The Tattooed Man Book Novels & Stories

he concluded. Luke closed his eyes, breathed hard, trying to focus, trying to recollect every detail of the attack. Then he opened his eyes, “I don't remember much since I was busy staying alive,” he laughed. “But I remember in fine detail. One of them…he had a tattoo. A small tattoo on the side of his neck. A bird, and an eagle I think.” Kate and Michael exchanged a quick meaningful glance. The words escaped their mouths at the same time, “The Project Manowa.”

The fabric gave way slowly, peeling back to reveal the man underneath. His chest was all hard muscle and scattered across his skin were tattoos. Black ink stretched over his collarbone, something in Latin etched just above his heart, faded slightly, like it had been there since the beginning of whatever turned him into this man. Another ran along his side, snaking down under his arm. Then a symbol. A smatter of dark hair dusted his chest, thinning as it trailed down toward the waistband of his pants, and God, my hands wanted to follow it.

I noticed it before but I never really understood just how much my brain was undermining the body of this man. He was built like a god. And no I'm not just saying that. I mean it. His Abs are chiselled to perfection, his shoulders broad, tapering into a lean torso. How can anyone look this good at three fucking am? A scar runs down the length of one of his pectorals, faint enough that it barely stands out against the words tattooed across it. My gaze lingers longer than I'd like to admit, and a sudden need to touch the ink, to touch him, overcomes me so ferociously that it startles me.

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.

My blood ran cold whilst the hair at the back of my neck stood to the end, the man's eyes which were as dark as midnight pierced through me. He stepped in. He had tanned skin and a bandana tied on his seemingly bald head. A pistol was in his right hand while his left hand was shoved into his pocket. He was chest naked with dried blood spilled on his chest, defining the goldfish tattoo drawn on his hard abs. He was sweaty but someone else would probably call him hot. To me, he was sweaty and his abs were wet from sweat, making his tanned skin shine. I could almost smell his sweat from just looking at him. He smirked at me, stepping further into the living room.

I can see his big pale hand has a piece of paper in it, kind of scrunches around the suitcase handle as if he’s been holding the sheet before he comes here. I can see Austin and my face is on it. “Sorry, I don’t have any food and coffee. May I know why you two are looking for me?” My blood seems to thin, and I barely can breathe as I see a man open the suitcase. I think I see a measure of rope, lots of woven plastic bags and a bundle of black fabric. Before I question them, the tattoo man says, “you’re the only tenant in this building?” “Yes.” I reply.

This man. I stood up from my bed and brushed my breast across his bare chest. I started to touch him, circled him. He has a huge tattoo at the center of his back too, a flaming skull with hollow eyes, surrounded by broken chains snapping outward across his shoulders. It’s wild, violent, looks symbolic, like no one can hold him down. Interesting. I stopped in front of him. My hands pushed through his briefs, fondling his balls. He groaned and inhaled sharply. Tilting my head up, I mirrored his gaze. “Why don’t I return the favor?”

He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair and tugging on it violently. I was worried. I hadn't said anything wrong. "You're a witch," the man muttered, turning his back to face me. He walked into the room with the table and poured himself some wine. Had he gone mad? I watched in horror as he ripped open his shirt and flung the pieces away. He gulped down the wine and walked across the room to a shelf facing the long table. When he turned sideways to reach for a book on the shelf, I saw it. It was only a brief moment, but I would recognize that tattoo anywhere.

No one noticed that the man's blank backhand had a mysterious spark of golden and red particles forming the tattoo of a wolf and a human trapped in it, the signature tattoo of Lycans that was a must for survival. Before the tattoo could be fully illuminated by Skyla's touch, Skyla grabbed his hand and averted from her face. After she kept his right hand on his chest, she freed it. The man felt a sudden wave of electricity but since it hardly lasted a second, the man couldn't decipher what happened. Skyla's one hand went to cup the back of the man's head while her other hand was on his chest. Mildly shoving him, Skyla rested his head back on the ground and said, "Don't exert yourself!"

Jace realized the man does not look like a doctor at all. The man has a max on his face and a scrub cap on his head. Jace could not tell if he knew who the man was or not. His cowboy boots made Jace believe the man is no doctor at all and he has tattoos that are visible on his neck. Jace could swear he has seen that tattoo somewhere before. The man looked at his wrist watch, the same tattoo that was on his neck, is on his wrist too. It's a tattoo of a python with red eyes and wings. He walked to the door and looked out to make sure no one was coming to the room.