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 KING OF SPADES

BLACK SPADES TRILOGY

PART I

STEPH MACCA

King of Spades

Copyright © 2022 Steph Macca

All rights reserved.
 This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the
product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval

system or transmitted in any form or any means, without prior
permission in writing from the author, nor be otherwise circulated in
any form other than that in which it is published and without a
similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the
subsequent purchases.
 Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Author’s Note
COMING SOON…

For my girls who live in the white but crave a little grey or
darkness from time to time…
 Chapter 1

BANG.
Well fuck. When they say you should start off your 18th birthday
with a bang, surely, they didn’t mean literally?
Today started like any other day. I woke up, not immediately
feeling any older, but like any responsible adult, decided to get a
good old cup of coffee. I had planned to treat myself by going down
to Oreo’s, my favorite coffee shop but now I’m sitting on my ass in
my driveway, staring at my poor old car that is currently on-fucking-
fire. Seriously, what did Betty the Bug ever do to anyone?
In my semi-dazed state, I reached into my back pocket and
grabbed my phone out before dialing my Dad’s number. How do I
even start that conversation? Hi Dad, sorry to bother you at work.
It’s my birthday and my car just blew up in our driveway…
I hit dial and put the phone to my ear, blowing a piece of
chocolate-reddish hair out of my face, my amber eyes blinking at the
shit storm in front of me.
It rang three times before I heard a muffled noise and my Dad’s
voice in the background talking to someone. “Just send it to the
Judge for review and have him sign off on it. Blair, love. Happy
Birthday. I was going to pop my head in your room this morning
before I left but I know you were up late studying.”
“Hi Dad. I have a bit of a problem…” I trailed off, unable to put
words together, my disbelief piled up as high as the flames on Betty.
“What is it, love? I’m about to run to court but I can meet for
lunch if you like.”
“Betty is dead, Dad.”
I heard paperwork being moved around at the other end of the
phone. “Do you want me to call Greg? He could probably swing by
and take a look for you.”
 I tilted my head and pursed my lips. “Uh, sorry Dad but a
mechanic isn’t going to cut it I’m afraid. She’s on fire. In the
driveway.”
The paperwork shuffling ceased as I heard Dad’s breathing pause
as my words sunk in. “What do you mean ‘on fire’?”
I let out a shaky laugh because quite honestly, what else can you
do at this point?
“I mean, I went to go to Oreo’s, but I left my jacket behind. I
started the car and left it running whilst I went back inside, and it
blew up. Anyways, I might need a ride to school…”
“A ride to school- oh Jesus. Probably not a priority right now but
I’ll… I’ll contact the other prosecutor in my team and see if he can
take my court mentions this morning. I’ll be home soon. You aren’t
hurt, are you?”
I shook my head, temporarily forgetting that even in the 21st
century, people can’t see through the phone. “No, I’m fine. I just…
really need a coffee.”

You would think that after a near death experience, your day
would monumentally get better because what else could beat that.
But of course, when it rains, it pours. I was late to school which is a
big no-no at Woodland Academy Prep. You would think when our
parents are paying bucket loads of cash, the school would be a little
lenient, but no. They lived to remind us that we are supposed to be
elitists and their expectation was nothing short of perfection. Which
is rather absurd when Ravana Cove is run by gangs and half the
gang’s children attend Woodlands. The other half attend Argento
High on the other side of the Cove.
Trust me when I say the future gang members at Woodlands are
not the epitome of perfection and elitist – they are violent, dark
savages, who despite the expectations of the school, get away with
everything because not only do they pay the school an insane
amount of money for tuition, but they are scary as fuck and basically
run the school, just like the gangs run the town.
Fortunately, most gang members at Woodlands belong to the
Black Spades, and the kids from the Hunters gang go to Argento. I
suppose they had to draw the line somewhere when it came to
separating the gangs – no one wants a bunch of hormonal, blood-
thirsty kids bunched up together for 35 hours a week. That’s just
asking for trouble – and not the good kind.

I stumbled into Mr. Thomson’s room 3 minutes late, which in the

grand scheme of things, is not bad considering – you know – my car
blowing up in my face this morning. But try telling that to Mr.
Receding-Hairline.
“Ms. Fortin! The bell rang several minutes ago. Are you completely
inept or just lacking brains in that head of yours?”
My cheeks burned as I forced myself to swallow before answering.
“My apologies, Mr. Thomson. There was a situation this morning.”
Mr. Thomson scoffed, his murky brown eyes glaring at me with
anger. “Oh, praise tell. What is this situation then?”
My eyes ran over the class quickly – a mixture of eyes staring back
at me; some in annoyance, some bored and some in amusement for
my predicament.
“My car caught on fire.” No use lying. Our street is filled with other
families and fellow students, so no doubt someone would have seen
the commotion and by the end of the day, people will know
anyways.
Mr. Thomson raised a furry eyebrow before grunting in annoyance.
Sarcasm paved his words as he reached behind to his desk and
started writing on a piece of pink paper.
“How horrible. Guess since you don’t have a car, you won’t mind
staying for detention this afternoon.”
He thrusted the pink slip towards me, with a look that dared me to
argue. Motherfucker.
I bit the inside of my lip to curve my tongue. Being the daughter
of a prosecutor kind of set the bar high to make sure you behaved –
even when you shouldn’t have to. I snatched the paper from his
wrinkly old fingers and made my way to my desk in the center of the
room. I looked up the aisle as I walked and found electric blue eyes
staring at me.
My heart flittered in my chest as I took in Reed Xanderson’s glare.
Despite how unbelievably striking and downright fucking stunning
Reed was with his jet-black hair, strong jaw and damn fine masculine
physique, he was the son of the Black Spades leader – and as
intimidating as his father. Reed was known to be vicious, dominating
and happy to use whatever force necessary to get what he wanted.
I snapped my eyes to the floor as I took the last few steps to my
seat, relieved to have the opportunity to face Mr. Thomson’s ugly
receding hair line and monobrow. Let’s just say that having the
attention of a gang leader is the last thing you want as the daughter
of a criminal prosecutor.
 Chapter 2

