Cast Black Ink Crew Novels & Stories

Blood sprayed. Rupert tried to crawl away, but Chris grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. "You call yourself a man when you beat on women like this?" Then he saw something strange on the back of Rupert's neck. Black ink. He ripped the shirt some more so he could get a better look. It was a tattoo of a scorpion with its tail curled and fangs bared. Chris's blood ran cold. The Scorpion Gang. Max growled louder now, a deeper rage igniting.

The street lamps began to crumble just like they had done the day of the accident, the earth crumbling as the ground quaked. “Seems you could use a little help, little vamparina.” A masculine voice resonated in the air. Vamparina? There he stood, along with my parents, his eyes red, his black dreadlocks running down along his face, his muscles big, merging perfectly with his physique, his perfectly chiseled jawline with a black cloak on. “Blood!” They groaned. “Back to the underworld.” He said as he raised his hands. The air stood still, flame engulfing the creatures in a minute. Groans filled the air as they began to disintegrate into soot, flowing along with the wind.

The ink clings to the quill, its viscosity carefully crafted to prevent dispersal in the water. Turning his attention to the kelp paper in front of him, Bryan observes the faint shimmer on its surface. The kelp fibers have been infused with a unique hardening agent, a secret formula known only to the skilled artisans of Tritania. The agent causes the ink to react, triggering a chemical transformation that solidifies the liquid, ensuring that the words he pens will remain intact and readable.

"I may not have seen his face, but he has a black wolf tattoo. A tattoo of a wolf was clearly drawn on his arm, and the word BLACK was boldly drawn in it, signifying black wolves. I am sure every clan member must have a tattoo like that, just like we all in the Adrenaline mob, who have dragon tattoos" "Alright Axton, I'll keep that in mind. If the mob in Mexico, is really the same clan that ended the life of your sister and father, then is a starting point for you to get rid of them one after the other to know the face of the man who brutally killed your father and set your sister ablaze.". "Thanks Chevy." "Wow, did you just thank me? What's changing you Axton, because this isn't the heartle

God dammit! Severing major arteries is messy business, and I’m usually able to keep myself out of the line of fire, but not today it seems. My black hair is matted with blood, my maroon bra looks black from the blood soaking into it, and my matching maroon satin and lace panties are soaked and not in the good way. The gorgeous tattoos that cover the ivory skin of my arms and legs are now veiled in blood. I look horrific. But sometimes this comes with the job.

“Black Crimson has an extremely distinctive style. If you have someone else paint for him, it’s just going to be written off as a fake.” “No,” Hayden assured him. “It’s not.” When everyone merely frowned, confused, I groaned and rolled my eyes, willing him not to stick out his own neck or admit anything stupid. “No way,” I told him, slashing out a hand. “I’m not down with that plan.” But he didn’t have to say anything. Because Camille suddenly gasped. “Oh my God,” she murmured, gaping between me and Hayden with sudden realization. “Black Crimson isn’t just one person. You guys are like the Brothers Hildebrandt.” She spun to address my brother. “Aren’t you?”

“You don’t know how lucky you’re. You want to see how ruthless he can be, I would show you one day, how he treats people like you.” “Still doesn’t make sense, why would he treat people like an animal.” “You want to know?” “Yes.” “Then stay and find out.” She wore her glasses, seeing his face, now. He wore black jeans and a black shirt. What with him and Black. “And you must have been wondering why I was stalking you, the master sent me and you’ve got no choice but stick to see my sick face every day. Because he had assigned me to protect you. You can call me your shadow.”

The city is a blur of neon and smog, but my mind is already at the clubhouse. Iron and Ink isn't just a bar. It’s the spine of everything we built. Four best friends, Roman Silas, Cassian, and me—started this place in a derelict garage when we had nothing but a few wrenches and a shared history of blood and grit. Now, it’s a global brand with spots in London, Tokyo, and Berlin, each managed by one of us when we have extra time. But the L.A. branch, the original, always feels like home. It’s where it all began. I pull into the lot, the gravel spitting under my tires as I park next to Prez’s custom hog. I head straight for the back room, bypassing the main bar where the Tuesday night crowd is

"Callie is out." At New Chesire Group building's ground floor, somewhere around an inconspicuous corner, six black-clad men in a van with a blocked number plate stared intently at Callie as she ran out from the lobby. They were ready to kill. They had a clear maple leaf tattoo on the back of their neck. The slim man, who was the leader of the group, held a dagger in his hand. The muscles of his small arm were tensed with visible energy surrounding its surface. He was truly a Grandmaster of energy transformation.

"Yeah, yeah, how many Eliot Lakes could there be? And besides, you could have just gone home. Nobody put a gun to your head and forced you to come with me." "And let you get the entire payday? Not bloody likely!" Rhys snorted. A bell jingled as Rusty pushed open the door and the pair entered the shop. The petite, black-haired woman behind the counter smiled. "Welcome to Kink Ink, gentlemen. What kind of ink did you have in mind?" "We're not actually in the market for a tattoo today, we were just looking for a little information," Rusty said, as a tall First Nation man pushed through the curtain leading to the back of the shop and stood beside the counter.