Novel & Cerita My Brothers Keeper Tattoo Forearm

It looked perfect on her and thankfully it seemed to be the right choice. Angel’s eyes zeroed in on my newest tattoo that Uncle Dante designed. My brother had the same one. It was a bold choice, but we wanted her to know that she was going to be our choice whether or not there was a fated bond. It was a galaxy scene that morphed into an image of Angel’s beautiful face. ‘Angel – My Queen’ was written in calligraphy. “We had these done last week and are definitely our favorite tattoos,” I said, winking at her.

Not him. Just. Like. Everything. Else. "Yes, Pakhan." I bow my head with reverence, and Aleksander's eyes drift down to the tattoo on my wrist, where his gaze lingers. All the men in the Knights who pass The Reaping at the age of sixteen receive the Viking Futhark rune for defense tattooed on the underside of their wrist. They then receive the Greek Sigma symbol once they're initiated into the Brotherhood. I have neither because not only should no one know of my existence and lineage, but I was supposed to die that night seventeen years ago.

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?”

I whispered, “You were amazing.” He pulled back and beamed at me. “Did you see my roll? And—and how I dodged and flipped him?” “I did! I don’t even think I could have done that,” I laughed, brushing his hair from his face. He puffed his chest. “The warriors say I’m strong. That I’m brave.” I kissed his forehead. “You are. You always have been.” He held up his arm, showing me a fresh tattoo inked onto his forearm. A beautiful phoenix with its wings spread in mid-flight as it stood in flames.

It serves as a reminder of my duty and the legacy I carry forward. On my wrist, I wore a leather bracelet, a memento from my brother. Its presence served as a silent reminder of the bond we shared, a bond that fuelled my determination and guided my actions. It was a tangible connection to my past, grounding me in the present as I prepared to face the challenges that awaited me.

Ambrose ripped his shirt off to examine the area covered by tattoos. "Don't you think he looks like a young machine gun Kelly with pink hair," I chuckled and Ambrose tilted his head as his eyes scanned his brother critically. He laughed and nodded his head agreeing with me. Other than the ink work there was minor bruising that would heal once the blood went to work. Ambrose removed the needles and elbowed his brother. "I'm glad you're alive, it's good to see you after so many centuries," he said and Xander grinned slightly and nodded.

Here I thought his tattoos were only on his hands but turns out it wasn't only them. His back was full of tattoos but one caught my attention in particular, it looked like an Angel that's on its knees, the wings looked broken and above it were two hands, holding one another tightly with the word brother written underneath them and above the Angel… the fallen angel. Ray loved his brothers more than I could ever imagine, to the point where he tattooed his own body with a constant reminder of it. Something I could never have unless it's Malia we are talking about. Alana, focus.

Eventually my brother also got dragged into the conversation and blamed for the tattoo just as he had been blamed for the first one. Speaking of my beautiful little brother I glanced down the other end of the bar where Mark was talking to Mitch and a couple of his biker buddies and stared at his right arm where the other half of my money had gone. Like mine Mark's tattoo covered his arm from shoulder to elbow and was an evil version of the great god Pan. This wasn't the silly looking Greek Pan, this was the original Celtic version complete with horns, hooves, red glaring eyes and a long horn that called to all the lost souls. Between the size, the colors and of course Mark's extremely well m

He exclaims which makes me then look down at my forearm to read my own tattoo which spelt 'family'. The tattoo was something that all of our members had to prove that they were in our gang and that we were a family. Jake had it on his bicep, Jason had it on his shoulder blade, Zack had it on his rib and Nick had it on his collar bone. Dominic got it recently on the back of her ear. Somewhere hard to find but still in her style. It suited her, and it wouldn't risk her identity being found out.

I couldn’t falter; I wouldn’t let him bleed out on my floor, not when every heartbeat felt like a silent plea for survival. I settled onto the cold linoleum, my heart pounding as I locked my gaze on his battered body. Every inch of him told a story, each tattoo a chapter of pain and survival. The bold double DD letters sprawled across his knuckles caught my eye first, a stark contrast against the bruises and blood. A tree, strong yet fragile, adorned his left forearm, whispering secrets of resilience, while the wave-like patterns on his ribcage danced dangerously close to his deep, ragged wound. But it was the quote etched on his right forearm that pulled at my heartstrings, resonating with