Tortured Soul Tattoo Novels & Stories

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.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stubborn man. I purse my lips and eye Liam once more. Like a mind reader, he picks up the iron bar and this elicits even greater fear in the young man. “No! NO! PLEASE NOOOO!” He is branded again, this time over his chest where a tattoo of a skull with a worm crawling out of its empty socket resides. He screams and reflexively draws himself toward the scorched spot, howling from the stinging pain even as his skin evaporates under the extreme temperature of the bar.

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.

My fingers ached to explore the sculpted lines, the subtle indentations, to trace the hidden contours of his body, to delve into the unspoken depths of his soul. I reached out, my hand drawn as if by an invisible force, my fingertips lightly tracing the intricate tattoo that adorned his right bicep. The inked design, a complex tapestry of swirling lines and ancient symbols, stood out in stark relief against the rich, bronze tone of his skin. He shivered slightly at the delicate touch, a subtle, involuntary response that sent a thrilling jolt of awareness coursing through me, a tangible sign of the power I held over him. I lingered on the intricate pattern, following the sweeping lines and in

Once again, my question is greeted with silence. I stare at him and the silence stretches on. Torture isn’t my go to method. And it’s usually Lucas who deals with that part. I study his exposed arms and chest. Ted really just stripped the man to his waist. Did he expect me to whip him into answering my questions? My eyes settle on a small tattoo on his right shoulder. It’s an insignia of a bird with its wings spread. One that I’ve seen before. My eyes narrow, “What does the Order of Eternity mean to you?”

The click of the seatbelt seems to seal me into his control. He slams the door shut with a deafening clap, his powerful frame filling the car as he starts the engine. My eyes are drawn to the intricate symbol tattoos adorning his bulging muscles, and I cannot help but feel both intimidated and mesmerised by them as they start to writhe and twist, moving across his skin as if alive. “Why do your tattoos move?” I whisper, my face unconsciously inching closer to his. His dark eyes meet mine, sending a shiver down my spine. “They’re ruins,” he answers gravely. “Tobin cast them to ward off dark magic.” I can’t tear my gaze away from the pulsating marks on his skin. “But why do they move?” I wonde

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.

Thor killed his third attacker and stepped back toward me. “How many?” he asked. I did not answer. Because I was counting differently. Not how many remained. But how many were designed to die. That was when I saw it. On the wrist of one of the fallen wolves, partially exposed beneath torn fabric. A mark. A tattoo. Recognizable. I froze for a fraction of a second longer than I should have. Thor noticed immediately. “What is it?” I knelt slowly, pulling the wrist closer. The symbol was burned into skin with deliberate precision.