By the time mid-day break rolled around, I was desperate to get

away from the stares and taunts. It seemed everyone was now well
and truly aware that Betty had met her fiery end this morning.
I spotted familiar blonde curly hair bouncing ahead of me and I let
out a sigh of relief. I raced forward and reached my hand out to tap
the owner’s shoulder.
I copped a curl to the face as the owner twirled to face me and a
snort reached my ears. “Well Blair Bear, I heard you’ve had a
fantastic birthday so far.” My face drooped as I took in my best
friend’s amused expression.
“Quinn, you have no idea. I didn’t even get my damn coffee, then
I got detention after I nearly bloody died.”
“Oh, well, the coffee is a travesty in itself,” Quinn said as her hazel
eyes softened. “But I’m glad you are okay. You hear about that type
of stuff happening when people are driving – especially on
highways.”
I knew she had a rational point. Two years ago, we saw a car
catch fire from an oil leak when we were heading to the beach for
spring break. But still, the bang was ringing in my ears from this
morning. I had never experienced an ounce of danger in my life, but
I still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this morning I got lucky
from something more sinister. Betty had just been serviced three
weeks ago…
I walked next to her as we headed towards the recreational
grounds to sit. I was just starting to forget about my shit-filled
birthday when a figure moved in front of me. I was so zoned out
that I didn’t stop myself in time and collided with a hard chest.
Great.
I looked up into obsidian eyes, framed by side-sleeked blonde hair.
Fuck me.
 Colton Cadman stared down at me like I was a bug inconveniently
placed on his expensive shoe. I held a shutter inside as I forced
myself to meet his dangerous glare. Colton was Reed’s right-hand
man – one third of the infamous Spades Trio. Whilst Reed was
known to be vicious and merciless, Colton was rumored to be the
blood thirsty one of the pack. His school attire of a jacket, tie and
way-too-good, fitted pants coupled with a black trench coat almost
gave a false sense of appearance, but from what I’ve heard, Colton
was a savage in the underground fighting ring.
I felt burning eyes on me, and I turned my head to the right to
find emerald-green eyes staring back at me. My breath stuttered
from Colton’s cold glaze to Grayson’s burning fiery watch – the
comparison giving me emotional whiplash.
Grayson Parker. Holy motherfucking hell. The boy was gorgeous.
His light brown hair was long on top and shaved at the sides. He had
the jawline of a God, feathered by stubble and the body of an
athlete.
Quinn stiffened at my side and I inadvertently shifted closer to her.
I had never spoken to the Spades Trio in my life, and now suddenly I
was faced with all three of them in one day. Happy fucking Birthday
to me.
I forced a smile at Grayson because Colton’s cold calculated glare
was too much to handle without a coffee. Or four. “Can I help you?”
Grayson chuckled and stepped closer to me. My body stiffened –
conflicted as to whether it should step back to Quinn or move closer
to the God himself. Hey, I’m only human.
“We heard that apparently you had some car trouble this
morning.”
My brows creased. Why would they care about a no name like me
and Betty’s demise? “Uhh, yeah. My car must have had an oil leak
and caught alight this morning.”
“Sounds terrifying. You must have been so scared,” he said as his
emerald eyes smoldered over my frame and I felt heat creep into my
cheeks.
“I’m fi-”
 “Is it your birthday?” My eyes snapped back to Colton. His tone
was cold, accusing, with a hint of ‘I dare you to lie to me’.
I blinked at him. Odd question to ask really. It’s not like I’m
expecting them to suddenly break out in song with a birthday cake.
“You mean like today?” I stuttered out. Well done, Blair. If Colton
didn’t think I was an idiot before, he certainly did now.
Dark eyes narrowed at me. Fuck – they nearly looked completely
black, even in the sunlight. “Yes, Princess. Like today,” he mocked
back at me, in a tone that obviously suggested he was already fed
up with me.
My heart jolted in my chest painfully. “Yes, it is. Shit start, eh?” I
forced out a laugh. Colton’s face remained unchanged but as my
gaze filtered to Grayson, I saw an unrecognizable emotion shift over
his face. As quickly as it appeared, it vanished, and his award-
winning smile cut through my stomach.
“Well, happy birthday then.”
“Uh, thanks,” I looked between them, confused at the direction of
the conversation. Quinn cleared her throat behind me and despite
her voice slightly shaking, she gripped my arm lightly. “Well, we
better get moving, Blair. We have that thing to get to…”
I nodded before stepping back to move around Colton and
Grayson. “Have a good one … day, I mean.”
Quinn gripped my arm tightly until we were a fair distance away,
and it wasn’t until I knew they couldn’t hear me that I let out a long
breath that I didn’t even realize I had been holding.
“Holy fuck. What the fuck was that about?”
Quinn shook her head. “Beats me. I try to avoid the Spades like
the plague.”
I threw my bag on the ground as we reached our favorite shady
tree. “This day just keeps getting weirder and weirder.”
Quinn smiled softly at me, “Well, I know what will cheer you up.”
She reached into her beige school bag and pulled out a container
with two red velvet cupcakes, followed by two bottles of iced coffee.
My eyes lit up as I smiled back at her. Maybe this birthday was
salvageable still.
 Chapter 3

By the time I got home that afternoon, I was ready to be done

with 18. Thankfully, nothing further eventful happened other than
Mrs. Rafferty in economics grilling me about my skirt being too short
– despite the precious gems of the social climbing bitch circle
flaunting the rules, and my skirt only being an inch shorter than the
requirements. I had just had a growth spurt – so sue me.
I dropped my bag with a heavy sigh as I headed into my room but
shuffling of paperwork from my Dad’s office down the corridor lit up
my face. I rushed down and pushed the partially opened door into
the office.
John Fortin was a proud man. His dark brown hair was usually
curly, but he kept it shaved. It was rare to see him without a
business suit or some type of similar attire. He looked up, his light
brown eyes twinkling as he took me in.
“Happy Birthday, Blair Bear.” He ran his hand down his chin and
sat back in his chair, “How was your day?”
I scoffed playfully. “Besides Betty getting a little burnt? It was
okay.”
Dad looked at me and smiled tightly, “Not the best start to
adulthood then.”
I shook my head, my slightly wavy hair floating around my elbows
with the movement. I ran a hand through my hair, pushing it back
out of my face. “Not particularly. But such is life.”
His face softened as he took in my expression. He could always
read me like a book – which I guessed is why he was promoted to
senior prosecutor last year. He had a knack for reading between the
lines and catching criminals out on the stand.
“How about we order some buffalo wings and cheese sauce and
have a movie night? I can deal with this tomorrow,” he gestured his
hand carelessly over the pile of paperwork.
 I smiled at the mention of my favorite food, “That sounds great,
Dad. But I think I might just have an early night. Mr. Thomson
hinted at his usual special Friday pop quiz, so I want to be ready for
it. You know how much I hate math.”
Dad nodded gently. “Of course. Well, if you need me, I’ll be in
here for a while.”
“Thanks Dad”. Any further conversation was cut off as his phone
buzzed to life on his desk. I took that moment to head out the door
and back to my room.
My room was my sanctuary – the place where I allowed myself to
feel the most vulnerable. The walls were a light grey-blue and my
furniture was charcoal black. I’m sure other girls liked the pastels
and bright colors, but for me, despite trying my best to work
towards the light and my desired career as a future lawyer, I couldn’t
help but feel my soul was always a little dimmed. Maybe it was the
hole in my heart that was my mom. Maybe without a strong female
influence I just forgot how to … girl.
I sat on my bed and stared at the roof, wondering what it would
have been like to have my mom here for my 18th birthday. My mom
died during childbirth; a complication called HELLP syndrome. The
doctors had managed to save me, but not her. Despite Dad
reassuring me over and over that she would have wanted me to
survive, I couldn’t help feeling like it was my fault she wasn’t here.
Maybe that’s why I lived in the grey, because the white just didn’t
make sense to me.

