Novel & Cerita Gangster Jail Love Drawings

Her belly button was tucked inside the muscle and that's where the drawing stopped. May scrunched her nose. This drawing reminds her of someone. Someone she doesn't want to be reminded of, Bella. Her eyes shifted to the next drawing which she found to be the worst. A woman and man having sex. No, it looked like she was being raped cause her hands were tied. May's stomach churned. She felt uncomfortable. Why does he have such obscenities drawn in his room? The third and fourth drawings she loved, however. She thought the artist had done a wonderful job drawing a rose that looked like it was dying with its leaves dropping to the floor.

Not all unions are made in heaven and bound to be fairy tales. The Nepharious Gangster's lethal Love - the painful saga of love and hurt. To be continued.....

Serenity smirked up at Xander who could only laugh out loud at her gloating. "I love you, Mrs Moretti." He leaned down to place a kiss on her cheek. "I love you too, Mr Mafia." THE END

Damn. Another deep breath later I shook my head then moved his sketch aside and started drawing my latest victim instead. Willing my mind to think about my latest kill, I started sketching, fast. The lines, the shape of his slouched body, and the fear show his level of stress without showing off his face. The blood dripping from his stomach made them perfectly in line with the moment his life was slipping away. My wrist moves hurriedly, line after line, shading, shaping Rudy the tattletale. The coloring comes next, then I decided to stop when my back felt too tired to continue.

We may be separated by distance, but my love for you remains unwavering. Braxton] The next piece of paper is a child's drawing, a colorful and simple representation of family. In the drawing, there’s a man in a suit with grayish hair, depicted with a smile on his face. Standing beside him is another man in a suit with black hair, who’s holding hands with a woman in a simple dress. Between the man and the woman is a toddler in a jumpsuit. Then there’s a baby, cradled in the woman’s arms, completing the image. And beside them, with a knowing grin, is a figure labeled ‘Grandpa.’

A gangster, whose top was bare with his tattoos showing, whistled at her and teased her frivolously, “Hey, sweetie, get in and we’ll have a good time.” Rainbow ignored him and drew distance from the car. ‘Damn, she looks like a virgin! I’m in luck!’ The gangster’s narrowed eyes gleamed wickedly as he got out of the car. He strode to Rainbow and pervertedly said, “Come on, cutie, your time will be rewarded.” He swallowed and pulled out a stack of money. “One night with me, and this whole stack of money is yours.”

I was a Saint to my mom and a slut to the men in my life. I grabbed my sketchbook and a charcoal stick. I didn't plan it. I just started scratching at the paper, the black dust staining my fingers. I drew myself not the pretty version. I drew a boy with his chest ripped open, screaming into a void. I drew giant, jagged hawks with Chadwick’s eyes and Miguel’s tattoos, literal pieces of my flesh hanging from their beaks. I pressed so hard the charcoal snapped, tearing the paper. It was the only way I could scream.

And he was a bastard to even think about selling his own daughter, his flesh and blood, to a scary man like the Don, or whatever he actually was. I gave him a grateful small smile and ran toward the door. “Ah, yes, Dexter. Get the bastard father and son here. Since they have already sold my diamond and they won't tell me anything about the money, it's clear that we must kill them. Their lives in exchange for what they stole from me.” My feet froze by the door frame as I heard the Don. He was talking to someone. And I knew exactly what he was planning to do. My freedom was a step away from me, yet I couldn't move at all. My father's dead face was swirling in front of my eyes.

Lucian Voss I was still holding the paper in my hand long after the door closed behind me. I didn’t even realize it at first, but my fingers had tightened around it like I was afraid of letting it go. It was a child’s drawing, done in crayon, the lines uneven and rough. There were three stick figures. One tall figure was labeled “Mr. Lucian.” The next was a woman with long hair, drawn with wide strokes and labeled “Mama.” Between them stood a small boy with messy curls and a wide smile. He had no label because I didn’t need one.

There, hidden behind a curtain of weeping carbon-fiber vines, was a small, dilapidated shack. "What is this?" I asked. "The only place the grid can't see," Xander said. He pulled back the vines, and I saw a wall covered in jagged, hand-drawn charcoal sketches. I gasped. The sketches weren't of buildings or machines. They were of us. There was a drawing of a man and a woman standing in a mountain of gold; a drawing of a girl with a wooden ring; a drawing of a man with orange eyes holding a woman in the rain.