Pulp Fiction Jules Gun Novels & Stories

I knew it was in an unused hallway, one of the few without classes. I methodically checked each hall until I finally located it. Entering the room, I found Jules already drinking again. I ripped the bottle away from him. "What the hell, Jules? Why are you doing this?" He snapped at me. "Because I’m fucked up, okay? You never once thought how messed up it was to put someone in this position. I was falling for a damn girl... after telling my mom over and over that this place wouldn’t cause that to happen. It fucking happened. Maybe she's right. Maybe I don’t know where my... interests lie."

All the color drained from his normally deadpan face. "Hold them down!" Silas's voice cracked. He drew his gun and roared, "Anyone moves, light 'em up!" A dozen ruthless Mafia gunmen flooded in. Cold gun barrels were pressed hard against the heads of Stella, Chloe, and the still-screaming Julian. Dead silence, except for Julian's agonizing gasps. The next second, Silas's knees gave out. He dropped heavily to one knee at Victor's feet. He bowed his head deeply, heavy drops of sweat crashing onto the rug.

He looked at Phoenix, then at Brianna, his face a mask of horror. “What…what have I done?” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Then, as the shock wore off, a cold, calculating look returned to his eyes. He pointed the gun at Brianna again. “Now, it’s your turn,” he said, his voice flat and emotionless. Before he could fire, a waitress, a middle-aged woman with a heart of gold and a surprisingly strong arm, slammed a heavy cast-iron skillet down on Jules’ head. Jules crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

It wasn’t entirely empty. “Someone poisoned them,” I muttered. It came as a statement of realization, boosting my confidence from zero to fifty. “They were poisoned,” I said again. “Even if they were,” Vincent followed up. He stood, glanced around before continuing. “Even if they were poisoned, Jules has lost a wife. That’s war, Paris. And he won’t hesitate to rain fire on us.”

Regis continued, “Even if you are not my descendent, you still have the White family’s blood flowing through your veins.” When Jules stood up, he was about three meters away from Regis. He bowed deeply in his direction. He said, “Thank you, Father! The winner takes it all! This time, I will admit my defeat!” As soon as the words fell, Jules directly took out a seemingly very delicate dagger from his pocket and plunged it into his own chest. Spurt! Fresh blood spurted out of Jules’s mouth, and finally, he fell to the ground with a painful expression on his face.

Rio could smell the in-between. “You’ve got thirty seconds to say why you’re here before I put you back in the dirt,” Rio said. The smile Jules wore deepened just enough to be dangerous. “Still counting seconds, huh? Just like last time.” Last time. The memory broke through before Rio could stop it. The heavy press of rain against the slanted rooftops of Le Sang Vert. The sour tang of spilled blood in the bar. Jules’s hand gripping the back of Rio’s neck, shoving him toward the floor, breath hot with the promise to “mark him.”

Voices. Soft at first. Muffled. Two. Maybe three. One low and serious. The other more relaxed, sarcastic even. Jules rose slowly, creeping to the window, knife pressed to her thigh. She peeked through the grime and saw them — one man, tall, rugged, carrying a rifle and walking with the kind of posture that screamed ex - college student. The other had dark curls, a limp, and a familiar smirk. Her heart stopped. Niko. Of all people.

she inquired trying to invaded the girls as she suddenly rose from the bed throwing pillows at them. "You don't have to get me ready, please just help me leave this place, my family will certainly compensate you for your good deeds." The girls looked at each as though contemplating her offer, then they nodded and advanced on her again. Jules was suddenly grabbed by one the girls who looked like the oldest amongst the three. The girl suddenly knocked her over and as she collapsed to the ground the girls advanced. One took a syringe from her dress pocket, while the other two held Jules down so that it could be administered to her.

Cleo’s POV The Paris morning was calm, a soft light spilling into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow that felt almost surreal after the stormy night. I stood at the window, trying to gather my thoughts, but they kept drifting back to Russo and the unexpected vulnerability I had seen in him. Last night, I’d seen a side of him that he kept hidden from the world, a side that reminded me he wasn’t just the ruthless mafia boss who had trapped me in this twisted marriage. He was also a man haunted by his past, much like me.

That's when I knew this towering man wasn’t just a hitter, he’s a fixer… living in that rugged neighborhood filled with local drug dealers made me know these terms, fixers either frame the execution scene or cleans the bodies off the face of earth. It terrified me to the bone experiencing this lores first hand.. Lucien snickered, impressed. “Do you like what you see?” Lucien asks, his cold eyes fixed on me, “I do my lord..” Jules replied with a cruel lustful smirk.. my heart skipped, what? Is he planning to make me a fixer’s reward? “Feel her sheath…” Lucien commanded and my heart thudded.