Cartel Tattoos Novels & Stories

I could see posters of beautiful tattoo jobs displaced on the walls. "This one looks fierce" pointing to the wall, I said to Jason. "Yeah, but that isn't what I want. I want something unique" he rubbed his arm. "Heyo! Cart-vanger! Wake-up!" He yelled in his ears. "I'm up, I'm up." Cartel grunts in his snore as he jerked up on the couch in shock. He lets out a loud yawn, smacking his lips as he stretched out his arms in the air, revealing his hairy pits in that torn singlet. Then he scratched inbetween his bum lines and got up from the couch. Ooh.. A hefty man with a boner in his underwear.

I said. He didn’t answer. Just leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. Outside, dawn crept slowly across the sky casting soft light over the yard. I walked around out of habit, waiting for something to make sense. As I approached the extreme end of the fence, lightning flashed and my eyes caught an inscription written on the wall with black spray paint. A mark every man in the club knew. Cartel sigil, a serpent coiled through a blade. And be neath it, in jagged letters that dripped like blood was written:

squad. They stood apart near the edge of the gathering, like vultures at a picnic, their expensive suits and stone-cold faces a stark contrast to the weeping villagers. Their observers noted Lola’s scrutinizing eyes but remained impassive, their job simply to ensure the transition went smoothly. And their tattoos… oh, the tattoos. Majestic falcons soared up their wrists, disappearing under the pristine cuffs of their designer shirts. The sigil of the Cali Cartel, a brand as obvious as a falcon’s keen gaze.

Karl gets up from the couch and stalks towards him, stopping to cross his arms and lean against the archway. “Nolan says his brother was a member of that gang, and it’s said that the design of their tattoos tells you what rank you were. Doesn’t seem like yours was all that big, I’m guessing you weren’t that big a member then,” he snorts. Harken just narrows his eyes, fed up with the night’s events as is, but lifts his shirt to rip it over his head, revealing the large mixed tribal and Celtic style tattoo that runs from his left wrist up his arm and to his chest, the intricate symbol of the Lewis tribe crest in the middle of his breast, and the large head of a wolf covering his shoulder, wind

Perfect! I just wish that she would forget about the pills and she would get pregnant for me, love me and carry our child. Wrong order. She was supposed to love me before she got pregnant for me but I didn't mind the wrong order too as long as she ended up with me. Two years ago with the full determination of leaving the mafia and dismissing my cartel, I had lasered off all my tattoos to get all the shit behind me but now, I wanted the ink back. Just a lot more special this time.

And why do I believe in him so much. "It will be dangerous." Gael looked at the clock, he was still with a cigarette in his mouth, then he stood up. Damn, Gael looks a lot like a gangster member, because he wears a black man suit and a white shirt with the top 3 buttons unbuttoned. Because it shows his tiger tattoo, and since when did he have a tiger tattoo? Even though his original form was a western tiger, but still this was too much for him. In fact, I have no intention of getting a dragon tattoo for the future.

I knew that mark. “M****a,” Gael muttered under his breath. “That’s Ortega’s symbol. The Carrillo crew.” The Carrillo cartel. Years ago, they’d borrowed heavily from us during a territory war. When they couldn’t repay, I made an example of them. Organs harvested, sold on the black market. Their leader’s brother was one of the first. The message had been clear: you cross the Santoros, you pay in pieces. They had been quiet for years.

Meanwhile, miles away in the underground heart of the city, the heavy, rhythmic thumping of bass vibrated through the floorboards of an exclusive cartel club. The VIP lounge was suffocatingly dark, smelling of stale smoke, expensive liquor, and spilled secrets. Sebastian sat in the center of the curved leather booth. He had discarded his suit jacket hours ago. The top four buttons of his dark shirt were torn open, exposing the thick, muscle of his chest, the faint dusting of dark hair, and the sharp lines of the serpent tattoo winding around his ribs. His dark hair was a messy ruin, falling slightly over his forehead as he rested a glass of amber liquid loosely in his hand.

That night, Henry finally let go of all restraint. The room lay in shadow, and he pressed me against the floor-to-ceiling window, the lights of Riverton flickering like stars beyond the glass. “Claire…” “Yes?” “I want to get another tattoo.” “Where?” He gripped my hand and pressed it to his lower back, mirroring the spot that corresponded to mine. There, with each of his breaths, a faint outline of a feral totem emerged. “I want to tattoo your image. I want to carve you into my bones forever.”

Getting out of the suv I was greeted by a man named Tomas. “Good Morning sir, my name is Tomas and I am here on behalf of the Island Cartel.” He spoke. “Ah, yes as expected. And I assume you brought the goods?” I squint at him. “Of course sir, only the best!” Tomas expelled excitedly. Tomas led me towards a large white yacht parked in my underground dock. “You brought 100lbs of morphine on that?!” I was shocked. “You’re lucky you didn’t get searched.” Jason adds.