Pulp Fiction: Jules Novels & Stories

I could not help but let out a muffled groan from my throat. Cold sweat instantly soaked through my expensive backless dress. My vision blurred with pain, but I did not cry. I bit my lip, the taste of blood spreading in my mouth. I kept my eyes wide open, staring intently at Jules. I wanted to remember this face and remember this man who had personally crippled me after abandoning me. Jules tossed the bloodied hammer, and it slammed to the ground with a dull thud. He was panting heavily as he stared at the mangled hand. A flicker of pain crossed his eyes, but it vanished instantly. "Is that enough?"

“We go in. We see if she’s really here.” I exhale. “And then?” Silence. Because none of us know the answer. I swallow hard, nodding. “Let’s go.” The second we step inside, I spot her. Jules sits at the bar, nursing a drink, her hair pulled into a loose bun, wearing a leather jacket I swear used to be mine. She doesn’t look like someone who’s expecting to die tonight. She looks calm. Careless. Like she hasn’t spent months hiding. Like she hasn’t spent years being part of this world.

The stench of blood hit his nostrils almost instantly as he fisted his fingers, putting more pressure on the wound and filling the bowl with more than half. “You call that a few drops of blood?” Dhara choked, recoiling and almost barfing her guts out at the sight of thick red liquid that dribbled down his hand like water. With his gaze set on her rather than the blood oozing out of him, he didn’t even cringe at the stinging discomfort. The horror and shock in her dark brown eyes amused him more than anything. “That would be enough. Here,” handing him a towel, Jules pulled the bowl closer to herself. From the drawer on her right, she pulled out a small transparent bottle that held a sort of b

No need for petty validation from this guy. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. The bullets flew again. Ray now knew kinetic steel rods couldn't hit this opponent. Time to switch back to bullets. Jules couldn't dodge them this time. His body was riddled with bullets. Knowing he could no longer deceive Ray, he gave up pretending. The bullets clinked off the snow, colliding in crisp, sharp notes. But Jules wasn't in the mood to appreciate the sounds. His face paled further, and he suddenly spun on his heels and ran.

“8 PM,” Jules murmured, glancing at the wristwatch he wore before dusting the red plastic chair. Light flickered on his face as soon as he was about to sit down. At first, he thought it was from the power supply until he glimpsed the paparazzi some meters away from him. “What the hell?!” Jules's eyes glinted. He attempted to block the continuous flash of the light with his hand, but it was of no use.

I say to him as I open his phone. Lucky for me no password protection; I can go right into his messages. I scroll through the messages from his assistant, Delana. "Looks like we were right; you are running an auction at your club. You idiot. No wonder the authority knew so much about your auctions. You were running it out of a fucking strip club," I say to him. The confirmation of Jules's involvement infuriates Tatina. She pulls the curtain back again, letting Jules fry longer. "Don't kill him yet. We should turn him over to Lester. You know, just as a good faith jester," I say to Tatina. She closes the curtain back to give Jules a break.

“Don’t act like you didn’t see this coming.” She glared up at me, her eyes bloodshot and wide, but I wasn’t about to be guilt-tripped by someone who’d willingly played bait in my little game. “This?” I waved the papers in my hand like they were some kind of trophy. “This was always gonna happen. Kane knew it too. Don’t try to make me the bad guy here, Jules. I just took what was already mine.” “You poisoned him,” she hissed, her voice trembling but sharp. “You didn’t have to—”

And it was painful like he had swallowed a burning hot rod. Fuck. Jules was sure he hadn't made a noise but he heard Jace quite down. "I think I heard something, maybe Jules is back home. Jules? JULES?" Jules clamped his hand over his mouth. To stop himself from what? Screaming? Crying? He wasn't sure but he knew he didn't want to be found. How fucking humiliating, he thought. He had been deceived so easily because he was desperate, to forgive him, to want his family back, to be happy.

A hushed silence fell over the room as a shimmering image materialized before us, suspended in mid-air like a ghostly vision. The clip played out before our eyes, revealing Jules at a party, his features obscured by a cloud of smoke and dim lighting. My waited with anticipation as I watched him laugh and joke with the other partygoers, his carefree demeanor belying the darkness that lurked beneath the surface. As the scene unfolded, I watched as Dora approached Jules, her movements predatory as she threw herself at him. My chest filled with pride as I watched him push her away, his expression filled with disdain as he rejected her advances.

The elevator opened with a soft chime, and Jules stepped in like she owned the place. Black boots. Dark denim. A cropped leather jacket that screamed danger even without the twin blades strapped across her back like attitude. Her short hair was tousled, messy in the way that said she either didn’t care or just got back from doing something illegal. I stood barefoot in the center of the living room, robe belted tight, still reeling from the morning. Jules looked me up and down. “You look like you just tried to strangle a man with a champagne flute.”