Tris Tattoo Insurgent Novels & Stories

My eyes drifted down to his torso, and my breath caught. God must have enlisted his finest artist to carve Killian Knight. The tattoo, a haunting web of thorned vines, began at his right hip and sprawled across his torso. Its black branches reached his heart, with another branch peeking over his left shoulder and spreading down his arm to his elbow. The intricate design, hidden beneath his clothes, was now fully exposed.

She had no idea he would use this information, this USB, against her husband. And there was more. The drive also contained a weak, trembling voice—his twin, alive somewhere, calling for rescue. Hope and fury collided in Nickey’s chest, giving his anger a sharper edge. Trina bent to snip another rose. A thorn pricked her finger, drawing a drop of blood. Nickey’s eyes widened as he saw the strange symbol etched faintly into her skin—the same markings from the explosion site. Cult involvement? The thought made the hairs on his neck rise.

He scoffed, taking off his trousers, and I looked away. A wave of dread washed over me, not sure what to expect next. Fear rose in my chest as I curled my fingers into the bedspread. By the time I looked back up, he was fully undressed, but he had his back facing me. I felt a drool escape my lip as my eyes traveled over his body—broad shoulders, his muscular back adorned with a large crest tattoo, identical to his brother's, except he was larger, taking up the entire top left side of his back. The tattoo depicted a shield with two swords crossed above it. Two lions stood on their hind legs, pulling the shield from both sides. Below the shield, a banner displays the name "Dontrell." The desig

“Or she must have something they want.” “But what?” I asked and no one had the answer. We sat in silence for a few seconds. Then Marcus spoke. “You remember the rogues that shot at us when we were heading to the Western Region?” I nodded. “Of course.” Marcus rolled up his sleeve. “Look,” he said. A dark triangle tattoo was inked near his wrist. It was simple. Three lines. My eyes widened. “Where did you get that?” “It’s not mine,” Marcus said quickly. “I copied it. One of the men we caught had it. The other one had the same tattoo in the exact same spot.”

“Your tattoos are beautiful.” I look at the tattoo of a skull surrounded by black flames. My whole right arm is decorated with tattoos from shoulder to wrist. My skin prickles with every caress of her fingers, but I don’t stop her from touching me. The tattoo sleeve has several tribal symbols, and there are a seal trident and a frogman tattoo on my shoulder. Each tattoo represents something in my life. The skull represents my status as an Assassin, and the cross is a play on my name. Her finger moves down the line of my intricate cross, then to the inside of my rib cage, where I have an inscription. Qui velit, ut vivat in aeternum.

Trist's shocked reaction. "In this world apart from my talent I was born a murderer, so I will die with my hands dirty." His answer was full of resentment. Trist didn't drink any more, instead it just drank some alcohol. Then it tapped his left shoulder, causing him to look at its hand for a moment and stare at his friend. "I will not interfere with your decision, I will still support you." Trist smiled at him. The next day he woke up early because he knew he had a visitor coming later, so he had to get ready. While his friend Trist left his house early in the morning because there was an emergency at the newly built business.

I could just hear my heart beat getting louder as I slowly bent down and took a closer look at the ink . It was a simple tribal tattoo of three triangles interlocked into one common point. The triquetra tattoo looked to be darker along the interlocked parts of the triangles. “Where did you get that tattoo done?” I made sure to keep my very as stable as possible as I nonchalantly asked the question that was sending my heart into a frenzy. “It’s a birthmark,” He did not seem to care for much about the answer as he dryly answered while his focus remained on my leg .

It felt lewd to be standing there with both nipples pierced, whilst the four very clean cut middle aged women watched. “Nice tattoos,” Iris murmured. “Fresh ones too.” She exchanged a look with Patience before cutting down the side seam of the tracksuit pants, her fingers brushing against Aislen’s skin as she did so. (… F-king Triquetra… That’s Rhett’s work, and the Triquetra triangle. Who is this girl? And why has Rhett Salem tattooed her as being the Triquetra’s property… Ah, f-k…) The pants removal had revealed the rest of the tattoos.

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.

chest rising in a calm rhythm like he was meditating, not surrounded by criminals. Speaking of his tattoos, he's got the weirdest tats I have seen on any guy. His back bore the most outrageous tattoos in the history of tattoos. His back looked like someone had lost a wrestling match with a possessed octopus holding a tattoo gun. From shoulder to shoulder, the ink sprawled like a chaotic crime scene—tribal swirls, demonic curls, and angry squiggles that might’ve once meant something, but now just screamed, “I don’t pay taxes and I bite.”