I exited Mr. Thomson’s room feeling nauseous. As predicted, he

surprised us with a pop quiz, and not to let us get excited about
Friday, he made it extra brutal. At least I was done for the week and
could hopefully forget about that monstrosity by staring into the
bottom of a glass – of vodka that is.
To celebrate the weather warming up, some seniors were throwing
a party tonight. You know what they say about elitists: the harder
you try to mold them into perfect soldiers, the harder the rebels
fight back. Woodlands might be an aristocratic playground, but it
was also founded on anarchy and chaos – fueled by a gang war
made pretty by cash.
I found Quinn standing by her red Mazda 6 outside the school
grounds, the smell of fresh tobacco hitting my senses as I got closer.
She turned at the sound of my footsteps and smiled, holding out the
open packet of smokes for me. I reached in and pulled one out,
before snagging her lighter from her pink tipped fingers.
“I am so keen for this party,” she said, as she leaned against her
car.
I nodded as I inhaled my first drag. “Me too. I need to unwind and
just forget about this shit week.”
Quinn threw her bag in the back of her car. “Well, let’s crack to it.
I managed to snag some old vodka from my brother, so we can pre-
drink at mine. I need a buzz, and not my favorite kind if you know
what I mean.” I snorted as she raised her eyebrows at me
suggestively.
“Down girl. I’m sure you’ll find a nice willing participant tonight to
blow your mind. I heard that some of the boys from Argento might
be swinging by.”
Quinn and I hopped in the car, the radio blaring to life with Fall
Out Boy’s ‘The Phoenix’ as we pulled away from the school. I flicked
ash out the window as I took in another drag. “I can’t stop thinking
about yesterday,” I confessed to her.
I turned my head to watch Quinn, her gaze remaining on the
road, but her eyebrows creased in concern, “Which part?”
“I mean Betty was a shock but dealing with Colton and Grayson.
I’m always worried that somehow I’ll end up on the wrong side of a
gang war with Dad’s work.”
Quinn frowned, “I can understand why. But I’m sure it’s all fine.
There’s no reason for you to be on the Spades radar.”
I nodded but remained quiet. I didn’t tell her about Reed’s dark
glare or the shivers I felt when I thought about the bang, or the way
I screamed in my driveway as I felt the flames warm up my face.
 EDM was vibrating through the bass, and a swarm of bodies
pressed together as Quinn and I made our way inside the brick and
iron clad two-storey mansion. The weather was a little chilly tonight,
but we had forgone any warmer weather clothing as we braced
ourselves for the sweat and heat that would inevitably come from
booze and hot bodies pressing into each other.
Quinn’s curls bounced around her shoulders as she led us to the
makeshift bar. A black tight dress hugged her petite frame and just
managed to cover her ass. But damn if that girl couldn’t rock it.
I was more of a comfort creature – dressed in a tight black short
denim skirt, and a white short sleeved mid-drift top; my toned
stomach only just on display between the top of my belly button to
the bottom of my rib cage. Whilst most girls here wore some type of
heels, I had treated my feet to a break with my favorite pair of lace
up, black combat boots.
I grinned as Quinn reached over to the bar where she grabbed
two red Solo cups and began making some kind of concoction – my
eyes already watering at the over-mixture of spirits. But hey, it’s the
freaking-weekend. She handed me a cup filled with vodka and
lemonade, “Bottoms up, babe.” We clinked our cups before downing
the contents – my throat burning at the familiar taste of Russian
pleasure.
I grabbed Quinn’s hand and led her over to the floor to dance.
“Come on! I need to warm up a bit while I wait for the vodka to do
it.” We reached a small space on the floor and moved to the music.
My eyes closed as I took small sips of my drink and let myself go –
the sweet release giving me mad endorphins.
We stayed like this for a few minutes before I heard a familiar
voice call out to us. I opened my eyes and saw dark blue eyes and a
mop of blonde hair making their way over.
“Levi!” Quinn moved forward and wrapped her arms around his
neck. He squeezed her in a hug before moving to me and doing the
same.
 “Hey girls. Good to see you here.”
Levi was 6’1” with a tanned complexion that sent girls mad. He
was a bit of a jock but a good guy, only slightly douchey at the best
of times. We became friends with him about a year ago when we
met at another party, which is where we usually always caught up
with him.
Quinn leaned over to yell in his ear from the music. “Have you
seen Mallik? I’m keen to get some MJ from him.” Levi nodded in
response and grabbed her wrist. “Come on, I’ll take you to him.”
They threw a look at me in question. I shook my head, “You guys
go. I’ll be around here. I might duck outside for a smoke.”
Levi gave a little salute in the air with his hand to acknowledge
me, before they disappeared out of sight.
I walked over to the bar, stopping briefly to top up my drink
before heading through the kitchen to go outside. I had some idea
of the house layout from previous senior parties, which had really
ramped up over the past 6 months. The parties were where we
found our release and incited the rebellion from the elitists.
Stepping outside into the air, I shivered as I walked over to the
bonfire in the yard. I reached into my skirt pocket and pulled out a
lone smoke and my lighter, sparking it up as I stood in front of the
fire. I sipped my drink and glanced around at the people nearby.
Several couples were actively engaged in saliva swapping, and the
other students were clearly drunk or high. I recognized my fellow
elitists and smirked at their indifference to our expectations. Yeah,
you can’t keep good girls down.
