John Wick Latin Tattoo Novels & Stories

He seemed to be wide awake too, judging by the way he breathed. I pulled away and propped myself on my elbow, trailing my hand up his stomach and over his hard chest. I looked down at his tattoos, studying the dark imagery he wore across his skin, a scythe from the undertaker, a phrase in Latin, the Roman numeral for five, all kinds of stuff that made sense to him and no one else. He watched me stare at him, moving his hand up to brush my hair out of my face. “You’d look hot with ink.”

"Be nice. He was just doing what you said." "Yeah, but I was doing something a whole lot more important." Thomas rubbed a hand over his head as a tiny glint of sunlight highlighted the tattoo on his upper arm and shoulder. Instinctively, I smoothed a finger over the intricate design. "What does this mean?" Thomas flexed his bicep, glancing at the tattoo. "Which one? I picked three Greek symbols and combined 'em." "What's this one?" I ran my finger around the dark circular pattern. Goosebumps rushed over his arm as he stared at my lips. "Strength."

I also had a few buttons undone on my bottom shirt to show off some of my tattoos and my sculpted muscles. I have a lot of tattoos on my body they each mean something. The one on my bicep is in Latin 'Obsidian est vita mea' which means My life is obsidian. On my back, chest, and stomach I have some tattoos related to my family, my inner gang, and to my gang. I have some on my hands but they represent me and some of the ones on my arm. I leave my room to find my inner gang. I find all of them in the living room drinking some of my very expansive bourbon.

She gasped and covered her mouth. Alejandro looked at her. “That tattoo. How did you get it?” she asked. “From a tattoo artist?” “It's a wolf.” “No, a dog. The symbol of The Lucien Brothers,” he stated but Avril did not believe him. She did not want to believe Alejandro was completely ordinary, even though he was.

He said and grabbed my hand before I could touch a tattoo on his left side of chest. “What is the meaning of your tattoo, it’s beautiful.” I complimented a beautiful and unique design with something written in old language. His lips which were on my mid riff, stopped and those hazy eyes again locked with mine. Did I make a mistake? I promised not to dig into his personal life until he’s ready to share it with me. “It is an ancient Roman symbol of war and victory and the phrase defines a man who never sees the defeat.” He explained the meaning of his tattoo to me. I was surprised, he didn’t shut me out.

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to

I recognised the tattoo but I wasn't sure where I had seen it before, the only thing I knew was that whoever had that tattoo was dangerous. The tattoo was found on all their chests but there was no doubt that the one with the freaky eyes was the Alpha. "You made a mistake for coming here, Marcus Dominik, son of Harold Dominik," the fierce looking one said. "I am not here to fight, rather I am here to make inquiries," I replied. "Make enquiry," The fierce one scoffed. "Of course you don't know who I am. Well I'll tell you; My name is Wade Dominik and i am the half elder brother to your father, Alpha Harold,"

Zach Romano. Leaning against the kitchen doorway like it belonged to him. His black hair was a mess, his blue eyes flat, unreadable, and his bare chest on full display, carved with muscle and shadow. On his ribs, a tattoo stretched over olive skin, an Italian cross with Latin scrawled underneath. Mors tua, vita mea. Your death, my life. I stared at the tattoo. Then, slowly, my eyes dropped to his torso. Abs, tight and low, vanishing into a pair of dark gray sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips.

Harken just narrows his eyes, fed up with the night’s events as is, but lifts his shirt to rip it over his head, revealing the large mixed tribal and Celtic style tattoo that runs from his left wrist up his arm and to his chest, the intricate symbol of the Lewis tribe crest in the middle of his breast, and the large head of a wolf covering his shoulder, winding and thick brushed tribal designs covering the skin around them. “Guess again, asshole. If you’re so familiar with their markings, you probably know what my ink means.” Harken glares down at Karl, watching as the kids’ wide eyes wander over the tattoo, his fingers gripping his forearms. “Well, w-what’s that one then?” Karl asks and poi

“Please begin with your vows, son.” Nick starts, his voice strong and clear, carrying across the hall. “"I vow to lead with honor and wisdom, to guard my pack with unwavering devotion, and to stand as a shield in times of danger. I promise to earn their trust, uphold our legacy, and guide us together through every trial.” Nick’s mom steps forward. “Please say your vows Mariah.”