Pulp Fiction Trunk Shot Novels & Stories

“End it.” Rhea pushes off the wall with a slow, satisfied smile, she's been waiting for some action all night. She draws her pistol in one fluid motion, the metal catching the swinging light as she steps forward. She stops beside Felix’s chair, tilts her head, and looks down at him like he’s already a corpse. “You're a bastard, Felix. Thanks for selling us out.” The shot is sharp and clean, the bullet immediately piercing his forehead. Felix’s body jerks once against the restraints, then slumps forward, lifeless. A thin line of blood runs from the neat hole in his forehead, dripping onto the concrete to join the rest.

The first video file opened. It was grainy, shot from a distance, but unmistakable. A warehouse. Blood on concrete. A man on his knees, begging. Sandro’s silhouette moved through the shadows, calm, precise. A single gunshot. The body dropped. Another clip: flames consuming a rival’s shipment, men screaming as they burned. A third: Sandro in a back alley, pressing a knife to a throat while Luca watched with approval. The timestamps were recent. Weeks, not years.

I pulled the trigger. The shot was deafening up close. Joaquin’s head snapped back, blood and brain matter exploding across the wall behind him. His body jerked violently in my grip, then went limp. I dropped him like the trash he was, his corpse crumpling to the floor in a growing pool of blood. Quino was next. The younger Brillantes tried to run, but Nero cut him off with a precise shot to the leg, dropping him to his knees. Quino screamed in pain, clutching his thigh as blood poured between his fingers.

I picked my guns on the floor where it fell after it was kicked off my hand by the tall man standing behind Lucio. “Who are these guys?” I posed, bending to slip my gun into my pant. “Frankly speaking, I have never set my eyes on these men you killed here.” Lucio said with a sort of confusion in his eyes. There were about six corpses of men that came fully armed, lying around in the warehouse. I had shot them and dug my bullets in vital parts of their body, such that they were not spare a chance to blink before their lives evaporated from them, and their body went cold.

”And then you opened your mouth and spoke about Rook. His breathing is hitched and uneven now. “You never should have done that,” I say simply. Then, without hesitation, I pull my gun and fire. The shot rings through the warehouse, and Declan’s body slumps forward, lifeless. I let go of his hair, letting him drop face-first onto the floor, his blood pooling beneath him. Jaxon kicks his shoulder slightly before looking up. “Want this one dumped, or do we leave him out for his guys to find?”

She pulled the trigger and I shut my eyes tightly. I was waiting for the unbearable pain but it never came. I opened my eyes and found Hendrick Black between me and the pointed gun. He turned to look at me and that was when I saw blood pooling out of the fresh wound in his chest. He fell on the ground with a loud thud with his eyes locked with mine. I looked up at Christy who tried to pull the trigger again but Chris grabbed her arm and slapped her hard on her face. She fell on the ground and Chris kicked the gun she was holding.

she screamed at Leo, her fingers clawing at his chest. Leo shook his head weakly, still trying to deny the truth. His voice cracked. “I… I didn’t… I didn’t…” Frank didn’t hesitate. He raised his gun, squeezing the trigger with precision born of years of pain and vengeance. The shot rang out, echoing in the high-ceilinged warehouse, and Leo staggered, his body colliding with the crates behind him. He fell to the ground, groaning, life slowly draining from him.

Your sole avenue of spiritual survival lies with a man you tried to kill mere moments ago. "This is insane," Troika shouted and came at me. The room exploded with the sonic resonance of a pistol firing. I may have imagined it, but it appeared the bullet took Troika at the juncture of the right eyebrow, nose ridge and right eye. Whatever the entry point, the .45 ACP slug painted the wall behind her with her grey matter. St. Marie turned quickly on Fatima.

The two men continued their face-off in silence with a hot intense stare at each other. Scarface didn't act as if he hard the other guy and without making obvious his intent moved his fingers on the trigger catching Fool off guard when the bullet from his gun caught him on the right shoulder. " Fuck! you son of a bitch!!! " Fool cried out letting out successive shots at Scarface which he was quick to dive out of the way, taking cover behind one of the cars parked in the underground parking lot.

Trying to be so mighty, not wanting to crumble in front of him because of the fact that he just spitted like it is the most obvious thing in the world. "What kind of tragedy?" That is what I want to know. "It looks like it was scrapped. There's a scar that came from a bullet. Series of scars coming from a whip. I can tell, Exiquel. So just go on and tell me what I want to know. You know what I want to know, don't you? Then start talking." "Yeah," He said. "It was scrapped with a rusty knife then hit by a whip for a couple of times while bleeding. They still aid it of course. A day after, I was shot in the back. The bullet penetrating my flesh felt hot as hell."