I heard footsteps behind me and turned around to see one of
Levi’s friends approach me. “Hey, you’re Blair, right?” he asked in a
husky, slightly slurred tone. I nodded, trying to wrack my brain to
remember if I’ve ever spoken to this guy in my life.
Mr. Tipsy-Douche pushed his brown hair back from his face,
flashing me a smile, “You’re Levi’s friend.”
Uh-oh. I suspect I’ve just entered Over-Compensating Big Dick
Energy Road. Not the first time I’ve had to fend off friends of Levi’s
who try to use his friendship with me to get their dicks wet. What is
it about jocks thinking they are God’s gift to women?
 I opened my mouth to speak when I felt my skin tingle. I whipped
my head around and found myself immediately locked with a set of
stormy eyes – those electric blue eyes.
Reed Xanderson stood about ten feet away, beer in hand staring
at me. He stood in front of the fire on the other side, with Grayson
and Colton next to him. A few groupie girls were clinging to their
sides, trying to score themselves lucky no doubt.
I zoned out and missed what Mr. Tipsy-Jock-Face was saying, my
breath caught in my throat as Reed’s eyes pierced my skin in the
worse possible way. He wore a pair of fitted dark jeans, and a black
buttoned up shirt which was rolled up at the sleeves. Fuck me dead.
Those forearms…
My gaze involuntarily moved to Grayson who was smirking at an
annoying brunette who I recognized from the social ladder climbing
bitch circle. Megan, I think her name was? I couldn’t remember at
this stage – all I could focus on was Grayson’s fitted, strong legs
wrapped in denim and his black hoodie which did nothing to hide his
sheer muscular frame.
Emerald eyes hovered over my face and I felt my cheeks go red at
being caught staring at him. His smirk widened as he looked over
my face, clearly thrilled at the attention.
I swear, I could happily just watch him all day if my hormones got
their own way…
I ripped my stare away, the contact from his smug face burning a
hole in my stomach and making my thighs damp. Damnit. Seriously,
fuck off hormones.
Black, obsidian eyes met mine and the fire in my stomach was
doused with ice cold water. Colton glared at me with such an
intensity that I couldn’t even focus on his dark blue jeans and black
hoodie. Like Grayson, his frame was not hidden by the fabric, and I
swallowed harshly remembering the rumors that Colton was a blood
thirsty fighter. Despite my best efforts and the knot in my stomach,
the situation in my panties did not change.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
I shook my head to bring myself out of my daze and swung my
gaze back to what’s-his-face. He had an annoyed expression from
realizing he had momentarily lost my attention but grinned at me
when I stared back again.
“Anyways I was saying, did you want me to get you another
drink?”
I inhaled a long drag, trying to collect my thoughts. Normally I
had no problem palming these jerks off, but my game was off now
that I had three burning gazes coming from behind me.
“Listen…” I paused, waiting for him to fill in the blank.
“Nathan.”
“Right, Nathan. Listen… flattered and all but I’m cool with my
drink and smoke here. Tell Levi I’m around if he needs me.” I gave
him a sympathetic little pat on his peck and stepped around him,
ignoring the indignant scoff that came out of his mouth. Self-
righteous, arrogant fuck face.
I made a beeline towards some trees and looked at the paddock
that extended out the back of the mansion grounds. I just needed to
get away from people for five minutes.
I reached the first set of trees and leaned back onto one, my eyes
trailing over the partygoers back closer to the house. I felt a wave of
disappointment that I still felt something. Anything. I had that
niggling feeling in my stomach, the usual guilt that lived inside me
rearing its ugly head again as I tried to repeat calming words to
myself.
You’re good. You’re fine. It’s not your fault. You can be happy. Be
happy. Just relax.
I looked at my drink before downing the contents – the nearly full
cup cooling my throat as I skulled the drink in desperation. I just
wanted - no, needed - to numb it all for a little bit.
I frowned at the empty cup and took another long drag of my
smoke before reaching the end of the stick. I flicked it on the
ground, stomping it out whilst waiting for some alcoholic numbness
to sweep over me.
A crack behind me registered in my brain and I turned and looked
into the darkness of the trees. It wasn’t uncommon for animals to be
hanging around at this time of night but usually they kept clear
when there was a bonfire and an abundance of people making
noise.
I turned back to look at the partiers and noticed a lot of people
had made their way inside, cheering coming from the living room. I
could just faintly make out some people standing upside down on a
keg, and yells of encouragement to drink.
I took a step towards the bonfire when another crack behind me
stopped me in my tracks. The noise this time was closer, much
closer than the other one. The vodka was starting to numb me, but
it didn’t stop the hairs on my neck from standing up.
“Hello?” I forced out. Alarm bells started ringing in my head and
my instincts were screaming at me to turn around and get inside
immediately. But, like I said, I lived in the grey and was drawn to the
unknown and the danger.
A small whimper came from the darkness, tugging at my stomach.
Was someone in danger? Why wouldn’t they just call out or answer
me?
I stood frozen in my spot – part of me drawn to the darkness, the
other part begging the logical section of my brain to get the fuck
away from the trees.
Another crack sounded, and I caught sight of a flash of something
in the trees. Panic entered my brain and I turned to run but a hand
reached over my mouth and I was dragged backwards into the
darkness.
 Chapter 4

