Vincent From Pulp Fiction Novels & Stories

My eyes warmed up as I glanced at the man standing in front—Jake Luther, assistant, friend and backup. Vincent’s expression became ugly, “You do have some means,” he snarled. “But so what,” Vincent scoffed. “You can't attack me with these men,” his lips curled up. “Pascal would kill you before me.” My eyes reddened with a murderous aura, and I took a step forward, “Then why don't we just settle it here, and now, if you dare.” We're going to end this here.

"Yeah right, try it and you'll see what you are looking for. Did you know that your boss is such a stupid? Because he doesn't leave a lot of you. Poor you," Vincent said and whispered, "in a count of three I want you to get down trust me earth…" "One, two, three," Then I get down and Vincent makes a round kick and the guy drops his gun and tries to hide. I saw how Vincent fought again. But still, I'm nervous and there's a lot of what is inside in my mind but the guy collapses in no time and Vincent calls me. And we pack our things immediately. "V what happened to the guy?"

Vincent asked mockingly. "Your joke is childish," the man teased Vincent. She was secretly thankful that he saw Vincent in the act of hurting her. Romana discreetly reached the police. "Is that so?!" Vincent let out a sigh. Screamed enveloped the surroundings. She was scared that the handsome defender might get hit in the face but her jaw dropped as she saw that he effortlessly caught Vincent's fist with his big palm. "Did I forget to tell you that I'm a black belter?" Vincent obtained a strong punch to the stomach and followed it up with a kick.

And she also noticed the alcohol in front of him. "What happened? Why do you have bruises?" Khali asked Vincent's laughin' a little bit. He drank alcohol before answering. "My dad punched me in the face once more," said Vincent. "Are you OK?" said Khali. "Now, I'm fine, babe. I saw you, and I spoke to you," said Vincent. "I need you, babe, right now. I want to go there and hug you, but... Vincent drank a glass of alcohol. While he was drinking, Khali saw his tears.

Saxon watched it all from a secure line in the bunker. He saw Cain walk through the smoke like a demon, bloody and beautiful, mowing down resistance with efficiency only earned through war. Until finally— Cain stood in front of Vincente. Gun raised. Vincente smirked. “You look good when you’re angry.” Cain’s eyes didn’t waver. “You look better on your knees.” Vincente’s smirk widened. “Make me.” Cain fired. Not at his head. At his thigh. He screamed. Cain stalked forward, grabbed him by the hair, and whispered, “This is for Saxon.”

It had been twenty years since that tragic event, and Vincent had believed Lin was gone forever. "You can't be real," I whispered, my voice barely audible. Vincent's disfigured face bore the marks of the fire that had supposedly consumed him all those years ago. The scar ran from his forehead to his jaw, a grotesque reminder of the power-hungry man he once was. But there was no mistaking it; the eyes that bore into my soul were unmistakably those of my nephew. "Oh, I'm as real as it gets dear nephew," Vincent said with a cold, sinister smile. "I survived that night, and I've got my eyes on you and everyone else ever since."

“Far side. He planned the photo and the exit.” Costa hit me with his good shoulder. We went down against a crate. His hand found the wire and ripped. The world in my ear went to static, then nothing. “No more audience,” Costa said against my cheek. “Just work.” I drove my knee up. He was heavy and short and the bad leg made him slow enough. I slashed again, not pretty, across the hand that was trying to find my throat. He rolled off me. Vincent landed on the barge like he had not bothered with stairs. Maybe he had not. His gun was up. Costa’s remaining man raised a pistol and Vincent shot him in the knee.

Vincent said slowly. "So, are you telling me that you don't intend to settle the score?" Summer asked. Vincent looked at her with an intimidating gaze. "Ms. Hartford, this really had nothing to do with me. You wouldn't falsely accuse me, would you? But those guys were indeed my men. Them doing something like that has caused me trouble, too." He offered, "To show my sincerity, how about I have them beaten to death and thrown into the sea to feed the sharks right now? Would that ease your anger?"

“One of my men thought it would wise to hide some of my merchandise and sell it for half the price at the fucking border.” Interesting. “What did you do to him?” Vincent sits up, his eyes shining with excitement for the first time since he stepped foot in here. “I hung him over a grill and gently roasted the motherfucker alive. While he was roasting, I carved out his left eye and chopped off the fingers from his right hand. His death was definitely slow and painful, but seeing that he’d worked with me for over ten years, I let him off easily.” I lean back in my chair and just… stare at him.

He stretched a hand out at me. “Fuckk you! Figalo puttana,” I spat at his feet. “You’re a fraud. Could’ve at least borrowed a halfway decent face—my brother’s not rocking that clown-level ugliness. No wonder I’ve been seeing him in my dreams lately; now I finally understand his pain.” Rocco and Dante, standing at the door with guns pointed at him, burst into laughter. Fake Vince looked down at the spit, then back at me. “Yeah, of course I’m not your lovely loyal brother,” he said, casually removing a pistol from his pocket and tossing it from one hand to the other.