The Tattooed Man Book Novels & Stories

after a few seconds I heard screams of the robber, out of my curiosity I peeked from behind that man's back only to witness that robber's all of the fingers broken and bended towards his direction. That man didn't even touched him?!!! Or just I wasn't focused enough to see. I don't know! But whoever that man is, he's my life saviour. I could feel abnormal heat radiating from that man, like if you're standing in front of a fire place. I saw a bright red tattoo immerging on his nape out of nowhere. (The tattoo can be seen on the start of this chapter, btw that tattoo was my sketched by me uwu)

The man looks at me first before speaking. “I-I don’t know—” Even before he could finish, Cassandra grabbed his collar. “I don’t accept that kind of answer. Tell me you don’t know one more time, I’ll get you arrested for being the culprit.” It’s my first-time seeing Cassandra like this. She is a scary and feisty woman. I can see anger in her eyes. I was about to stop Cassandra but I noticed something on the man’s collar bone. I told Cassandra to let go and I ripped the man’s shirt. He has a tattoo, not just a simple one but it’s the logo we saw on those letters.

It contained a hand-drawn sketch of a tattoo—a tiger with piercing eyes—and a silver cross necklace with a skull, its hollow sockets glinting with red gemstones. "Recognize this?" Federico asked. The man’s brows furrowed as he studied the sketch. Then, without a word, he lifted his chin and gestured toward the window. "Him." Alessandro and Federico’s heads snapped in the direction the tattoo artist had indicated. A man dressed in black was walking casually down the street, unaware of the storm about to descend upon him. "Let’s go," Alessandro muttered. They moved fast, slipping out of the shop and onto the pavement. The moment their presence was felt, the man turned. His gaze met theirs for

I acknowledged and finally got a good look at the man, his chocolate skin stretched over his wide shoulders and my eye involuntarily followed the path of the tattoos littering his arms. The clearing of his throat snapped me from my inspection and my eyes flew to his, where almost black orbs stared at me with an eyebrow raised. “Sorry,” I mumbled, embarrassed to have been caught staring. “The right is of a phoenix rising from the ashes and the left is a wolf in the dark forest.” He smirked, turning sideways so I could see his ink clearer in the sun. “Do you mind me asking what it means?” I reached my hand out to run my fingers over the wolf’s canines.

The man looks intimidating but what can I say, I encounter such men daily and they don't terrify me one bit. He is in a white dress shirt that is tightly gripping his strong arms. The shirt is folded to his elbows giving me a glimpse of his tatted skin. I so much like men with tattoos because I find them hot. The only tattoo I have is the single star on my wrist, and the funny part is that I don't know when I got it. I don't remember my life before the age of ten and it's alarming. The guy's shirt buttons are halfway undone and the big skull drawn on his chest intrigues me more. This is enough confirmation that he is bad, just the way I want him to be.

I barely heard him speak, apart from the single name that rippled across the crowd. Jude. Time slowed as a shirtless man, covered in thick swatches of ink, stepped into the cage. Actually, stepped was wrong. He prowled. The buzzing of the crowd faded to a dull roar in my ears. Even as a sea of bodies swayed around me, I couldn’t break my stare from the horrendously beautiful man. There wasn’t a single muscle or inch of skin that wasn’t tattooed. Only his face and a patch directly above his heart remained clear. Even in the low light I could see the piercing that speared his left brow, along with the jagged scar sliced down his eye.

So did my brain. Zoey. Look away. Now! But did I? Of course not. “Oh my God…” I whispered under my breath as his shirt dropped, revealing a sculpted back and muscles that looked like they'd been carved by some vengeful Greek god. A bold dragon tattoo curled along his spine. What the hell? Was this man part of the mafia? A cartel? A walking sex crime? And why did his tattoo look somewhat familiar? I bit my lip as I watched him, mesmerized. He unhooked his belt, his hands moving with sinful precision.

Chills run down my spine, but I don't turn back because if I did, I would run like fucking hell. From the shadows, a tall man with short spiked black hair dressed in nothing more than a pair of black denim jeans hanging below his waistline and matching leather boots steps out with his back turned towards me. I cannot help but stare at the way the full moon dances against his grey skin. He tilts his nose up to the sky and sniffs the air. When he does, I catch sight of a tattoo trailing from the curve of his shoulder straight down his back. The tattoo seems realistic somehow, how the never-ending vines trail from a black rose and on the tips of the thorns, tiny crimson-red drops of blood trail

My friends and I were on the dance floor when I felt a pair of eyes watching me. My gaze locked with a young man who was a few years older than me. He had a tattoo on his hand that was a rose with a knife through the center of it. He was eyeing me up and down, in a way I’d noticed boys at school sometimes did. My friend, Kira Barinova, was there and I whispered to her, "Kira! Do you know who that man is?” Kira glanced over, and her eyes widened. “I don’t know about him personally. But I know that tattoo means that he’s a Ramono.”