Pulp Fiction Trunk Shot Novels & Stories

She was unusually fast and it seemed like she had done something to him and the first who was on his knee. The fourth one wanted to interfere but he could not. He had made a fatal mistake. He had ignored Marcus. A metal hook pierced his back and shoot out of his chest, bursting his heart. It was a pressurized hook shot from a modified pump action. Marcus pulled with all his might and the big guy crashed through the glass door of the shop dead before he even hit the ground. The third guy touched his right arm and felt a very thin needle stuck his bicep. He yanked out the needle and his arm came alive. He could not believe that such a tiny thing had done that to him.

The lights flickered, and suddenly, Viktor and Russo’s men swarmed in from all sides. Everything exploded into chaos. Marco shoved me aside, pulling out a gun and firing blindly into the shadows as he tried to make his escape. I hit the ground hard, my heart racing as gunfire erupted around me. “Cleo!” Russo’s voice cut through the noise, and I looked up just in time to see him rushing toward me. He grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet as bullets ricocheted off the metal crates around us. “We have to move!” he yelled, dragging me toward the exit. I stumbled beside him, my legs shaky from the adrenaline.

I wanted to protest—wanted to say I couldn’t breathe in there—but the words never made it out. The last thing I saw before the trunk slammed shut was his face—haunted. Determined. Then came the black. The engine roared, and the tires screamed against the pavement. I was tossed like a rag doll from one side of the trunk to the other. My shoulder hit metal. Then my hip. I cried out, but it barely sounded like me. I heard shouting. Axel’s voice barking something. Then gunshots. My body jerked again with the motion of evasive turns. Tires screeched. The sound of metal groaning under pressure filled my ears. I tried to scream but choked instead, gagging on my own blood.

He stiffly turned his gaze to the other side and saw the Blood mafia member smiling smugly at him. Fuck. Once again, he had failed. Not only did he fail to shoot the Blood mafia member, but now his body was limp, and he collapsed to the ground. His lungs were punctured, blood began to flow from his chest, his body was shaking, his mouth felt stiff, and he was having trouble breathing. The pain was excruciating because the Blood Mafia's bullet had hit him in the chest. It really hurt.

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt, Paolo. Gave you chances. You took them for mercy.” He started to sweat. “Zach, come on, whatever this is, we can work through it.” “No.” I stood. “We’re past working through it.” He reached for his gun. Too slow. I drew mine and fired. One shot. Chest. Left side. Clean. He slumped over the chair, blood soaking into the fabric like an ink spill. I stood there, watching him bleed out. No mercy. Not anymore. I didn’t call anyone to clean it.

I needed to end this. Without hesitation, I pulled out my gun and fired. The gunshot echoed through the wine cellar, deafening in the enclosed space. Giulia’s smirk faltered, his mouth opening slightly as he stumbled back. His hands clutched his chest where the bullet had struck, his fingers painted in his own blood. His legs wobbled, and for a second, it looked like he was going to speak—one last word, one last taunt—but instead, he collapsed onto the cold stone floor, unmoving.