Gangster Angel With Gun Tattoo Novels & Stories

You declared to submit your life for me and dedicated yourself to my world. Aren’t your hands painted with blood too? Didn’t you let your dick taste pussies and ass? Didn’t you inhale the smoke of gunfire after shooting people to your heart content? Don’t you fucking show me this attitude. I gave you this life. I gave you money. I gave you all this luxury, because you wanted it. And now you dare rub it on my face????

“I am French, oui? I have wine on top of more wine!” Angel laughed. He poured her glass full. Tipping it back, she drank it straight down in one long gulp. “Are you sure I should not break out the whiskey?” he teased. Angel giggled. “You might, and it’ll be for yourself, after I am through.” “I am a Frenchman, living in Paris. I think I am grown up enough to hear anything. I do not think you can shock me.” Angel tilted her head at him and gazed at one of his tattoos. It was a strange design of a chain with a fist grasping and it seemed familiar in some way.

The one he fell crazily in love with. Once Angel realized and accepted those truths.. He almost forgot his guilt. Then Tony’s lips curled. “You look so fucking hot with a gun.” A pause. ‘Classic bastard,’ Angel thought. But he was mesmerized. Then Tony kissed him. Hard. Fierce. Full of everything. **

She waved the tattoo gun at the camera, ink still dripping from the nozzle, her eyes full of provocation. "Guess what I gave her? An inverted 'Angel's Eye'! In the Corleone family, that is the brand of a rat." "You guys didn't see it. She's pushing thirty, still acting like some untouchable heiress. I drove that ink deep into her dermis. She’ll have to carry that shame for the rest of her life." The encrypted comment section was a carnival for her little lackeys: "Long live the Principessa!" "Nice work!"

They were both oblivious to the pictures that were being taken of them. Lifting his head, he smiled at Taz. “I have something for you.” Angel handed him the white shirt box. He opened it and removed the cut, letting the box and tissue paper fall to the ground. The first thing that she saw was that it was not her cut, and yet it was. The center patch was newer, the devil, who now had multicolored braids, sat on the motorcycle with a halo hanging haphazardly on the left horn, giant angel wings flowed out behind him. The bottom rocker declared her to be Sinners Daughter and the top one proclaimed her as The Devil Herself.

I ask him. " On my back. And it says the heart can be darker too. And free drugs. I was seventeen then." He says and I smile. " Second?" " Omertà." He answers. " You know I actually thought that was supposed to be your first tattoo." " Nah. My dad never wanted me to have that in case I decided to leave the mob." He says. " And what does the Arabic tattoo mean? And why Arabic?" I ask. " I like them and the language. And the meaning; It means 'my soul is darker than night'. The other one is 'angels don't die'."

Luckily, there are few people around because of the big event happening nearby. Angelito approaches him with a taser gun hidden under his coat enough to make him stay and wait until his heartbeat stops in no time. This means his work will be sleekly accomplish. "Are you alright, Mr?" he tries to be nice, but the man is meant to answer. "Get away from me!" he shouts and turns out to be aggressive because of the effect of the drug inside his body. "I-I'm trying to help you, mister—" "Are you one of them?!" he shouts as Angelito's facial expression turns overjoyed by his words because his memory is keen on details

He walked over to where the men gathered and cleared his throat, getting their attention. They all raised their head to stare at him, one by one, a look he had gotten familiar with in their eyes. A look of admiration. He wasn't dressed in a shirt so his heavily tattoed chest and abdominal area were exposed. He had gotten another tattoo after Angelo's death. An eagle on his back and Angelo's name written under it, in Angelo's memory. ***

I maintained my shocked silence for the anoint of time I used in wiping my hands and turning around to face her. "I told you, moments ago that half the tattoo on my back consist of a thousand initials of people I'd murdered and the next thing you talk about is eating the food I would prepare?" I questioned in a cool tone that didn't betray the utter astonishment I felt. "What would you have me talk about then?" Angel questioned sharply and crossed her forearms. Even though she was beginning to look pissed, her form leaning on my counter in nothing but my hoddie, which made it halfway to her knees was a sight to behold.

If only they knew I wasn't human, not that I could do much without a wolf. I might as well be one. Gunfire echoed again. I saw the muzzle flashes before I heard the shouts. Three men at the end of the alley, masks up, guns drawn. “You picked a bad night for a drink, sweetheart,” one of them shouted. Oh, hell. Oh, actual hell. Henry shoved me down behind the car. Tattoo Guy drew his gun, fast and quiet, like he’d done this a thousand times. “Keep her there,” he said. “No, wait.”