Scars Joker Novels & Stories

The scar is a container and a protective space where the memory can be stored and endured privately. The causes of scars remain in storage in the body and the mind, and sometimes can shape actions for a person’s entire life. That's what Beneath The Scars is going to talk about . It's going to talk about how to never give up without a fight. W A R N I N G The book contains scenes of self-harm, mentions of abuse and suicide, themes of grief and depression, and sexual content towards the first half of the book . Readers are requested to proceed with caution. Please skip if you see any scene that you may find triggering.

But the deeper I dug, the more I needed to see it for myself. Then he stepped into the cage. Jax Rivera. Twenty-seven. Underground legend. Tall, ripped, covered in scars and tattoos that told stories of every fight he had survived. Short black hair, sharp jaw, and eyes that looked like they had already decided how he was going to destroy his opponent. His body was pure power — broad shoulders, thick arms, abs carved like stone, and powerful legs that moved like a predator.

--he glanced at his wristwatch--"at 5pm. So goodbye then! You guys take care!” “Okay, be safe!” Jenny responded. After their discussion about their report, they decided to go home. As usual, they walked their way. Suddenly, they heard a deep voice not from afar. “Hi girls!” They heard from a smiling man wearing a white sleeveless shirt. He’s with that tanned soldier that Annabelle had thought of earlier. He was now wearing a black shirt paired with a green walking shorts and black running shoes. He looked mysterious with his green cap. Annabelle thought that maybe that was their uniform. He was just staring at them. Annabelle looked away as she felt her face was turning red.

"Sorry, did I scare you? I promise, you'll never see scum like that around here again." To thank him, I accepted his invitation to an art exhibition at his private estate that weekend. On Saturday night, Dorian had a gift box delivered. Inside was a deep purple velvet gown. It was exquisitely tailored, with a high neck and long sleeves that perfectly concealed the old, fading scars on my body, while still accentuating my waist. I stroked the soft fabric, my eyes welling up. Gavin had traced my scars with sadness, but he was never this thoughtful. I never dared tell him how much they bothered me. It was a weakness the Godfather’s wife wasn't allowed to have.

She waited for him to confront her. And she didn't have to wait long. A loud crash came from the door as it flew off its hinges and land on the floor with a thud. The prisoner, Scar, stood in the doorway, holding a crowbar in his hand. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and tan skin. He wore a black leather jacket, jeans and boots. He looked handsome and expensive, but also dangerous and menacing. From his rolled sleeves, Lena saw his scars all over his arms, some old and some fresh. He had tattoos on his arms, shoulders and neck, some symbols and some words. He had piercing magenta eyes that seemed to glow in the dark.

How convenient! Scar released a deadly growl focusing on Jace's hand on my breasts. Jace quickly removed his hand and asked in a quivering voice, "Who-who are you and w-what are you doing here?" Scar snarled in response and I laughed, tsk-ing at Jace. "That's my mate you little piece of shit. Didn't I warn you that my mate would come for me?"

The little bit of light hits them just right. Both men are covered in scars. Deep ones. The kind left by torture and silver weapons. Wounds like that don’t heal clean on our kind. But the green‑eyed man looks like he took the worst of it. A deep scar cuts across his cheek, another over his eye, though the eye itself seems intact. The two men in the cell across from them look just as battered. They all seem to be in their twenties, older than me. I look away from the smiling man.

The very effort of restraining himself was beginning to take a toll on his sanity. "You will suffer for what you've done," he said, staring down into the wicked eyes. "I will go to the ends of the earth to make sure that you pay for your sins. And if that fails, I will leave you in Allah's hands. His punishment will be more severe than any mortal form of punishment." "Go ahead," Yusuf said, his lips tugging up into a cynical grin. "The ball is in your court. It still won't change the fact that I've scarred her for life. And neither you nor anyone else on this planet can undo what has been done."

"What you did today. What you always do whenever we go out. Nasty comments about my weight and treating me like dirt that wouldn't come off the sole of your shoes, can you not do it in front of your family? Please?" His gaze on my face deepened, like he was learning something new, something he was not used to. "Right?" he asked for confirmation. "Right," I replied. He didn't seem convinced. I knew I had to serve a better treat. "Just for the week, treat me like a person for a week. In return, I will attend the Mercer dinner." Justice Mercer, the kind of man that weighs the strength of your family before doing business with you. He wouldn't even read the proposal without a meeting with me.

Joker looked at Stella with reddened eyes and asked, "Am I going to die? Will I be sentenced to death?" "Have you ever thought of what the world after death would look like?" Stella asked. Joker fell silent; he was in a trance. Stella smile, "Joker, you've been alone for a long time. Since you didn't say what you wanted to eat, there's nothing I can do." Stella stood up. "I want hamburgers, salad, ham, and turkey," Joker said, looking at Stella. "I will ask someone to send them all to you at night. Just go to sleep in peace. You don't need to be so tense all the time," Stella said as she left.