Joker Tattoo Forearm Novels & Stories

Alfi added. “How do you know that my tattoo is my Jowa?” Herman asked in surprise. “It”s simple, before shooting, you always stroke your tattoo, right? You do it because of your pride in the tattoo. That”s what I am sure that your tattoo is your Jowa.” Alfi explained. “Herman, use your imagination to destroy those diamonds. Imagine that your nails are as hard as a diamond, as fast as light and they have a nuclear explosive effect!” Alfi explained.

Like a neon flash light, he’d gone from frowning to relaxed face. His brown leather jacket is gone, tossed somewhere inside, leaving his arms bare in the short sleeved shirt, covered in black ink. In the low light of the garage, the tattoos look foreign, like a mess of Chinese characters I can’t make sense of. They aren’t pretty. They look dangerous. He looks dangerous. The ink runs down his forearms, disappearing into the skin of his knuckles, where veins flex and shift with every move. Layers of silver ring line his fingers.

I didn't look up, only down. The hands. They were huge, the knuckles thick, the skin taut over corded muscle. They were framed by the immaculate cuff of an expensive dark suit jacket and they were covered in ink. My gaze locked onto the back of the hand pressed just inches from my temple. I saw the complex, swirling blackwork, the design stretching over the knuckles. And then I saw the detail that made the air freeze in my lungs, the detail that had haunted my nightmares. Right on the back of his hand was a small, grinning face, the evil jester tattoo. The tattoo of a man who played games with pain.

He pushed my shoulders back to look at my face then I nodded with pursed lip in incertitude. He took off his shirt and lied on the tattoo chair. Cartel came over and adjusted the chair for him to lie flat. "Where do you want it?" he asked. Jason pointed just above his pelvic, around the side of his abdomen. Cartel wiped the area with Alcohol, then adjusted the light to that area and stenciled the design on Jason's skin. He flashed a mirror at it and asked Jason if he liked it. Jason confirmed give him a thumbs up with nod of approval.

Esmeray held her forearm up, examining the intricate tattoo that adorned her skin. The tattoo depicted a majestic wolf, its eyes fierce and determined, surrounded by swirling patterns that seemed to dance with a life of their own. The lines were bold and precise, giving the impression of strength and resilience. “This tattoo is so unique,” Esmeray remarked, tracing her fingers over the contours of the design. “I’ve always felt a connection to it, but I never knew why.”

They were brutally killed, his wolf went all out to end their lives. He took off their masks and for a minute, he stilled. There was a tattoo on their forehead. It was a cross symbol, with a word written in Russia. "Dark knights," he mumbled. They were one of the most deadly werewolf gangsters in the world. How could his Father put so much effort into taking out Jordy? What level of hatred would make him go this far? Jordy. Thoughts of him got Jamal jerking to his feet and sprinting to the cage the men had stalked a while ago.

The man, wrapped in a white towel around his waist, showcased his well-defined muscles, making him appear powerfully built. Jaxter slipped into a crisp white shirt, the fabric covering an impressive phoenix tattoo that spread majestically across his back, extending down to his waist. The tattoo adorned his perfectly sculpted torso. As he adjusted his shirt, the image of Hayle unexpectedly entered his mind. How could a woman like her be the mother of his potential child? "Roberto," Jaxter spoke without turning his face, not even acknowledging Roberto's reflection in the mirror before him. He was engrossed in his own thoughts and actions.

“Leni, you sure you want a tattoo that size on your forearm? It’s pretty big.” “I’m sorry, you’re questioning the size of ANYONE’S tattoos?” I growl. “Okay, okay!” He holds his hands up in surrender. “You’re in excellent hands. Cason, mindlink me when you get a minute.” “Sure thing, Alpha. I’ll look at my schedule.” Cason says, but he doesn’t look up. He is already drawing on my arm. His face is full of concentration. Three hours later, I admire the stunning tattoo. Justice is already healing it. It looks like when a dragon sheds its scales.

She stood stiffly in the center, arms crossed. Lorenzo closed the door, locking it with a click that echoed too loud. He walked past her, unbuttoning his jacket and shrugging it off. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing his strong arm and his dangerous tattoo. It was an eagle's tattoo. He didn’t speak. Just poured a drink from the mini bar, leaned against it, and sipped slowly. Nora stared at his tattoo for a while. Lorenzo never had a tattoo on his arm, only on his back. Did he get one recently? She thought.

My gaze drifted unconsciously to his collarbone. There was a new tattoo there. Red, still swollen from being freshly inked, but unmistakable. It was my name. The characters were rendered in the most ancient, wild cursive form of script, like an old, binding sigil. My fingers trembled as I touched it. “When did you… get this?” Henry caught my hand and rubbed it gently against his palm. “Last night, after you fell asleep.” “Did it hurt?” “It was better that it hurt.” His eyes darkened, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.