Half Sleeve Loyalty Family Tattoos นิยาย & เรื่องราว

Before bed, he strips down to his boxers and slips beneath my sheets without hesitation. Not because we’re lovers. Not because we’re teammates. Because we’re both. And because sleep doesn’t come easy when your heart’s still on high alert. I lay against his chest, fingers drawing circles over one of his tattoos. The one that says: not made for mercy. “I still don’t know what this one means,” I whisper. He shifts. “It’s for the people who thought I wouldn’t survive.” “And now?” “Now I keep it as a reminder.” “That they were wrong?”

Jeffrey looked haggard too, with messy, unkempt hair. Suddenly, Melanie charged straight at me like a madwoman. "Kieran! You shameless freak! You stole my deal!" She hurled insults at me, her words becoming increasingly vulgar. Meanwhile, Jeffrey immediately put on a fawning smile and sidled up to Steve, personally pouring him a drink. "Mr. Fletcher, did we do something wrong to upset you? Please don't take it to heart. Give us one more chance. We'll prove our sincerity, I swear!" Then, he pointed at me and sneered. "And don't let him fool you, Mr. Fletcher! He's just a manipulative opportunist who mooches off women. People like him have no business ethics and no loyalty; he doesn't deserve

“I plan to tattoo a Koru on you. It’s a sort of spiral that’s part of Māori culture, and in New Zealand, it means new life, growth, strength, and peace. They made bone sculptures with this symbol that were used as pendants for necklaces. The bone, when worn, changes color. And for the Māori, it meant that a part of a person's spirit entered the pendant. Sometimes it was given to another person, as if to transmit a part of one's happiness.” James takes off his shirt and shows me his right shoulder. “I had it done by Sky last week. Mine is a way to transmit my happiness and love to you.” He puts his shirt back on—what a shame—and turns back to me. “And also a bit of bad luck, since you manage

And moved down to her exposed midsection and the sheer, almost see through flimsy excuse for a skirt that covered her bottom and revealed a long expanse of bare leg. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. It was the ink on her skin that did it. Dark mass of ink designed her arms, belly, legs in swirling loops and whirls. And in the middle of her chest right between her breasts was a tattoo of the royal family crest— a lycan howling up at the moon in fierce victory. The entire design; the dress, the ink... They all symbolized one thing that she was nothing but the slave of the man standing over there, looking like he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.

Mom with her wild auburn hair whipping in the wind, Dad grinning beside her, and me as a gangly teenager, my arms wrapped around a much younger Aofie. They looked so alive, so unbreakable. A perfect family portrait, or so I'd always thought. I stared at the photo under the dim bulb's flickering glow, my breath catching. My eyes lingered on Mom's wrist, where a bracelet of seashells partially obscured her skin. I squinted, tilting the photo closer to the light. There, peeking out from beneath the shells, was a tattoo — a bold, stylized letter V, etched in delicate black ink, the lines curving like a serpent's tail.

“You pigs! How dare you violate my sister’s privacy like this? That was love, real love! You can’t destroy them like this!” Gabby stepped forward, voice flat. “You’re saying that’s Sareena? Then can you explain the missing tattoos on her right side? The one on her left arm? Or the missing piercing? The voice on the recording sounds exactly like yours.” She then turns to her Uncle Luca. “Zio, Sareena has a large tattoo from her ribs to her hip. It is an anagram. If you look at it from the front, it says: Faith, but if you look at it from the back it says: Hope. Then she has a small anagram on her left forearm. It says: Family and Love.”

His pecs, sharp shoulder blades, and overbearing biceps look like a drawing of the perfect specimen of a man. I no longer think he got the body he has from lifting weights in the state pen, or whatever prison he came from—not that I know any ex-cons. Alessio's body looks more like an athlete's. His muscles are too defined to belong to someone who only loves working out. His tattoos are just as captivating. On his left arm is a swirl of roses, perfect for a wedding bouquet. His pec on the same side has the tattoo of the Scarfoni family crest. It's a Viking-style sea dragon with the sword of Myrridin going down the center. Myrridin was their Viking ancestor and one of the twelve founding Knigh

I gasped, pressing my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. There, on the man’s inner wrist, was a tattoo. It was a small, black lion's head with a crown. It was the exact same mark I had seen on Miller’s arm. It was the same mark I had seen on the guards standing outside my door. It was the mark of the Lionel family. "We know you saw the shipment," the man with the tattoo said. "And we know you took the drive. Give it back, and maybe you'll see your sons again."