Scars Joker Novels & Stories

Aesthetic's POV: “ Let me introduce myself first. “ The man with a friendly personality exclaimed and stand up with full of excitement. He have this very alluring smile but an eyes that can make thousands of women cry. His hair was shaggy, opposite to his face but his presence was very light. As if he can't hurt you, but I know that those fangs of him can torn my own flesh apart. Though I’m not that scared to him, but I won't let my guards down. “ My name is Joker, but I prefer to be called as Jake. “ He said while looking at me with his lips stretched widely. I don’t know if I'm gonna laugh or what, but his name sounds so funny. Joker? Well, his sunny personality proves it. “ And yeah! I’m

Enough for me to feel their breath on my face. My bandages were loose now. They itched a little less. “Heh, he's out col…” I struck. Two quick jabs — one for each of them. "Fuck!" Joker shouted, stumbling back. Spear Guy cursed and drew back, wobbling. "What the hell did you do?" I still had two needles tucked into my bandages, and that's why they itched against the chains. Thin. Dipped in that same lovely poison used on Ryanna.

All the courage I had in me flew out of me with the wind, and I was left to myself; to free myself from these men. The laughter died down, and he returned to his former expression. "I am Scar," he introduced, shooting me with a dagger through his eyes. He deserved the nickname with that kind of face. I wondered how wicked and evil he was to have made him get such a mark. I didn't dare voice out my thoughts, as I continued to stare at him, trying not to show that I was afraid. "We were sent by our boss, Lord Ricardo Gambino." As I heard his name, I trembled. I could not have guessed wrong.

Brother Dirk grinned at the man. "Sorry, I don't know you, never heard of you. By the way, my name is Scar." The man calmly told Dirk. The matter would be resolved easily if Dirk had connections with the underworld since everyone in this region knew about Scar. Woosh. Dirk's legs wobbled at the response. He did not know of Scar, but he had heard of that name before. 'He's an existence comparable to a mob boss!' "Hehe." Scar only chuckled and said nothing else. He pulled out his phone and dialed Jaden's number. He felt that it wouldn’t be good to proceed alone, just in case Dirk performed terrible actions out of desperation.

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.

“Whatever, just go and stop pestering me or I’ll beat the crap out of you. I will be fine.” “You sure?” “Yes.” “Kay, your call. If you need me, I’ll be on the floor.” “You got it.” Annabelle brought the red cup to her mouth when Jenny was already out of her sight, ‘Wha--? Is this even a juice? I can’t tell which flavor they are using.’ It might be one of those cheapskate brands. But by the time she had her third sip, the juice tasted fine. ‘Not bad.’ “Hey, Miss, are you alone? Wanna dance with me?” The man in a red tee and cargo shorts reeked of alcohol and from the way he spoke, she could tell that he is already drunk.

"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?"