Pulp Fiction Trunk Shot Novels & Stories

“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.”

Whitlock pov: Pulling the trigger I fire off three bullets into the men's heads. They slump and fall unconscious instantly. Pulling a handkerchief from my pocket I wiped the blood from my face and gun. Handing it off to Axe I take off my leather gloves and toss them aside as well. "Clean it up. No traces." I told the grunts in the room. They made quick work of dragging the bodies away, happy with the events, I checked my watch for time. I would be late if it didn't leave now.

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.

my lip are shaking, my hands are shaking, tears flowing uncontrollably, my heart aching beyond words,” “Catalina, you need to die with your fiancé,” “Papa d ...” ‘BANG’ I look around my body to see if I’m shot, I hear sometimes you don’t realize you have been shot due to the adrenaline rush or something like that, Stiliyan looks like he had been drained of every drop of blood from his body, as he slowly walked towards Diego dropping his guns, “ Diego! Papa! What the fuck, John,What have you done!! Papa!”

I call back, hoping he can hear me over the ringing in his ears. “DUNNO. VINNIE TOOK DOWN THREE.” I nod. Behind Frankie, a man materialises from the shadows, his arm outstretched. He has a 45 revolver in his hand - real Dirty Harry fantasy motherfucker. I know the sort. The kind who’ll call out, “‘Say hello to my lil friend,’” before they pull the trigger because they think they live in some kind of movie. I shoot him right between the eyes. He actually looks surprised for a moment. Then falls forward.

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.

Then I rose, grabbed a pillow from the bed, and walked toward him. “What are you doing, Steel?” he stammered, shrinking back like a whipped dog. “I left the mafia long ago. You know that. I stopped the killings, the dirty business, all the underground filth. Do you know when I last pulled the trigger on someone?” My eyes bored into him, sharp and unflinching. Slowly, I pressed the pillow against his chest—and fired. His scream ripped through the room, echoing against the four walls. “You f*cking bastard!” he writhed on the floor, clutching his bleeding chest.

Phut-! With a low sound, the middle-aged man collapsed. The blonde man walked over to the fallen middle-aged man and casually shot him once in the right cheek. Then he turned the body over with his toe and shot him once more in the back of the head. Phut, phut. Each time a bullet hit, the middle-aged man's body briefly convulsed. The liquid slowly spread around the body of the man sprawled on the dirty floor. Blood should certainly be red, but due to the darkness in the alley, it appeared pitch black. The middle-aged man looked as if he was lying on a pool of black oil.

He spanked one of the girls on their backside, laughing like a king in his own kingdom. Pathetic. My finger rested on the trigger, the crosshairs resting perfectly on his chest. One move and his life would be over. One shot. That was all it took. The glass shattered. Parker’s body jerked violently and he slumped back into his chair. The girls around him screamed as blood spilled down his shirt. I didn’t wait to admire my work. I broke down the rifle with practiced speed and slid the pieces back into my bag. Then I slipped down the roof and made my way back to my car.

then collapsed, thrashing on the floor. "My eyes! My eyes!" Silvio walked closer, calm and almost casual. He raised his gun and pointed it at the man writhing on the floor, still clutching at the melted mess of his face. A single shot cracked through the air. The man's body jerked violently before collapsing, limp. The bullet had punched straight through his forehead Blood exploded everywhere, covering the floor and a droplet of blood landed on Silvio’s cheek. He pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket, wiped the blood from his face, then looked down one final time at the corpse. No expression. Just silence.