Novel & Cerita Ghostemane Ghost Tattoo

The unknown young man shouted to the girl. “Stop this, both of you!” Tohya shouted at the same exact moment that the young man did. Yuri can only stare at the young man before noticing the black butterfly tattoo on the side of his neck, and her gaze went down to his left hand where there was a Hati bracelet wound around his wrist with the Roman numeral of two engraved on the silver crescent moon pendant. ‘A Phantom? Then that means…’

Snow started falling—hard and fast. I stood there on the curb, freezing, shaking. Three hours in, my phone died. Sonia never came. Before the screen went black, one last thing flashed—Pierre's post. A selfie. Him and Sonia in front of some car, her face turned halfway. Caption: [Under the same snow, our hair turns white. Close enough to growing old together, right?] In the dead glass, my reflection stared back—smiling. Not bitter. Just done. The hundredth promise, traded for a concert and a boy toy.

I glance down, and the sight nearly undoes me. Ghost, tattoos on display, bruises still dark across his ribs, eyes half-lidded and locked on mine, is feasting between my legs like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. Like this is where he belongs. Like this is where I belong. And fuck, maybe I do.

There's nothing more to it. "Fuck!." He cursed out angrily, thankfully he wasn’t looking at me. "Well, I didn't even think that… what's this place anyway?!" I threw my hands in the air in frustration. "What are you doing here?" "Whoa! Whoa!" The lanky guy with the tattoos made me remember his presence. "I'm sorry to interrupt but it's time to go, Ghost." He turned to me. "I'm Bullet by the way." I rubbed my elbow uneasily.

“Vian, if you go with me, I will give you a chance to live.” Vian glanced at him “A person like you can’t call me “traitor.” The man wasn’t angry, he just smiled and said: “Unfortunately, If you don’t agree with me, I have to kill you and your man.” Auren shouted: “Lotos, shut up!” A purple light flashed, aimed at Lotos. A brain-aching sound rang out after then. But Lotus was still even-tempered, he was holding a purple branch… Auren was very scared “Linh Quy…” (a kind of tree)

I shimmied my underwear off; he’d ripped mine in the past and whilst the act of doing that was sexy as hell, lace pants are expensive. Ghost fell on top of me, his hips in between my legs, erection pressing against my very wet and ready core. His fingers traced the edges of the floral tattoo across my lower stomach and bikini line, before moving further down to the barbed rose garter I had around my thigh. “I like this one,” his voice was low, sexy. “Have you got any others?” I nodded, sweeping my hair out the way to show the roses across my collarbone and the bottom of my neck, before rolling over to show him the wings across my shoulders.

The coincidence was just too much to be true. He took another look at the name on the ID card; with his imaginative eyes he slowly turned the name Heaven backwards and it appeared as Nevaeh. He has been sleeping with a ghost he concluded. There was no need to call a prophet to reveal it, even the blind will see and understand this. He needs to drive this thought away, make the pain and fear disappear, he needs to get drunk; so he ran away from the morgue and went to a beer parlour.

Following my father's directions, the cars wound through twisting back roads until they reached a desolate graveyard. "There, Adeline. You wanted to see Samuel? He's right here." My father's face was etched with deep, weary lines. After speaking those words, he seemed to drain of all strength, slumping forward and resting against my headstone. My black-and-white photo stared back from the marker. But Adeline just fixed her cold gaze on the tombstone, her eyes brimming with unmistakable disgust. She lashed out without warning, slapping my father hard across the face.

This feels lighter, automatic—like stepping where the ground has already been mapped. They call me Ghost. It simplifies things. Ghosts don’t leave witnesses. Or questions. Or pieces of themselves behind. Conversation thins as I pass. People shift their feet. I registered the looks without meeting them. Curiosity from the younger ones. Calculation from the handlers. And something closer to superstition from everyone else. I am twenty-two years old. I’ve been killing since I was fourteen. The numbers don’t settle into pride or shame. They sit like inventory. A medic steps aside as I pass. His eyes drop to the insignia stitched inside my collar—black thread on gray. Ghost-class comes without ra

Ghost pulls out a couple of pieces of paper and throws them down on the table, from brother to brother they make their way up to Austin, Max and me. I look up at Ghost with a humbled look. I was the one that brought Ghost in and was proud as hell when he was patched in less than a year later. I had found him at a bar, some college frat boy was drunk and wanting to pick a fight. Ghost is six four and three hundred pounds of muscle. Kid was out in less than a minute. Ghost has some demons, that much is evident when you see the names of the men he has killed with his bare hands tattooed on his back. "Shane?" Austin asks as I take in the two pictures.