Jesus Crucifixion Tattoo Novels & Stories

For the most part, the packs got along but there was still always a sense of authority that was tested. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you look good. Can’t be representing our pack badly.” Jacob was getting our Crest tattooed on his chest. It was the head of a wolf with its teeth showing and blue blood dripping from the fangs. Kind of spot on for whoever designed it but whatever.

It was odd that their dead flesh still burned, but then again, they were already dead while alive. Abby and I moved our lights up and down the dead vampire's body, legs, feet, all toes and even other parts of the body that were less nice. I moved my light back up his chest, then down his arm to his hand, then stopped. “Here.” I said, motioning to Abby. I shined the UV on his index finger and there was a tiny tattoo resembling two crosses, one on top of the other and a blood drop in the middle, the line through each cross wrapped around either side making a circle around it.

From shoulder to shoulder, the ink sprawled like a chaotic crime scene—tribal swirls, demonic curls, and angry squiggles that might’ve once meant something, but now just screamed, “I don’t pay taxes and I bite.” At first glance, it resembled ancient warrior markings. At second glance, it resembled the fever dream of a drunk artist with a grudge. The patterns wrapped around his muscles like they were trying to strangle him from the inside. And those cracks? Not stretch marks—oh no. These were the kind of inky fissures that made you wonder if his skin was about to open up and release a small demon named Jordan Jnr. Okay, enough with ogling at those creep tattoos. I shifted my gaze to the rest

I admire the tattoo taking up most of his back, it's similar to Storms. It's a pair of evil snake eyes in red, with a green and yellow snake wrapped around the pistol facing the red eyes of the evil snake. The words The Satan Sniper’s Motorcycle Club are written under the pistol. But what has me at a standstill is the shading that's done around the entire picture, it's a light shading but unmistakable. It's wings, Angel wings. I don't say anything. I want to but I'm tongue tied. I scan his back and stop at the blue bruises around his sides.

I never did well with needles. James lifted his arm, and I stared at the plastic wrapping around his hand. The freshly tattooed wolf symbol on his upper hand was only partly visible under the protective wrapping. But it was there, and it was not only the symbol of our family, it now became the symbol of the commitment James and I shared. He lifted his finger and showed me where it had been pricked. "This hurt more than the tattoo, believe me." I shuddered, thinking about the pain, and secretly thanked God I didn't have to go through the entire initiation process. From what I heard, it was quite intense…and painful.

She blushed as she rubbed his chest. He had the tattoo of skulls, like a cemetery on his body and a cross tattoo that had a snake wrapped around it with its tongue out. “Okay, enough of all these adoration. Do you remember we have to dispose him before he wakes up??” I snapped her out of whatever imaginations she was currently harbouring.

My breath caught in my throat as I stared at the male in front of me, who managed to look bigger with less clothes on. Vipers extended from his shoulder blades seemingly headed for the red lotus at his throat. My eyes roamed over his torso, trying to pick up the story he was telling through them. Jesus, no one told me how freaking beautiful tattoos could be. I moved my hand over a date hidden between the intricate work. His muscles braced, but I barely noticed, too consumed by the beauty in front of me. “My brother was born that day. We went to the hospital and the baby was gone. Mum thought it would be safer to give him away.”

He can’t spare me, no matter how compliant I am. He stands from the bed and removes every piece of clothing from his body. The tattoos expand from his chest to his stomach, down to his strong torso. Black ink against his tanned skin. There are so many things written in Russian. But one particular thing catches my eye, it’s on his left torso, big and clear, “ To forgive is to sin.” The words send shivers racing down my spine. Who on earth writes something like that on their body? Not just write, but brand it into their skin permanently.

My hips bucked involuntarily, trying to jerk away, but he pressed down harder with his free hand, pinning my thigh to the table. Cristian didn't even look up at first, his face a mask of bored concentration, sweat beading on his forehead under the harsh fluorescent light. The tattoo gun whirred on, dipping into a pot of black ink before plunging back into my skin. “Relax, little bird,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly, laced with that mocking edge he always had. “I'm just marking my territory. The next bastard who gets his hands on you—or should I say, his cock in you—will know you were mine first. See this? It's my signature, right on your dick. A little reminder that I broke you in.

He zoned his attention on the limousine which is now filled with bullet-holes, numerous enough to trigger trypophobia. Tino's body lay there below the car, his head beside the front tire. Bodies of Serpents lay around him like sacrifices. But Jude noticed something though. He moved closer to one of the bodies and went down in a squat, checking out his tattoos. Jude stuck out his pointer finger and rubbed the tattoo. It came off. He went to another Serpent body and rubbed the bodily tattoos. It came off, too. Jude stood, facing the cult. "Fake tattoos, I think they're fake." He said smartly.