Tortured Soul Tattoo Novels & Stories

I tried so hard not to flush when I saw his naked torso; it was a sight to behold. Broad wide shoulders with lots of muscles, defined strong abs and on his left pectoral, there was a scary tattoo of a three-headed vicious dog, surrounded by flames. And a lot of scars were all over his abdomen. On his back, there was a full back length tattoo of some sort of grim reaper, angel! His grunts again brought me back from dreamland. I shook my head, clearing it; I gently touched the wounded area on his right, trying to understand what I was dealing with.

He lacked inner peace. He inhaled the vinous smoke as the corner of his lips twitched in a sad smile. His eyes deceived him being moist and a lone tear slipped down his face on the sand. The sand sucked the water as soon as it fell on it, and he wondered if his pain disappeared in thin air like that. He breathed out a puff of smoke through his nose and mouth. Looking up at the sky with the sad smile plastered on his face he spoke up, "Why so hatred for me, ya Rab?"

Then, I saw him standing by a door to a room, or somewhere. He had taken off his shirt. His upper body appeared bigger. They were tattoos all over his back, his trousers hung low on his waist, dangerously low. I could run my hands through this type of body all day without getting tired. He was receiving a phone call. He was immensely focused. I stood still, waiting for him to finish. His words didn’t make sense at first, until it got to the part where he said: “She doesn’t know a thing. I have it all under control… In the end everything will be mine.” His words made me tremble.

Me staring at a naked guy for the second time in my damn life. My breath caught in my throat, trapped. I was trapped. My eyes completely rebelled against my brain's frantic commands to look the fuck away. Instead, they traced the dark, heavy ink of a tattoo etched across his upper shoulder blades. Three words, bold and unyielding: "Built Through Pain." The script wasn't flashy or arrogant. It felt heavy. It looked like a scar turned into art—a quiet testament to something survival-driven. A strange, unbidden ache blossomed in my chest just looking at it.

Also he needs to find her wife's soul sisters because when his parents did their Gaathbandhan he vowed to cherish her, give her all the love she deserves and that's why he needs to reunite her with her lost family. ‘Will he survive this torture?’ – That’s what he was thinking from last few months. He now understands you reap what you sow. Every pain those men were inflecting on him reminded him how he tortured helpless people especially at thier worst. His skin became withered due to knife cuts. His palms are burnt with hot metal iron. He can't walk anymore except crawling. With every punches his body became numb, but with the physical pain he had to go through mental pain also. They made hi

One minute I was dreaming about her the other I was groaning and yelling under the pain, cursing the very day I decided to love her. On my chest was the fresh tattoo of the a logo I had never seen before. My tormentor was smiling at me with satisfaction. I let out an eerie scream and the echoe resounded in the room but the devil just smiled at me while holding the hot iron. I don't know what else he had done to me when I had passed away. The feeling of my whole body made me I had been under fire. I was restless and desperte. The well of my tears had tried up.

I am thankful he let me listen to that song. “Thank you… I almost forgot about those important details.” I bluntly said. He moves closer messing my hair making me grunt and gesture my hand, sliding it vertically to my neck. It’s a warning not to mess with my hair. “Oh… the tiger is now back.” I never mind what he was saying. I just focus on my drawing; maybe it will help me to find them. I picture out the tattoo I see on that bastard's left chest. It’s the only thing I can hold to find that tattoo. I draw a wolf eating the full moon looking up…maybe to praise the Moon Goddess or the opposite meaning? Devouring?

She was surely set out to punish me. A few minutes after my mate eft the room, I found my way to the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. I knew everything about me was different. A huge dark tattoo had appeared on my chest. It was a tattoo of a male in a cage and a female staring at the figure in the cage. Without being told, I was able to decipher the meaning. My freedom was gone. I was the male figure in the cage, the cage was prison set by the moon goddess, the female was my mate, my salvation.

He turned to the girl in front of him with a soulless expression. "I just followed the gunshot. Watching you? I had no business and I'm going to watch you? As for who I am, it's none of your business." The girl's eyes filled with anger as she smiled sarcastically and looked at the person in front of her from head to toe. He looked at her face and raised an eyebrow. She tied her hands to her chest. "As for who you are, I took my word back. There are thousands of workers working here. Anyway. I don't want to see you here again, let this be the last time. It's the first time I see someone who is afraid of gunfire."

It was the movement of a shadow detached from its source, a predator that had forgotten the limitations of bone and muscle. As he stood, the mud didn't cling to him; it seemed to recoil, as if the very earth was afraid of the cold that now radiated from his skin. The violet light in his eyes wasn't a flicker of life; it was a steady, lethal glow that seemed to eat the surrounding dimness. The new Void-Wolf mark on his chest was pulsing with a black, oily ink that writhed under his skin, seeking something to consume. It looked less like a tattoo and more like a wound that refused to heal. "Dante?" I whispered. My voice was a shredded thread, barely audible over the hum of the dying refinery.