughts of his body in the morgue filled my head. My blood ran hot. I bit my lips. Pedro searched his body. And nodded to me. “We are both on your side.” Julio said. You bloody sons of a bitch. “You burnt my vineyards. Killed my men. Cost me my jet.” “We wanted it to be believable.” I laughed hard. “You fucking say that to my face. I want to believe this is some fucking nightmare.” I walked back to my car.

He just stared at me, his dark, dead eyes calculating the distance between my hand and the iron grate, and for a terrifying, suffocating second, I thought he was going to pull the trigger anyway. He was a professional, a man who killed for a living, and he probably figured he could shoot me and catch the phone before it hit the water. But then, a slow, wet cough rattled in his chest, and his grip on the gun shifted just a fraction as his shattered kneecap screamed in agony. "You're bluffing, Jules," Roman wheezed, spitting another glob of bloody saliva onto the concrete. "You're a terrified college kid with a broken wrist and a bleeding throat. You don't have the guts to destroy the only lev