Maxwell had many tattoos, some of them were for fun, during drunk nights and dirty thoughts. He'd gotten the blonde beauty on his arm because of a dare, the hat of the jester with the little bells had been in a time of self-loathing, when he thought as a teenager that he was nothing but a puppet attached to his father's strings, a joke to laugh about and to entertain him as he danced around, doing all that the old man asked of him, only for him to never be satisfied.
Members of hell's heaven preferred tattoos, it was the best indication of their personality, when they were forced to wear dark clothes, there was no limitation on tattoos and piercings for their self-expression. That was why Bunny had a little pink soft tail, fluttery whiskers, and fur that looked soft to the touch, on her upper shoulder. It was why Cam had a red Ferrari being choked by a mythical dragon on his lower back. It was also why Spike had the image of a theatrical mask over his heart, and it smiled. But, Maxwell's first tattoo, he wouldn't say it was against his will, but it certainly wasn't wanted.
He still remembered after that incident in the dirty apartment, shooting that man through the chest. They had forced him into the car, back to the chapter base, and guided him up to the condo, where Reggie sat, waiting in the living room with his tools. At 14, he remembered the needle being unnerving, he heard from the others that tattoos were painful. He asked his father if it could wait, but the old man only scoffed, gripping him by the back of the neck. He was forced on his stomach against the cushions of the couch, held down by his arms, a bent knee digging painfully into his lower back. He struggled, but it was only for a few moments. Denying it further would only make him look like a fool. So, he let Reggie shave away just under his hairline at the lower back of his neck, giving him a look with his wide, bright eyes, that could have killed. He had been initiated, he was a member for the rest of his life.
The needle penetrating his skin in such a sensitive part of his body, it had been so painful, he forcefully curled his fingers into fists, just above the grips holding his wrists, pinning him to the leather couch with more force than was probably necessary. The surface was cold, and it smelled like a chemical cleaner, unavoidable when your face is literally shoved into it.
The brand took just over an hour, a sharp, rigid dagger with such a shiny blade that could penetrate any skin with a weak press, it had blood still dripping from its edge. The hilt was wooden and aged, like a fine wine. Above, in bold letters, was his name, LUCAS. It was because he was the descendant of an originator he would be forced to endure the choke of his family name. They said it was in case they found his body in such a condition that fingerprints and facial ID were no longer possible, but he knew better. This name, it would follow him for the rest of his miserable life, never to be removed from its taint across his skin. Now, he had done the same to her, out of rage and...fear
Her head pounded like it was being repeatedly smacked by a mallet, and the pillow didn't help, despite her efforts to shove it over her head, groaning. She had never drank that much in her life, and certainly, the hangover wasn't any incentive to do it again.
She opened her eyes, blinded by the light that crept below the pillow, but even that was too much, snapping her eyes shut. They fucking burned. Somehow, she found herself intact, granted her lower back and her neck would beg to differ, it hurts to have someone on top of you. Her eyes snapped open, realizing that she shouldn't have been laying in bed, she should have been having a heart attack and dying on the floor.
She felt mortified, digging her head into the sheets. Her throat was so dry, and her stomach was doing flips, certainly from the alcohol, it had to be the alcohol. But, the shift of her head caused a sudden rawness at the back of her neck, just under the nape of her hair. She didn't remember being injured there, but reaching back her shaky hand under the blanket, she felt a piece of gauze, held to the skin with medical tape.
YOU ARE READING
His Angel
Romance"You have a name, don't you?" his voice was deep and irritable, but rather calm. Her eyes lifted just slightly, now staring at the edges of dark hair that hung an inch or two from his shoulders. Her lack of answer seemed to annoy him further, she co...
