Cartel Tattoos Novels & Stories

He had returned their bodies to the Cartel with a simple note: ‘WHEN I SAY NO, I MEAN NO’

I sat down, rummaged my fingers through my hair, then took a deep breath before playing the footage once again. “Wait a minute” I rewind the video zooming in on the back of the man's palm where a distinctive tattoo was. “That's the tattoo of the vipers” he had the letter V imprinted boldly on the back of his palm and a snake coiled around the letter. “if I remember much about the viper, every member has the letter V tattooed on any part of their body but with different animals attached to it, creating a symbol of uniqueness in the gang” I spoke to myself with a hint of excitement in my voice. I finally have a lead, once I get this man and deal with him, my name will finally be cleared..

Reiner explained. "So?" "According to the data obtained, everyone has the same tattoo." Reiner explained again. Reiner explained what he got. Morgan looked at the picture of the tattoo on Reiner's iPad clearly and then turned to Jonathan. Jonathan who understood immediately gave his explanation. "The snake with the skull head on it is an identifying mark of the rebel and Satanist groups in Country J. And they are all subordinates of the owner of the tattoo of a pair of snakes on the arm of someone who they believe is the boss of darkness." Jonathan explained.

Paul added, obviously uncomfortable with the tears. I covered my whole face as I hunched over slightly, sobbing into them. A sign of an elite warrior, one that had been trained and passed their tests, was a tattoo. It spread from shoulder, across the back and to the other shoulder. Each one was slightly different, tailored to the warrior but within a pack, there was always a specific design. It meant the world to me that they would gift me this. “Skylar.” Someone took my hands and held them. Carl was on one knee in front of me. He was smiling as reached up and brushed tears from my cheek.

"Whatever, what do you have for me?" "I ran a background check on the plate number you sent to me; it turns out that it had been switched with another car." I cursed angrily as I slammed my car against the steering wheel. "Chill out; there's something else. See the tattoo on this guy's arm?" He pulled up the footage on his iPad and pinched into the arm of the man who came to assist the other guy who drugged Lia. "Yeah, what about it?" "It's a distinct symbol worn by a particularly dangerous gang known as The Volkovs. My guess is it's either your girl got mixed up in some shady shit for them to have gotten her, or someone else hired them to pick her up." Caroline. The fucking bitch.

He asked as he breathed out his smoke. I take off my jacket and my shirt to show him my tattoo of the Criemsons. The tattoo shows a blood sword that encircles with vipers and roses that symbolizes our gang or mafia name. I swiveled to indicate my identity while his ladies gape at me like the last cupcake in a bakery they wanted to devour. "Holy mother of great mercy" He grinned. "Now can we converse interaction?" I asked before I put my clothes in and I know his kittens will groan for consuming clothes.

Vic says as he raises his glass to his lips and takes a sip. “Three blades strapped to my thing and a small hand gun to my other thigh” I tell him doing the same and taking a sip of my wine. As we go finish speaking the chef personally comes out with our plates. “Count four Cartel, spider tattoos, Diabla will be heading your way in twenty” he bows his head and smiles. Then he laughs and jokes while making a show of explaining our meals to us. I had expected a night out with my husband to be but in this world I guess that wishful thinking.

“Yeah, that’s Logan Carter.” There was a round of Oh's and ahs from the group at the window. I heard my phone buzz on the table with a notification. I closed my laptop down and grabbed my things. A lot of the office stayed at the window watching as I exited. I must admit they were correct; he looked exceptional. He was wearing dark jeans, a crisp white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. He was leaning against the bonnet of a car I didn’t recognise.

And him too. The cartel’s wax seal, pressed firmly into the bottom of the note, mocks me—a black butterfly with skull wings. Its malevolent insignia, a brand on my fear. My throat tightens. Thirteen years. Thirteen years since I last saw this symbol, its edges still sharp as the night Danni’s Harley tore through my hell.. The memory slams into me:

I turned my head away but managed to hold off my tongue. I had to buy myself some time. A loud banging on the door stole our attention as Lorenzo abandoned me for the time being and strode towards the door. I, for my part, knew that whoever it was, wouldn’t bring good news for me. Sure enough, three Hispanic men with a burly, rugged physique walked in. A common scorpion tattoo etched on the left side of their faces, and it didn't take long enough for me to recognize these men. Cartels. Paps and Viktor have done their best to get rid of them off the streets of Chicago, controlling the manufacture and distribution themselves.