Panic burst through my body as my legs flailed, trying to dig into

the ground and stop my captor from dragging me further into the
trees. An arm pressed around my torso and elbows, pinning my
limbs down, while another harshly dug into my collarbone as a hand
covered my mouth, muffling my screams.
Suddenly I was flung to the ground, my body and head striking
some branches and rocks. I cried out and pressed a hand to my
head, staring at the redness on my fingertips. What the fuck was
going on?
I scrambled to get onto my feet and turn around, but my assailant
grabbed my wrist and threw me into the nearest tree, my chest
pressed against the rough bark. I just managed to get a micro-
scream out before my mouth was covered again, this time blocking
my nose as well and cutting off my breathing.
Black spots burst in my vision and my lungs screamed in agony. I
tried to push backwards off the tree, but my assailant’s grip only
tightened.
Tears pricked at the edges of my eyes, threatening to spill as I
clawed at the fabric covered arms, begging for air.
My vision started to go cloudy and just as my grip started to
weaken, the pressure around my body was suddenly released.
I dropped to my knees, gulping in large breaths of air. Movement
behind me caught my attention once the burning in my lungs eased,
and I swung around on my spot on the ground and gasped sharply
at the scene in front of me.
My assailant was pinned against a tree, his arms unnaturally bent
backwards around the trunk. Colton stood behind him, his large
weaponized hands pinning the assailant’s arms tight around the
trunk while Reed stood in front, a knife pressed into his throat.
I took in the scene in front of me, my heart racing but too afraid
to move. I vaguely registered movement next to me as Grayson
leaned down and ran his smooth hand down my arm.
“Are you okay?” I flinched at his deep voice and looked at him
with wide eyes.
My voice got caught in my throat and I stared at his emerald
green eyes, trying and failing to stop the tears threatening to fall.
Two single tears fell down my cheeks and his hand swiped out to
wipe them away with a flick of his thumb.
“You’re okay.”
I blinked, my heart still racing but I surprisingly felt safe despite
what was happening in front of me.
My head swung back to the scene in front of me as I watched
Reed press the knife firmly against my captor’s hollow throat.
“Who the fuck are you and who sent you?”
The man, a somewhat scrawny brunette with dirty brown eyes let
out a sarcastic laugh.
“What’s it to you, Xanderson?”
His laugh was cut off by a rough scream as Colton pulled his arms
tighter, a loud pop filling the air. It took a few seconds for me to
register that the sound was the guy’s shoulders dislocating from the
unnatural angle.
“I asked you a fucking question. Answer it, and we’ll make this a
lot quicker and less painful.”
The guy whimpered but said nothing.
Colton let out a scoff, “Fucking hell. We broke him already, Reed.”
Reed smirked and dug the knife in deeper, a thin trail of blood
now starting to drip down the man’s chest. “That’s no fun. Talk
about a letdown.”
The man’s voice broke as he cried out, “Just please stop. I beg
you. I don’t fucking know anything. I was just told… told to take out
the girl.”
Reed’s gaze flickered to me on the ground, taking in my frame.
“And who sent you?”
More sobs from the man. “I don’t fucking know. I just got the
details sent to me in an unknown text message.”
Colton scoffed again and harshly laughed. “So, you just accept
mysterious requests on the face of them? Right. I’m not buying it.”
 On his last word, he pulled the guy’s arms again. This time instead
of a pop, a ripping sound filled the air along with the man’s screams
as his ligaments and tendons tore.
My gut turned at the sound, but I felt numb to the scene in front
of me. This asshole… tried to … kill me.
Kill me.
Flashbacks of Betty sprung to my vision and this time sickening
nausea did make an appearance in my stomach.
No way. It can’t be a coincidence.
Reed let out a bored huff. “I can see this is going to be fruitless.
Sorry Colt. Next time.”
Without warning, Reed reared his arm back before shooting
forward with the knife and slit the man’s throat. Gurgled sounds
filled the air as the man drowned in his own blood before Colton let
go of his hold, and the man crumbled to a heap on the ground.
Reed ran his right hand through his hair, before pulling out a cloth
from his pocket and giving his blade a quick clean. He turned to me,
flicking the blade playfully in his hand as if he was at complete ease
with the weapon. I had no doubt he was.
He stalked towards me, twirling the blade in his fingers and palm.
The dark blue metal handle shimmied in the moonlight and I swore I
could still make out the faint red tinge of blood on the blade.
Reed stopped in front of me, followed by Colton to his left.
“Hello, Blair. We need to talk.”
 Chapter 5

Grayson stood up next to me and held out his hand. I glanced at it

before cautiously reaching out to take it. He pulled me up and ran
his thumb over my knuckles before letting go.
Shock must have been overwhelming my senses because in the
presence of these three, and the dead assailant behind them, my
priority was to run my hands down my skirt to readjust it properly.
I looked up at Reed and my breath caught as I noticed his electric
blue eyes take in my bare legs.
I wrapped my arms around my midriff and looked up at Colton,
who looked back at me with his usual bored, cold expression.
“Thank you,” I stammered out because, manners and I’m a
fucking lady.
Reed’s intoxicating stare burned into my eyes as I gazed up at
him. And up was accurate. Even at 5’9”, I was by no means short.
But these three were all easily 6’4” and full of muscle.
“Have you seen this man before?” Reed nodded his head towards
the pile of dead shit on the ground.
I shook my head, “No, never.”
“And your car blew up yesterday?”
My brows furrowed. “Yeah.” How could I forget?
Reed and Grayson locked eyes, a silent conversation playing out
between them.
I could vaguely hear cheers in the distance and let out a gasp as I
realized Quinn must be wondering where the fuck I am.
“I need to go find my friend. I’ve been gone for quite a while,” I
look to Reed, almost asking for permission because quite frankly, I
was just nearly turned into mincemeat, and this is un-chartered
territory for me.
He nodded and looked to Colton. “Colt, accompany her to the
house. Make sure she finds her friend and make sure they leave
immediately.”
 Colton nodded before turning around and heading off towards the
house, pausing to gaze back at my still frozen position.
“Are you coming or not? I don’t have all day.”
My feet scrambled, and I looked back at Reed and Grayson as
they made their way over to the dead motherfucker. Grayson flicked
me one last warm smile, and my heart jolted in my chest at his
charming beauty as I watched him pull a phone out of the dead
man’s pocket.
I caught up to Colton as we walked side by side towards the
house. The bonfire was starting to dwindle, and the only remaining
occupants outside were the couples indiscreetly keeping their hands
warm by putting them down the front of their partner’s pants.
I looked at Colt, who kept his stare straight. “Thank you… for
saving me.”
His feet slowed as he turned his head to look at me. His black
eyes, piercing and burning into me.
“I did my job. Nothing more. What kind of idiot would go into the
trees on their own?”
My cheeks flushed at his comment and anger threatened to
explode from me.
“Are you fucking shitting me right now?”
Colton raised an eyebrow at me, clearly taken back by my sudden
change from good little lamby in distress to angry firecracker.
His silence encouraged my mouth to continue exploding. “I’ll be
sure to remember not to inconvenience anyone when, you know,
God forbid, someone tries to fucking kill me again.”
Colton’s lips turned up in a dark smirk as he huffed at my
comment.
“Good. Because I have bigger problems to deal with then some
goody-two shoes legal princess getting herself into trouble.”
I clenched my fists at the snide remark towards my Dad.
“I didn’t ask for this!”
We reached the back door as Colton stopped and gestured his arm
impatiently for me to hurry up inside. “And yet, you put yourself in
the position that allowed it to happen. I thought you were supposed
to be smart.”
 I paused, tears irritating my eyes again but this time, with a
raging heat of anger behind them. Who did this motherfucker think
he was?
I pushed past him and headed through the kitchen in search of
Quinn, who thankfully I found sitting in the corner on the bench
smoking a joint, drink still in hand. Her face lit up when she saw me.
“Blair!” Her gaze moved to look at Colton as he appeared behind
me and her mouth dropped.
I stopped in front of her and hastily grabbed the joint from her
fingers, taking a drag. “Don’t ask. Just… fuck, don’t ask.”
She nodded, keeping her stare on Colton. He stared back at her
with an intensity that was the equivalent of a raging tsunami, his
intimidation filling the room.
“Time to go home. Can you even drive now?” he said sarcastically,
motioning to the joint now in my fingers, and the red Solo cup in her
hand.
Quinn looked at me for direction, and I just looked at her with a
silent plea. Let’s just fucking go.
She slipped off the bench and reached for her phone. “We’ll call
an Uber. We’ll manage, won’t we Blair?”
I nodded, reaching out to grab her drink as well. Bit of a leech,
wasn’t I?
I was just putting the cup to my lips when Colton’s warm
calloused hand gripped my wrist, a warning flashing in his eyes.
“Make smart choices, Princess.”
I ripped my wrist out of his grip and glared daggers at him. The
joint and alcohol clouded my senses as a rush of strength, and
stubborn pride, flowed through my veins.
“Fuck you. I am not a Princess,” I spat the word out in disgust.
Quinn’s jaw dropped again, and her eyes widened as Levi walked
into the kitchen, taking in the scene too. Liquid courage was really
my friend as I moved closer to Colton, my body lightly pressing into
his chest.
“I am a motherfucking Queen. And you best remember that.”
 Chapter 6

