Pulp Fiction Trunk Shot Novels & Stories

One shot cracked through the room. And Riccardo Marino slumped, bleeding from a hole in the middle of his forehead. The muzzle of my gun smoked slightly. Somehow, he looked smaller in death, like a regular old man rather than a sex-trafficker who’d been able to host all of Philly’s most dangerous for years. Something white-hot cooled in my chest. It was done. Killian stepped up next to me and clapped my shoulder. “Good shot.” I smiled, thinking of Paige. “I’ve been practicing.”

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.

Trisha opened her mouth and scolded, 'M, the quality of this domestic glass is too good, and the bullet didn't go through. Kristen Oliver quickly pursued the man's figure, suddenly his eyes lit up and he said, 'Trisha, move five centimeters to the left, two shots.' Trisha did not hesitate, and pulled it twice in succession. The huge recoil made her shoulders hurt. The last bullet of these two shots hit the man's calf accurately. 'Beautiful.' Kristen Oliver praised, two people high-five. Patrick Cotton put down his outstretched hand, and he could only helplessly signal, 'Let's go, there should be someone coming across.'

The elder Liam twisted his torso with feline grace; the bullet grazed his shoulder, tearing through the fabric and drawing a thin line of crimson, but missing the vitals. Before the fugitive could fire again, the ebony cane swung through the air like a whip. It struck the fugitive’s wrist with a bone-shattering crack. BANG! The second shot went wild, the bullet buried in the floorboards inches from the unconscious Brother Sheng’s face. The ricocheting casing struck the thug’s cheek, the heat and shock causing him to lose control of his bladder in his semi-conscious state.

TORREN POV The ghost mask feels like a second skin, the internal voice modulator humming as I scale the fence of the Michigan estate. I’m not using chloroform tonight; it’s too slow, too cinematic. I have a tactical sedative patch in my bag- one touch to the neck and he’s out in three seconds.

Ava rolled her eyes. "Oh feisty, I like that in you," he said to the new man but held me firmly in place still not shaken by the man's appearance. Meanwhile, as the hot atmosphere increased, Mother was busy with her phone "NOW" she typed then pressed "'send". Suddenly, a shot went off. Ava was so startled that she almost collapsed. The man who just entered dropped dead on the cold floor and lay there unmoved just like Camilo's papa. She stared with batted breath at the blood that oozed out from his forehead where the bullet had penetrated.

I so casually take my Ruger from the back of my pants where I tucked it, and before he can say another word, I pop a bullet in his foot. “Aaahhh, goddammit.” I hear his scream of agony filter to every corner. “Are you fucking crazy? I burst out in a cackle; my god, I don’t know where I find out, but all that I can get out between the pleasure of my laughter, “Now, I am asking you again. Where is Trinity” “And I am telling you again,” he so bravely stares me straight into the eyes. “I am not telling you.” “Well, then you won't mind if I shoot you in the other foot.”

It’s plain to see he is as high as a kite. “Yeah, who wants to know?” I take out the Maxim 9 pistol and shoot him between the eyes by the time he finishes his sentence. He dies instantly, his body looking like it folds in on itself. His eyes remain open, staring blankly and the hole between his eyes trickles only a tiny amount of blood. “No one, not anymore, you piece of shit.” As I drive the car to the compound, I turn on the tape deck, and sing along to Julio Inglesias. Once I am done here, I will get my ice cream and decompression sex from my beautiful wife.

It was a full-on shoot-out and I was right in the middle of it, Literally. I felt a hand on my arm and I was being pulled to my feet, I worried inside it was one of the bad guys but as soon as I opened my eyes, I met Alexanders. ‘Get me out of here!’. I begged, As soon as the words left my mouth, He pulled me through the gunfire and behind the safety of Ron and the others. I looked over my shoulder as Alex carried on pulling me in the direction of the outside and before everything was out of sight, I saw Pulp drop to the floor, clearly dead.

“The truth is bitter, isn’t it?” His grin falters. He opens his mouth to speak. I don’t let him finish. The first shot goes straight through his chest, not the heart. Not yet. He screams. The second takes his spleen. The third, his kidney. He’s still alive when he hits the floor. Gurgling. Shaking. Dying slowly enough to feel every second of it. Good. I turn away before the light leaves his eyes. “Clean this mess up,” I tell Adriano. He nods, already moving.