Tris Tattoo Insurgent Novels & Stories

Waiting to see me. I smoothed my palms down the deep, lustrous fabric of my gown, a cascade of emerald silk that flowed like liquid moonlight around me. It was simple in its design, yet undeniably regal, chosen by the triplets themselves with an intuitive understanding of what would best complement my newfound status. My mark—their mark, the intricate Luna insignia that pulsed with a quiet warmth—still tingled on the side of my neck, a subtle, constant reminder of our completed bond, a living proof etched onto my skin.

Savio looked taken aback by everything. Tristan walked up to Adam. “Then you’ll have to open your fucking mouth instead.” “I told you. It was an accident. If you don’t believe me, why don’t you finish what Drake began and burn off the rest of my tattoo?” Adam shoved his forearm toward Tristan. The upper part of the tattoo with the knife handle and part of the eye was gone, replaced by gnarly burn scars. It gave the rest of the eye that remained a sad droopy look.

It was so fucking frustrating! “I need answers,” I said, and three sets of jaws clenched shut. “Fine. Then go fuck yourselves.” I stood and headed for the door. I’d given them an out. If they got killed now, it was their own damn fault. I reached for the doorknob and paused, staring at my hand. The tattoo. I turned around. If they insisted on trying to protect me, they would need all the help they could get. Lifting my hand, I pointed to the spot between my thumb and forefinger. “The guy last night had a tattoo right here. It was all black ink. A stylized V with an ouroboros around it. I’ve never seen it before. I’m not sure—”

The love of my life. Silvy The day after Goof proposed and claimed me he took me to Tank's tattoo shop to get my mark. Was I nervous? Hell yes. I was nervous about the entire process. Tank, bless the gentle giant, let me bring Ant in with us. Ant was a hit at the shop. I was a little worried the receptionist might not give him back. It took Tank forty five minutes to finish the work on my shoulder. According to Goof that is the least sexy part of my body. Did it burn? Sure. But not as bad as I thought it would be. I wanted to see what it looked like. Tank stood me in front of his mirror. It was amazing. It looked my the Renegades emblem with a motorcycle driving through the middle of it. A

“Let go of me. You fucker let go of me!” Tristan's eye pierces into mine. No eye patch on his bad eye. He takes off his shirt, slow and seductive, making sure I follow every movement. His abs flex, tattoos over scarred skin. I see my name tattooed on his abdomen. I look past his boxer band to the large bulge between his thighs. I don't like the way he's sweating despite the AC. Don't like those full chest beating hard. Most of all, I hate that look in his eye. That vulnerability.

- he said, looking at his body in surprise and a little indignantly. Beneath that gorgeous abs were muscular, strong thighs, and in the back, firm and firm... erm... well... just like a nut! And above this very bottom part of the nut was ... Tattoo! All the way back!!! She went from the very bottom of the back to the cervical vertebrae, slightly touching the shoulders. The tattoo, which was most surprising, was black and red and depicted some symbols, the meaning of which he did not know. There was also an inscription in a language that no one but the initiates knows. Alrian.

And apparently, he knew how to do a tattoo with ashes in the ink. Like the other veterans from his pack that had gone, he was a little surprised to find out that ashes from Duke and Rory were in their tattoos. And now she was getting Marley done the same way. Celeste was wearing a halter top that showed off her back piece. The Silver Lake Pack Crest was on her right shoulder blade, the Marine Corps Pack Crest in the center and she had already talked to the artist about putting his Crest on the left. Beneath that were Angel wings with a silver and black wolf between them. He assumed this was in tribute to Angel.

He snapped. "You think?" I managed to croak out. He was already breaking a rule about not confronting anyone in a public environment. Just when he wanted to speak, I swung and gave him a swift roundhouse kick to the ribs. He groaned, clutching his ribs in pain. Instinctively, I looked at the tattoo on my arm. It was intricate and fine, with no flaws even in the smallest portions. It bore the crest proudly. Two lions, interlocked with a snake-like figure. Every member had to get the same crest before they were admitted.

"You're still here?" "Don't act so surprised," she tried the joke out. It was a little funny—it was something that she could definitely work on and with. "No, I am, I figured you would be long gone, in another room by now." Her eyes landed on his bare chest, and she fought not to stare. Clinton had been an older man, and while Travis' stomach and chest weren't as muscular as some of the others she had seen working at Wet Wanda's, he was very good looking to her. On one pectoral, he had a large tattoo. She had seen the ones on his arms before, but this one was different. This was one that he purposely kept hidden from other people, and it could only be seen because he had chosen to take his s

The hoodie draped loosely over his head, obscuring his face, but the flicker of city lights occasionally illuminated the sharp lines of his jaw and the hints of a sinister smirk playing on his lips. The wind picked up, a fierce breeze whipping across the rooftop and causing the hood to flutter. As the fabric shifted, it revealed a chiseled, muscular torso adorned with intricate tattoos, each line telling a story of violence, power, and mystery. Prominently displayed on the left side of his chest was a large, bold tattoo—the words *Nosce Hostem* inked in a jagged, menacing script that seemed almost to pulse with life against his skin. The tattoo, a clear message, spoke of a deep connection to