Vinnie Hacker Back Tattoo Novels & Stories

"Yeah, have it?" Skoteinó chuckled and removed his white smiley mask that revealed the tattoos on his face. The tattoo that attracts Raverine the most is the official insignia of Die Dark — a smiling skull with a bloody fang. The tattoos were all over his dark-toned face. He also had piercings on his nose and lip — a typical look of an outlaw.

It's sleek, dangerous and oddly elegant…just like him. The other is definitely Vincenzo and he doesn't even spare me a glance. He's at the far end of the gym, punching a sandbag like it personally offended him. His jaw is clenched, muscles flexing with every precise, powerful hit. He's pure ice and fury, and somehow it makes him even more irresistible. I study the tattoo on his body too. His tattoo is a massive black wolf head etched across his back. The eyes of the wolf glow with white ink, glowing faintly under the overhead light.

The strong outdoor wind rushed into the car through the window. The smell of blood lingered in the car. Vivienne raised her right hand. She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, wiping off a warm drop of blood. She turned around. Reached out and grabbed the collar of the hitman who had died by the window. And pushed him outwards. The skin under the dead man's earlobe was exposed. “Look here.” Vivienne's finger pointed at that patch of skin. A coin - sized tattoo was printed on the skin.

Stamp ejaculated as soon as he viewed what Mahiriko just got to drawn on his skin. Mahiriko frown and punched Stamp's hand when he touches his chest. "D*mn you, Stamp. It's not a f*cking pussy, it's a tarantula, you sh*tty sh*t." He corrected and study the tattoo at his reflection at the mirror. Stamp laughed his ass out and shows his Betty Boop tattoo on his back. "You see this, man? This is the real tattoo." He even let out his laugh like a wheezing animal.

As he demanded, Athena made him a sandwich. By the time she was done cooking, he already came down, but without his shirt, he was only in his sweatpants, his tattoos visible to her. He had a cobra on his front and something that looked like a stork or a hawk in the back. She was figuring out why he got all of his skin covered in tattoos, “Stop ogling,” he yelled at her without a tiny bit of gentleness in his tone.

Valerio's hands, calloused and scarred from various battles due to his years of holding a gun, slid down the light fabric of her body onto her soft skin, provoking a shiver of sensitivity from Zona. Valerio subconsciously frowned when he touched the threadbare bump on her scapula, then moved towards then followed the scar upwards, but Zona grabbed her hand at once, "Mr Valerio, don't." She didn't want anyone to know about that wound of hers that she didn't want to show to others, which was why she had the tattoo artist from the prison tattoo tens of centimetres of rose vine tattoos on it.

Henry looked at me quietly, his voice so low and hoarse it barely sounded human. “Where?” I lifted a finger and shakily pointed a little lower on my back, toward those faintly visible indentations. It was an extremely private and extremely sensitive place. “I… I want to tattoo it on my lower back.” The moment the words left my mouth, I saw Henry’s pitch-black pupils contract sharply, narrowing to needle points. The sudden sense of danger made my skin prickle. … “Whoa… Who’s excited?” “Lower back! So scandalous!”

I say quietly, as I take Saggio’s leg. “One. Two. Three,” I count, then snap his shoulder back into place. I sit back while Hacker shifts, grunting in pain as he does. “I’m with you guys,” he says, looking at us and gingerly holding his arm against his body. “We have to have a mole.” “Who?” Siren asks, having heard us. “The squads are all here. You can’t tell me it was Lace or Nix,” she says. “Not the squads,” Hacker says.

Hated him. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sheets slipping away and pooling on the bed, leaving nothing between his bare skin and my eyes. His back muscles rippled as he moved, and there it was—the ink etched across his shoulder blades: "Veni, Vidi, Vici." I came. I saw. I conquered. Running down his spine was a tattoo of a dagger, flanked by two cobras coiled around its blade, each poised to strike the other.

The men leered but said nothing. Vincent tucked himself away, zipping up with deliberate slowness, his cock still semi-hard and glistening. He stood, towering over the desk at six-foot-four, his muscular frame straining against his crisp white shirt. Tattoos peeked from his collar, skulls, roses, and the Russo family crest. "You borrowed from the devil, boy. Now you pay the toll." Vincent's free hand shot out, punching Chris square in the gut. Air whooshed out of him, and he doubled over as much as the ropes allowed, retching. "That's for making me wait."