I woke up the next morning to a pounding headache, and a dozen

missed calls and messages from Quinn and Levi. I groaned as I
flicked over the messages before burying my head into the pillow.
What the hell was last night about?
Flashes of panic and ripping noises filled my mind as I tried to
calm my racing heart. Was I in some sort of trouble?
I stumbled out of my room and into my adjoining bathroom,
flicking on the shower. I was going to need the world’s strongest
coffee after my hot shower.
I faintly heard my phone beep again as I stepped into the hot
stream of water. I stared at the cream tiles as I washed myself, my
thoughts a jumbled mess like a Rubik’s cube.
I stepped out of the shower, wrapping myself in a fluffy grey towel
before walking into my closet to grab some clothes. I opted for a
casual pair of jeans and tank top as I had no grand plans for this
Saturday, except for drowning my sorrows in coffee and carbs.
I looked over at my phone and saw the flashing light indicating
another message. It must have been Quinn or Levi chasing a reply
again. I swear, they are the biggest stress-heads sometimes, but
after my confrontation with Colton, who can blame them?
I flicked open the screen, my brow creasing as I looked at the
unknown number. I swiped open the message and a soft gasp
escaped my lips.
Unknown: You got away last night, but we’re coming for you.
What the actual fucking fuck!?
I blinked and read the message a second time to make sure I
wasn’t hallucinating before quickly locking my screen and pocketing
my phone.
Right. Don’t panic. You’re an adult now. Adults are calm, rational
and don’t have attempted murderers after them, so this must just be
an over exaggeration. Maybe one of Levi’s douchey fucking douches.
 I walked out of my room and ran down the stairs to the kitchen. I
sighed in relief when I eyed the already brewed coffee pot and
poured myself a strong one.
The house was quiet, so I assumed Dad was at the office.
Working weekends wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for him, but he
usually did it in his home office if possible.
I sipped on my black goodness and slowly made my way to the
living room. I nearly dropped my coffee when I spotted Dad sitting
on the couch with his head in his palms, a look of stress on his face.
“Dad, are you okay?”
His head shot up and he looked at me, smiling tightly. A forced
smile. I knew it well.
“I’m fine, Blair. Just stressed about a case at work.”
I sat down on the chair across from him, holding my mug as I
took in his disheveled state. No business attire: just a polo shirt and
khakis and dark eyes indicating he hadn’t slept.
I frowned, panic brewing in my stomach between Dad’s state and
last night’s attack. Were they connected? I couldn’t mention it to
him. He looked exhausted and I didn’t want to stress him out for no
reason. I’m sure it must just be a prank and I’m safe. No use
distracting Dad with high school theatrics.
“What’s up with the case?” I asked, giving him a soft encouraging
smile.
He looked at me and smiled sadly, “Gang related. Big names
involved, some big crimes. We received some unknown threats to
back down or else they would retaliate.”
Fucking hell.
I tried to keep my face neutral as Dad gazed at me. I felt like I
was going to be sick. I can’t believe this. Was a gang targeting me
as pay back?
I swallowed, “Well, what did they threaten you with?”
Dad shook his head, “Just the usual. Harm and what not. Not the
first time, and not the last. But these players… they are usually
untouchable and the kingpins. Work is pushing for me to put them
away – to save a lot of harm to innocents. But all I can think of is
you. You are okay, aren’t you?”
 I bit my lip, “Well, I mean Betty was weird.”
Dad shook his head and let out a breath. “Greg had a look at the
shell yesterday. He said it definitely was an oil leak and just a freak
accident.”
I blew out a sigh of relief. “Well there you go. Everything is okay
then.”
Dad’s brown eyes looked at me suspiciously. “What aren’t you
telling me?”
Well, fuck. Where do I start? Car blowing up. The Black Spades
interrogating me. Someone trying to kill me. Then the Black Spades
saving me.
I could see Dad’s cool demeanor about to break. I shook my head.
“Nothing. I just… think I failed Mr. Thomson’s pop quiz.”
Dad let out a gruff chuckle, “I’m sure you will be fine, kiddo. You
are really smart. Going to make a great future lawyer. Don’t you
worry. I’ll make sure everything is okay.”
He stood up and as he walked past, messed up my hair playfully
with his hand before disappearing into the kitchen.
It’s fine. Breathe. You’re safe.
Am I, though?
Fuck, why did I lie to him? I’m just a kid- wait, no I’m an adult. An
adult in a gang, blood savage world with a target painted on my
back. Yeah, I’m going to need another coffee.

