Every Saint Has A Past Tattoo Novels & Stories

I realized how much I missed him, more than I had admitted to myself. “You really love tattoos,” I remarked as he casually removed his shirt. His back was covered in intricate black and gray tattoos—half a skull, half the face of a crying woman. His shoulders and arms were adorned with shading, letters, and flowers that had intertwined over time. I noticed the names of my parents, mine, and his pack etched on a cross. My dad would have had a fit if I had even a single tattoo.

She thought it looked good on him somehow. Stella felt a little uneased when thinking about the past but she quickly pushed it away from her mind. She did not know why she felt like that. His image when he was standing in front of her roommate's bedroom. It was kind of unfamiliar and weird feeling. She sighed and pulled her thought back to the present time. The tattoo of the eagle spreading its wings covered his chest. She must admit it suited his appearance, his ego, and his branding as the mafia god. "Is this hummingbird? It looks cute and suits you. "

I really did not want to feel weak ever again. My parents totally thought I was crazy when I decided to get a few tattoos. I had a big one slung over my shoulder that reached down to my bicep—our crew's tribal symbol. I also had another large one on my back and a warrior symbol on my inner bicep, courtesy of Gaspar. But my favorite was a cool tattoo guys get when they find their match. It sat just below my waistband, right in the middle of my stomach. A symbol that looked like this: ∞.

AJ was one of my first partners in crime, back when we were teens. "Uptown. Glad to be back, no lie," I roll my sleeves up to my elbow and unbutton my shirt to mid chest, making sure that all of my ink is on display. In this world, these tattoos are an important part of our identity. Each tat has a meaning. The vines are for my crew, each thorn a successful mission. One little rosebud for Livy, when I took her into my home. A large cross across my chest for my parents, a bleeding heart for my sister Jane.

Of course, she would try her best to find those people. "The three of them were wearing black robes..." Kristina said after she hesitated for a moment. She thought for a while when she remembered something. "There was a star tattoo on their necks." Santi said with his voice calm. Kristina looked at her husband who was holding their daughter's hand as his eyes were fixated on her. "...yes, there was a star tattoo on their necks." Kristina confirmed. She, too, saw the star tattoo on their necks.

Jack said, letting go of my hand. I watched as they did the whole “bro” thing. I guess that’s universal? As Christian turned my eyes honed in on a massive … tattoo? It was kind of a silvery marking on his back. Like, his entire back. I wanted to touch it and not just because he was hot. It almost looked like paint. “The Goddess is good, what can I say? Christian this is our mate Grace,” Jack said, as I stuck out my hand. Christian looked at it, confused. He even took a step back as if I had cooties. He just said Jack was lucky, but he won’t come near me? My face immediately fell in offense.

Is he naturally built like this? Sasha steps backward to give me the full picture. I see stars on his knees that match his shoulders. He twists, showing the rugged expanse of his back. I was right: it's a church inscribed over his shoulder blades and spine. It's lovely, but above it is the terrifying image of a spider. "Ulyana told me about the tattoos in the Bratva," I say. Inching off the desk, I approach him. He remains where he is, watching me over his shoulder. My hand touches one of the stars. "What do these all mean?"

Another tattoo: ‘Darkness is real, and it’s the best place to be’ Why would that be the best place to be? “Why are your tattoos sad?” I question, kneading his precious spinous process. “They’re not all sad. Different seasons of my life…” “Were you sad in the past?” He shrugs, a leisurely smile playing on his lips. Another tattoo beneath his neck: ‘Psalm 139:14’ “You’ve got a Bible scripture,” I note out loud. “See. Not all of them are sad. I’ve got two of those.”

The icy blast would’ve made anyone else recoil, but Dante stood there, solid and unmoving, like he was made of stone. His back was a canvas of ink, just like his front. The artwork was nothing short of breathtaking. Spanning across his entire back was a massive, detailed tattoo—an angel, powerful and divine, standing within the ruins of an ancient temple. The wings spread wide across his shoulder blades, reaching toward his arms, while crumbling pillars surrounded the figure in dramatic grayscale contrast. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a story, a testament, a work of devotion etched forever into his flesh. It was absolutely beautiful—mesmerizing, even.

Malachi stands with me still straddling him as I run my hand through his brown hair. I let him put me down and stare at his body, taking my attention to the tattoo in the middle of his stomach that shows his birth year. I lead him to the bed, and he lays back, propping himself up with his elbows to keep his gaze on me. I spread his legs so I can fit my body between them and kneel, while my finger traces the tattoo that says 1994 on his torso. He shivers at my touch and he's already hard as a rock. I trail soft kisses along that same tattoo, thanking the Moon Goddess for creating such an exceptional creature. I unbuckle his pants and start to pull them down slowly while his heated gaze