Pulp Fiction Trunk Shot Novels & Stories

“Just like I always do.” Cross shrugs. “I gave you time to see the truth, but you're too damned stupid. Just like Ralph.” The first gunshot rings out, and for a split second, I don’t know where it came from. Then Antonio grunts, stumbling back as blood blooms across his shoulder. Everything explodes as his men return fire. “Down!” Trent shouts. I fire without thinking. My gun bucks in my hand. One man goes down and another stumble back from me as the air fills with shouting and muzzle flashes.

"Ha..." Tristan suddenly laughed, his cold voice echoing through the walls. "Well, I've got no reason to keep you alive then." Like a blur, he suddenly pulled out the gun plugged to his belt and pulled the trigger. The bullet pierced through the man's forehead, and his corpse fell to the ground, blood splashing all over the place. Tristan reached out to wipe the blood that had splashed on his shirt with distaste. Then, he gazed at the man's corpse, which now lay on the ground, unmoving, his widened eyes a testament that he wasn't prepared for it.

The room stills when I walk in. Except him. Bones keeps going, oblivious, thrusting like it's his last ride. The girl's moaning, screaming his name. I draw my gun. When Bones roars with release, the first bullet rips through the back of his skull. The second tears through his neck. The third sprays what's left of his brains against the wall behind the bar in a thick, wet arc. His body collapses onto the whore. She screams, scrambling back like she thinks she can outrun the blood.

“I know.” The silence between us stretched—charged, crackling. And then— Bang! The gunshot shattered the air, and Petrov collapsed to the ground, a clean hole between his eyes. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading across the marble floor like a crimson stain of treachery. I didn’t flinch. Neither did Kael. Zane holstered his gun, stepping back as if nothing had happened. Kael exhaled slowly, then turned to me. “You keep surprising me, dolcezza.”

Those features were enough to jolt my memory, reminding me of a face I hadn't seen in close to five years. Michah fucking Ramos of the Reem Mafia. It all happened so fast, everything else grew so blurry at that moment. He whipped out a pistol from his waistband, pulling the trigger so swiftly. My whole world flashed right before my eyes, my heart lurching to my throat as I yanked Peach to my back, the bullet piercing my shoulder blade in the process.

Amateurs. I dropped three before they crossed the threshold as Victor shot the fourth from the balcony. The fifth lunged at me and I gutted him with a wine opener, twisted it, and watched him fall. The sixth and seventh came in tandem, so I pulled the trigger once. One shot, two bodies. The last one? I looked around for him and there he was, aiming at her. I moved without thought, tackled her and took the bullet to the shoulder. "Fuck." I cursed as pain exploded through me, but I still raised my arm and took that bastard’s head with a clean shot between the eyes.

“Or perhaps you do. Either way, you will pay the price if the truth doesn’t come out.” Our eyes connect and she offers me a stiff nod, an order. I click my trigger once, twice, thrice. The sound pierces through the air, echoing, tearing screams from fearful throats. And then the man who my barrel was pointed at hiccups his last breath, his blood pooling around him. “Shut the fuck up! All of you ungrateful bastards!” She growls, another gunshot splitting into the air. The kneeling crowd jerks, each one stifling their sobs.

Because I know that if I don't, it could be my actual end. Everything happens in a blink. I drop low, sweep one thug off his feet. Scarface shouts. The other lunges. I slam an elbow into his throat, pivot, snatch his gun. A shot cracks. Pain tears through my side. I don’t fall. The adrenaline that pumps through me keeps me up, and I shoot, sinking straight for the chest and watching Scarface fall to the ground with an astounded look on his face. The second thug runs, but he doesn't outrun the second bullet that leaves the gun in my hand. He too drops like a pile of wood.

He forced himself to stand up and endured the pain he felt in the side of his abdomen. "You can't get out of here alive!" Trist insisted. Trist didn't hesitate to step on Clement's friend's stomach again because he fell asleep again. Trist threw the gun where it then looked for something that could be used to kill the friend. Trist sees the bamboo used to murder Dylan. Trist immediately picked up the bamboo and then hit it on Clement's leg due to his friend's loud shouting.

The wet thud of the bullet hitting flesh was louder than the shot itself. Lucian’s body jerked. A spray of hot, metallic fluid hit Phineas’s cheek. Lucian didn't groan. He didn't fall. He just tightened his grip on Phineas, his head bowing, his breath coming in a sudden, sharp hiss. "Lucian?" Phineas’s voice was a thin, threadbare whisper. Xavier didn't hesitate. He fired three times. Clement went down in a heap of gray rags, his chest blooming red before he even hit the ground.