Three coffees later and I had almost forgotten about my weird

week and near-death experiences. Plural.
I laid in my room, scrolling social media when a post appeared in
the Woodlands Prep closed group.
TONIGHT. RIVER HILL CASINO. 9PM. BETS CLOSE AT 8:30.
The poster was a clearly fake, anonymous profile and the details
scarce, but almost completely obvious as I stared at the words.
The River Hill Casino closed down two years ago after a small fire
in the basement, and reports of asbestos lining the building. With
the fire, it was a miracle that the building didn’t spark and engulf in
flames. The owners had claimed insurance and bolted, and left the
building abandoned.
This had to be an underground fight. I had never been, but my
heart raced in excitement at the prospect of sneaking out to go. Dad
would have my left knee if he knew I wanted to go to an illegal
fighting ring, but how bad could it be? It was posted on the school
page for crying out loud. I know the gangs were involved but from
what I had heard, these rings were run by Spades members for
Woodland elitists who either wanted to bet their trust funds or
wanted to get down and dirty and pretend they were bad-asses like
the gangs that run this city.
I thought about messaging Quinn but decided against it. I didn’t
know what I was walking into, and after recent events the last thing
I wanted was for her to be potentially dragged into trouble.
My eyes flicked to the clock. It was nearly 8pm.
I tapped my fingers impatiently on the phone screen.
Fuck it.
Maybe it’s time to step out of the grey and into the black.

The ground vibrated as I walked towards the back entrance of the

casino. The crowd ahead of me, led the way as I dug my hands into
my pockets of my high waisted faux leather black pants, the front
held together by corset style laces.
Tonight was a little chillier than usual so I wore a baggy black
hoodie that was unzipped and open, revealing my black racer back
crop top. The top, bless its little fabric soul, was also a victim of my
recent growth spurts, and my tits threatened to spill out of the top.
My knee-high heeled boots clicked on the ground as I reached the
guarded entrance where two Black Spades crew members stood
watching the incoming crowd. The one closest to me, held out his
hand to stop me.
“Daddy know you are here little girl?”
 I growled, already irritated but manners because I’m a fucking
lady. And also … doing my best to not piss people off because I
value my life.
“No, no he doesn’t. Does that change anything with me being
here?”
The guy chuckled in amusement, something dark crossing his
eyes. My gaze looked over his thick, sturdy physique – the only skin
showing was his hands, neck and face. The former two covered in
tattoos.
“No, dollface. Just hope you know what you are doing.” He stood
aside and waved me in.
“Welcome to Hell, Princess.”
 Chapter 7

I clenched my teeth and growled under my breath. What the fuck

is it with these boys calling me that name? Do they fucking
coordinate this shit or something?
I walked inside, following the crowd and music. The lights were
dimmed, and it was smoky from joints and cigarettes. Music blared,
and I could hear the excited screams from people.
I walked past several tables where I could see money exchanging
hands. Curiosity got the better of me and I stalked over to a girl with
facial tattoos shoving money into an envelope. She looked up at me
with a bored expression.
“You putting a bet on?”
I looked down the table at the busy exchange of gambling. I
suppose the casino was still being used correctly in some way.
“Who’s fighting?”
The girl scoffed and snorted, “Who isn’t, really? We have pre-
organized fights or you can do wildcards. Random fights will also
come up last minute. You can bet on them as they come up – all
other bets close in 5 minutes.”
I bit the inside of my lip, thinking. I couldn’t believe the words I
heard come out of my mouth.
“Is Colton fighting?”
The girl raised a tattooed eyebrow at me.
“Cadman? Of course he is. He is the fucking star of the show,
sweetheart.”
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out some notes. “I have
300 dollars. Put it on him.”
The girl snatched the money from my hand impatiently and
started scrawling down details on an envelope.
“Name?”
“Blair Fortin.”
 I noticed her pause briefly, before writing my name. “Okay then.
Come see us later if your bet is successful.”
The way she muttered it out made me confident it was a sure
thing.
I turned and started to head further inside, my nerves electrifying
as my gaze took in the set up. A makeshift metal cage was in the
center of a room – one of the old foyers of the casino. A staircase
crept up the side, giving a good view from above of the ring, and up
to the floor above where I imagine you could see everything. Blood
splattered the floor inside the ring, as well as on the ground outside
– a testament to how brutal the matches were.
I pushed my way through the crowd towards the opposite side of
the cage, where I noticed a vacant spot at the front.
As I stood and turned back to look at the cage, I noticed a tall,
lanky guy enter. He had black hair with a blue streak and was
dressed in a trench coat and jeans. And surprisingly, nothing else
underneath. The trench coat was open, flaring around his torso and
we were all treated to a view of his 6 pack.
Fuck yeah. I’m definitely a fan of this scene.
He was swinging a microphone and as the crowd noticed him, he
smirked and grabbed hold of it to bring it to his lips.
“Well hello, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome, welcome, welcome.
We have a special treat for you all tonight – our first match up is
Christian and Dean. Bets are now closed for pre-organized fights.”
His gaze scanned the room lazily, soaking up the excitement and
anticipation of the crowd. “Now you all remember the rules but for
you newcomers, here they are. Do not enter the cage. Do not
interfere with the fights. Fights end by either submission or knock
out. Other than that, there are no fucking rules.”
The crowd roared as drinks were put in the air by spectators as
the tension turned up a notch.
The commentator exited the ring as two guys entered. The first
had tattoos up his back and a bald head. The other had long sandy
blonde hair tied in a bun. They knocked fists and from somewhere a
bell rung to signify the start of the match.
 Blood and spit splattered the ground, the sound of flesh being
punched ringing out with the jeers of the crowd. The bald badass,
who I learnt was Dean, was named the winner by cold knock out.
I found myself so captivated by the fights that I barely noticed a
presence behind me.
I felt a warm breath on my ear but before I could turn, a husky
voice spoke softly into my ear.
“Well, this is a surprise.”
 Chapter 8

