Gangsta Prison Art Tattoos Novels & Stories

Sweet bed how much I've missed you. ......... I woke up a few hours later, when I went to the living room, I saw Clarice. My ex. "What are you doing here?" I questioned her with crossed arms. "Damn, babe. You weren't this big and fit when you got arrested. I've got to say, those tattoos look so hot on you." She said before biting her bottom lip. I was only in my sweatpants. In prison I got 3 tattoos. A dragon on my back, a wolf on my left arm, a serpent on my right arm.

A gun was drawn. "Don't tell me you're going to..." The Wolf Gang man smiled meaningfully. "I'm sure you understand. Well, you're right. We can't kill you because we need you alive, but that doesn't mean we can't kill the others, right?" Angie widened her eyes. "What the fuck? What do you mean, huh?" The gun was pressed against the nightclub manager's temple. The safety was released. Angie cringed as she saw the Wolf Gang man's fingers ready to pull the trigger. One small movement and the bullet in the gun would instantly blow a hole through the nightclub manager's head.

We spend the next hour looking for any slip up the attacker must have made, luckily that fucker wasn’t as smart as we thought him to be. I easily caught sight of a tattoo on his left arm. A gang tattoo… “Zoom into that” I ordered. Fred quickly obeys my instruction and zooms in closer to the guy’s left arm. I was quick to recognize that symbol,It was basically hard not to. I was left dumbfounded because this was the last mafia gang I’d expect that from.

Some people might not consider getting tattooed to be therapeutic, but in a weird way it helps me get through some shit in my head. "One of these days you're going to run out of skin," he says as he packs up his tools. "Nah, I'll just put on some weight and make more." I slap my hand across my belly and he shakes his head. "You'll just stretch out all my amazing artwork." He takes off his gloves and tosses them in the trash. "Nadia told me you got arrested last night." I roll my eyes as I put my shirt back on. "Good news travels fast. Your girl still working dispatch at the station?"

If Rayna wanted to flirt, she could, but I wouldn’t be hiding behind him this time. Hunter’s Range Rover purred beneath us as we sped down the quiet road, the city blurring past. He didn’t talk much during the drive, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, his jaw set. As we pulled into the compound, the air around us seemed to shift. The gang’s headquarters was housed in a converted warehouse dark glass, steel walls, and rows of matte-black motorcycles and high-end cars lining the lot. Armed men stood at the gates, giving curt nods as Hunter passed.

Not waiting for anyone else. I felt free with the wind in my hair. In my hast to leave, I forgot my helmet. Not like I dont heal quickly. My knuckled were scabbed over but still looked angry. Since I left so early, there werent many cars in the school parking lot. Parking my bike, I got off and went to the picnic table and sat down. Plugging my ear phones in, I blasted some old rock songs and got lost in my drawings. Since I was a tattoo artist, I liked to have a bunch of my own work available for people to chose from.

Too much television watching got me chasing dreams I'm an educated fool with money on my mind Got my ten in my hand and a gleam in my eye I′m a loc'd out gangsta, set trippin′ banger And my homies is down, so don't arouse my anger, fool. Death ain't nothing but a heartbeat away I′m living my life do-or-die, uh, what can I say? I′m twentythree now, but will I live to see twentyfour? The way things is going, I don't know Tell me why are we so blind to see That the ones we hurt are you and me Been spending most their lives Living in a gangsta′s paradise Been spending most their lives Living in a gangsta's paradise Keep spending most our lives

With a half laugh, half growl, he sheds his shirt, revealing a vicious wall of honed muscle and inked artwork and — “Oh.” I suck in a breath and reach out to trace his marked skin. Skin I only glimpsed once through the foggy shower glass. “My name. It’s everywhere. All over you.” “Da.” Reaching down between us, he unzips his pants and lets out his heavy erection with a groan. Taking the flesh in his right hand, he tilts his hips, letting me see the script low on his stomach. Right above the root of his manhood, my name is scripted in bold, black ink. “You own it all, angel. I’d rip out my heart and tattoo you there, if I could.”

he asks. He runs his hand over his tattoos. "These aren’t just art or design. The bike I ride isn’t just for beauty. I can proudly call myself a real gangster. I have connections deep in the underground world. So don’t be scared, my princess. I’m not going to jail. Not anytime soon." "What confidence," I scoff. "Well… it takes off walking the right path early in life." "So you call banned and legally grey activities the right path?" "Look who is judging me," he says.

The tattoo was more than just an ordinary tattoo; it was a rank, "these guys have been in and out of prison, and the dollar sign was a ranking of twenty-six. The number twenty-six was high ranking amongst other prisoners, indicating they do not fear returning to prison. The guy with the tattoo, who was six feet grabbed Jimmy and pushed him to the window, then removed his gun. The train stopped by the next station, and people ran out as the train reached a standstill. "Hey, man, let him go." Said Joey; the other two men, surprisingly, also had guns; Joey had noticed the tattoo of the other two guys; one was a rapist and the other a killer.