Realistic Broken Clock Tattoo Novels & Stories

He was utterly broken. “I’m sorry for causing you too much pain. I didn’t mean to destroy your relationship with Nikky.” I rushed to apologize without giving him a minute to get a hold of himself. Dr. Dane said nothing. Instead, he dropped to his chair, his hand met his face, and he wiped it with his palm, trying to act like the man he was.

Russian's POV A man in his late forties stepped into the basement, his bald head gleaming under the dim light. A tattoo of a fierce scorpion snaked from his neck to his scalp, marking him as someone not to be trifled with. His body was a canvas of ink, displaying various tattoos that told stories of battles fought and won. He dressed sharply, with a few buttons of his shirt undone, exuding an air of relaxed authority. He walked with a noticeable limp, leaning on a sturdy walking stick that seemed to amplify the aura of danger surrounding him.

"I got this tattoo after I tried to find you, but to no avail. This black moon represents your bite. The circle of barbed wire symbolizes loyalty and the promise that I will protect my mate, and overall, this tattoo represents my oath as a leader to guard and protect my pack and my mate. You." Noreen's head throbbed. She couldn't comprehend what Thiery was talking about at all. It was like he was speaking a language from another planet. Thiery touched Noreen's lips with his index finger, and she immediately shuddered again. When he kissed her lips, Noreen felt it again, a slow, stirring desire, awakening butterflies in her stomach.

My little escape for the night to be with my number one rebel partner, Ben. I padded across the room toward my dresser, opening a jar of lotion. The subtle scent of vanilla filled the air as I trailed my fingers over my arms, rubbing the cream in absentmindedly. My gaze landed on the small mirror propped on the corner of the dresser, catching a glimpse of the intricate tattoo curling along my collarbone. The mark. My mark. With a soft smile, I turned to face the mirror more fully, letting the towel slip just enough to reveal the dark, swirling design etched into my skin. I traced the lines with my fingertip, marveling at how something so permanent could appear so delicate.

I resisted the urge to fan myself as my body temperature shot up. Other than bulky muscles, black ink marked his back with various tattoos. My brain had melted the moment I saw his hot, muscular body, so before I could think about it, I took a step in his direction and then a few more until I had a clear view of his tattoos. At a little distance down the neck, there was a tattoo that portrayed eight phases of the moon in a horizontal alignment. On the right side of his back, the anatomy of a wolf heart was tattooed with blood dripping down in drops. A date, 12-08-1994, was etched beneath the wolf's heart.

I was awoken by a buzzing of my phone. Then my eyes were still shut, until a ray of sunlight hit my face from the window. I stretched my hands widely with a yawn as a relief of a good night sleep. I stroke my hairs with my ten fingers repeatedly and released a smile of satisfaction. I took up my phone and tried to make known what the time said as the images weren't so clear yet. It was sharp 7 o'clock. I felt the cool morning breeze rush through the window as it hit me.

He reached out and unpinned it from the clock’s face, the paper trembling in his hand. “I don’t know who,” Elliot said finally, his voice tight. “But whoever it is… they’ve been watching for a long time.” Emma joined him by the clock, her gaze shifting from the photograph to the cracked face of the timepiece. The clock’s hands ticked forward steadily, moving toward midnight. “It’s broken,” she said, frowning. “The glass is shattered, but it’s still running.” Elliot nodded. “It’s not just running. It’s counting down.”

She was upset that I didn't recognize her, and seemed deeply upset when I pushed her arms away and stared at her. Despite the simple black dress, the neckline was deep enough for the tattoo of his capital sin to be quite significant and easy to decipher. In the center of the small trunk was the image of a fat badger with his mouth wide open, where a small man fell into it. Around the animal, crosses, tombstones and flames spiralled over the woman's pale skin. The rest of the drawing was not noticeable enough for me to lose more than a few seconds staring, so I looked away when she also looked.

It shattered on the floor. Madison gasped, starting to rise. “I’ll clean it up…” “No, stay there,” Richard said quickly, crouching down to gather the shards himself. But his mind was racing, hands trembling and the glass bit into his skin. “Richard!” Madison rushed to him, grabbing his hand to check the cut. Her worry froze into shock when her eyes caught the faint mark on his wrist. It was small, almost hidden—but unmistakable. A tattoo. 16/07/2024.

Somewhere outside a car engine started and then died. Half an hour later, she tiptoed into her daughter’s room. The girl slept curled around the toy rabbit. Georgia brushed a piece of hair from her face. “I’ll keep you safe,” she promised. “Even if it breaks me.” She straightened and almost screamed. A small object lay on the windowsill, a silver cufflink etched with an H. She snatched it up, heart racing. It was warm as if someone had just put it there. She yanked the blinds closed and backed into the hallway, holding the cufflink to her chest.