John Wick Latin Tattoo Novels & Stories

The contrast of their heat created a suffocating electric atmosphere. Then Saint's eyes finally rested on the tattoo below Nicolas's abdomen. He ran his fingers on the spot. "I have seen this a couple of times and even though I am so close to it, I still can't read it. What does it say?" He asked, looking back at Nicolas. He had always assumed that his inability to grasp the meaning was because the tattoo was in cursive but now, it was also because it was in another language. "It's your name but in Latin. It's Sanctus which means holy or sacred because that is what you are to me."

He doesn’t respond but swiftly makes a beeline to his office, and I follow him like a lost pup, with no clue what the tattoo means or why it’s such a big deal. When I get to the study, he’s already in front of his computer, typing away with determination. “Shit, this can’t be,” he mutters in disbelief. “What? What can’t be? What’s wrong, Jack? Is the tattoo an issue?” I rush to stand behind him. “This tattoo... it’s popular in Blue Water Pack.” “What? Do you mean Blue Waters Pack?” “The rose on the snake it’s from Blue Waters. The majority of people with this specific tattoo are their spies.”

"Mm." "What's the tattoo on your rib?" A pause. "You noticed that?" "Hard to miss when I've been lying on top of you." He huffs a quiet laugh. "It's Latin. Means what endures." I trace the letters with my fingertip. Small and precise, slightly faded at the edges. Old ink. Something he's carried for a long time. "How old were you?" "Twenty-two. Going through a phase." "A Latin phase." "Don't." "I didn't say anything."

Her breath caught hard in her throat, her mouth drying out until she couldn't even swallow. He was massive. Every single inch of his upper body looked like it had been carved out of stone. Thick, corded muscle wrapped around his wide shoulders and arms, tapering down into razor-sharp abdominal lines and a lean waist. On his ribs, a vicious black serpent tattoo twisted across his skin. Across the broad, scarred expanse of his back, bold Spanish script stood out in dark ink: La lealtad se paga con sangre. Viola stood completely rooted to the floor, her cheeks burning with an intense, humiliating heat.

Or how they even got in. “He almost died,” I whispered. “Luca was my entire world. When he survived, Luca’s dad had me carve Luca’s name on my chest so I would never forget who saved my life.” “He thought you might rebel against Luca,” Sofia whispered. I nodded. “What does the tattoo say? I can’t read Latin.” “sclopetum Pectus Lucae Mihi Destinatum Erat.” “It means, the bullet through Luca’s chest was meant for me.”

My mouth began going down from kissing his neck to that strong broad chest, my eyes were closed but then I looked up to catch his expression after he held back a groan in his throat, but my eyes landed on his chest who welcome me with a new tattoo, I brushed my fingers on the ink, This tattoo was a combination of words which I knew was Spanish, those words were completing a circle and huge deadly snake was printed between them, starting from Amor (Love), Escapar (Escape), Desamor (Heartbreak), Venganza (Revenge), Misión (Mission), I could few words of it. “What is this, Armando,” I examined the details of that horrific tattoo, my eyes couldn’t move from it, It was obvious from some words tha

Don Dani puffed before asking, “Is that so? A politician's son, no? Inlaw to a rich businessman? Who? A fuckin Reverend?” But he was not ready for Juan's simple and short reply: “None of these, boss... He's a made man... I saw, on his hand... The tattoo of a brown snake.” Don Dani's cigarette fell out of his mouth when he heard this. He was like a lion whose mouth was open, nearly drooling with shock. “Uomini?” He managed to whisper. “That's the only thing it could mean, boss..” Juan replied. Don Dani instantly began feeling hot. His shirt soaked up his sweat and was soon sticking to his body.

"For my final question, I'll ask you which of your tattoos is your favorite." "As you mentioned earlier with the song question, I can't choose just one. But, one of my favorites is this," he lifts the top of his shirt to reveal a quote tattooed in French on the left side of his outer collarbone. I'd seen it before but never knew its meaning. "Qui vivra terra," he pronounces, emphasizing the accent, "it means 'he who lives, shall see.'" I lean in to inspect his tattoo, despite having explored his body many times before. My hand rises on its own and gently brushes over the inked text, as if applying any pressure could erase it.

He looked at me briefly then back at my hand that was holding onto his. The biggest and clearer of the tattoos was on the back of his palm. It was drawn with dark ink that stood out on his well tanned dark hands. At first it looked like a sun rising in the horizon and glazing over a field with details of how it shines around it in tiny well drawn marks, I soon realized it was the sea the sun was rising on and not heaps in a field. "Solem Orientem Ghe Mari" I called out the foreign words written right under the tattoo of the sun and the sea. It sounded Latin or was it Italian?

"And this time, I'm using a permanent marker." I looked up at the giant white hand. On the wrist, there was a tattoo. It was my own name. Logan Frost.