Novelas y relatos de Damian Priest Tattoos

The Queen turned to the King, her mouth opening to argue, but his raised hand silenced her. Damien’s shadow fell over me as he crouched slightly, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “Don’t look, little flame,” he murmured, the words gentle despite the tension in his tone. “You don’t need to see this.” The trapdoors fell with a sickening thud. My father, my mother, my brother—gone. A scream tore from my throat, raw and uncontrollable. I collapsed to the ground, my legs giving out beneath me. I didn’t need to see it; the sound alone was enough to shatter what was left of my heart.

I wasn’t to gather any information, just pick up any red flags during my interview. Oh, what else? Right Damien is left-handed. He had a sweet tooth, he loved watching football. He even played in high school, until a knee injury. His knee pains when it’s raining or cold. Damien makes a mean sandwich but can’t cook to save his life. He loved eating Mia’s food the most. I’ve also learnt Mia isn’t the help, more like the protector of all the Priest secrets. Damien has degrees in business, finance, and sports administration. He’s lifelong goal is to buy a football team. He’s looking into Phili or the Chief’s.

Five years ago, Damian Tucker, a 28-year-old Black man with blue eyes and short black hair styled in an Afro cut, sat in his office chair on the fifth floor of a magnificent five-story building. He had several tattoos: an eagle on his right arm, a cross on his left arm, and two women tattooed on his right chest. Damian was a mafia boss, respected and feared in his territory. He ruled the secret mafia world and underground cartel in North Haven. Inside his office, wearing a black suit, he sat behind his desk, working on his laptop to check his online businesses.

Damien replied, his voice filled with disdain. "Is that not what you wanted in the first place?" the priest inquired, taking a sip of his coffee and maintaining his calm demeanor. Damien averted his gaze, lost in his thoughts. "He is living the life you wanted for him, so please visit him, praise and congratulate that ominous lunatic yourself," the priest remarked, continuing to sip his coffee while fixing a slight grin on his face as he observed Damien intently. Damien let out a sigh and stared out the window, absentmindedly twirling his fingers in mid-air, deep in contemplation.

A strange kind of wave of relief ran in his body after knowing that she is not a lesbian. All of them finished their breakfast silently... ***** They were in the basement, Damian was standing in front of a man who was hanging in front him covered in his own blood, Rose and jack standing behind him with 2 other men... Damian was looking dangerously calm, his hands covered in blood and veins of his muscular arms were popping out due to his rolled up sleeves, he again sliced one of his finger making him scream in agony. "I won't repeat myself, Where is my drugs?..."

He scanned my expression, his brows drawing together. I sighed. “Sorry. Since my pregnancy I've been more emotional. I hope it’ll go away soon.” I cleared my throat then rested my palm over his shoulder blade. “What’s the meaning of your tattoo? You know why I got mine, but I wonder why you got yours.” A hint of wariness flashed in his eyes, the walls he was used to keeping up wanting to lock back in place. “Damian did it. About seven years ago.” I nodded to show him I was listening. “It’s a fallen angel, like you said. It represents the fall Damian and I took on the day our mother tried to kill us.”

, He said in a clear yet polite tone, loud enough to be heard by everyone present in the main hall. Damian heeded the request of the holy priest and let go of his none existence ego for a little while. He immediately kneeled before the priest The priest then took the holy relics from the flat wooden plate and asked Damian to raise his hands in the front. Damian raised his hands forward, ready to receive the Holy relics which are supposed to pass down to the next king. The holy priest picked up the relics, one was a wound, and another one was a pure crystal with a rainbow specialized inside it.

I froze. Damian stood in the living room, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other loose at his side. His jacket was thrown carelessly over the armrest, his tie loosened and crooked like he’d tugged at it one too many times. His sleeves were rolled up, forearms tense, veins faintly visible beneath his skin. Heck, I saw a tattoo peeking out too. Since when did Damian get a tattoo? I never got the chance to convey my thoughts because a low growl pulled me back to the present. I raised my eyes, and that had to be the biggest mistake I'd made right now, because his eyes burned.

I kept my hands folded in my lap as we drove, wondering what I had gotten myself into by agreeing to this. Inside the car, it was quiet for a long time. I finally broke the silence. “Tell me about your family.” Damien’s expression changed right away. “There’s not much to tell.” “I doubt that,” I said. After a pause, he started talking. “My father remarried after my mother died. Victoria is my stepmother. She likes control.” I smiled a little. “That’s your warning?” “No.” He glanced at me briefly. “This is. Answer only what you’re asked. Don’t volunteer information.”

Damian smirked as he took out two tropical drinks from the tiki hut bar behind him. He was tall and muscular, wearing nothing but a vibrant Hawaiian shirt and a pair of faded denim shorts. The shirt, adorned with bright and bold patterns of hibiscus flowers and palm trees, seemed to bring out the stunning blue of his eyes and perfectly complemented his sun-kissed skin. As he stared at me, a broad smile crossed his face, and his eyes lit up. "I've bought this for you." Damian pulled out a bunch of flowers from behind like a magician pulls out a rabbit from a hat.