I spun around and met emerald-green eyes, the glint in them

dancing as they looked at me in admiration and amusement.
I let out a soft gasp as memories from the previous night filled my
mind.
Grayson reached out and tucked a loose piece of my hair behind
my ear.
“What are you doing here, Beez?”
My heart stammered at the nickname and I barely noticed another
fight had finished behind me.
“I wanted to come watch.”
Grayson looked over my face, his expression incredulous, “I can’t
tell if I’m impressed or pissed off.”
I blinked at him but as I opened my mouth to reply, I felt another
body behind me.
I snapped my head and found myself looking at Reed.
“Fortin, are you fucking kidding us right now?”
The shock quickly evaporated as I took in his annoyed glare.
“Seriously, Xanderson,” I mocked back, “this is public domain, I
can be here.”
Reed leaned down so our noses were nearly touching. “Actually,
no. It’s not public domain. This is Spades territory, babe. And you
are trouble with a capital fucking T.”
I reeled back the attitude attempting to creep out. “I’m not going
to start trouble. I just wanted to come watch.”
Reed leaned back and crossed his arms, staring at me intensely. I
shifted on my leg, nerves getting the better of me.
When I couldn’t take the silence any longer, I flicked my gaze
behind Reed to the cage where another match was finished.
Seriously how many had I missed? Gosh they were fast, and the
ground was getting redder every time I looked.
 Reed looked at Grayson, more silent conversations between them.
Electric blue eyes shot back down to me.
“I never said you would be the one to start trouble, Princess. Just
that, you are the epitome of trouble. Or at least, the kind to attract
it.”
He glanced over to Grayson one more time. “Gray, you know what
to do.”
Grayson nodded and I watched as Reed stalked off towards the
other side of the cage to a set of private rooms.
I looked at Grayson and relaxed as I found his eyes dancing in
amusement.
“Are you going to make me leave?”
He shook his head, “No, baby. We are going to watch.”
He motioned to the cage and as I turned around to watch, my
heart fucking stopped.
In the middle of the cage was fucking Colton Cadman – shirtless
in a pair of black tapered joggers, which molded to his strong,
muscular legs. They hung low on his hips, showing off the delectable
V shape to the crowd. Black ink covered his arms and torso and I
clenched my thighs together, trying to ignore my raging hormones.
Colton’s blonde hair was still slicked to the side on top, and the
sides low, blending in. His torso had a thin layer of perspiration, and
I felt the sudden urge to lick it off him.
I could feel my breathing change as I raked my eyes over his
physique and behind me, I feared that Grayson also noticed the
change.
Large, warm hands gripped my waist over the leather, and I was
gently pulled back into Grayson’s hard body. He bent down, so his
mouth was level with my ear, and I shivered as his tongue dragged
along the skin up my neck, behind my ear.
“Baby, are you turned on?”
This motherfucker.
I needed to keep my wits about me. I was already in dangerous
territory and the last thing I needed was to let my hormones take
over my sense of control.
 I didn’t answer him. I focused my eyes back to the cage where I
found Reed climbing in to speak to Colton.
Few words were exchanged before I noticed Colton’s exterior
harden. Then in slow motion, his head turned to look at me.
I held in a gasp as his black eyes burned into me. They stared
directly at me before moving down and hovering on Grayson’s hands
on my waist. His mouth tensed up and I heard Grayson chuckle
behind me, his hands tightening their position.
“I love it when he gets mad beforehand.”
 Chapter 9

I was vaguely aware of the bell ringing before Colton ripped his
gaze away from me.
His opponent was as long wide, as he was tall. Built like a brick
house and red hair, this guy was the image of a Viking king.
They circled each other and for the first time, I saw something
different in Colton’s eyes. They glistened with excitement as he
stared down the Viking. The usual cold emotion was gone and the
look he housed was pure danger.
The red warrior moved forward suddenly and swung out his fist in
a hook motion towards Colton. I gasped, but Colton bounced on his
feet and ducked out the way. He immediately reciprocated with an
upper cut to the Viking’s jaw. But he didn’t stop there.
Colton’s muscles rippled along his back as he swung his fists
forward, belting the flesh of his opponent mercilessly. The Viking
growled and threw his forearms up to block before striking Colton
back. His fist landed on Colton’s chin, but it may as well have been a
feather for all it affected him.
Obsidian eyes danced before a small smirk tugged at the edge of
his lips. Faster than I could blink, Colton swung his leg backwards
around, and kicked the Viking in the side of the head. Stumbling
back, pale fists swung out, but Colton flawlessly moved. He was an
agile predator, pacing himself to strike.
His foot shot forward, landing a kick to the Viking’s nose. A
sickening crunch sounded out and I watched as the floor became a
sea of red.
My body shivered, but not from fear. Grayson’s hands dug into my
hips, as they slid down my leather thighs, moving dangerously close
to my heat. I leaned back into his touch, too far gone to care. My
eyes remained on Colton as I watched him stalk his prey.
Grayson leaned down to my ear. “I bet you are fucking soaking. If
I slipped my fingers down your pants, what would I find?”
 My eyes rolled back at his words as heat rolled through my body.
Well if this was fire, then burn me down and I’ll become Queen of
the fucking Ashes.
Noticing my head tilting back, Grayson reached up and threaded
his tattooed fingers into my soft chocolate-auburn hair. They
tightened, his hands fisting the hair and tugging my head, holding it
steady towards the cage. His hand let go and moved through my
hair, coming to rest on the front of my throat. His warm hand gently
squeezed my throat, his fingers clutching the soft sides of my neck.
“No, baby. Keep your eyes forward. Watch him.”
I whimpered as I forced my eyes back onto Colton, though I can’t
say I was disappointed.
My pulse vibrated through my body as Colton took a moment to
look back at me. My breath hitched as I met his gaze, and I sucked
in a gasp as Grayson’s fingers trailed over my leather covered
mound. Fuck.
Colton tipped his chin up, watching us before turning to his red-
haired opponent who was just making his way off the ground.
The air shifted, and I swear you could cut the atmosphere with
Reed’s knife.
I watched in anticipation as Colton stalked towards the Viking
before his fists shot out in a fury of lethal punches.
Blood splatted over the floor, and I stared in shock at the drops
which landed near my feet.
The crowd roared, sensing the end was near. And they were right.
One final roundhouse kick to the Viking and the ground vibrated
with his falling, bloodied body. My mouth dropped as I stared at his
motionless body, wondering if he was dead.
The tall, blue streaked commentator walked into the ring and
grabbed Colton’s arm, thrusting it into the air.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, your undefeated champion… Colton!”
The screams from the crowd were deafening but I didn’t notice.
Behind the cage waiting for Colton were electric blue eyes, locked on
me with a burn that was hotter than the basement fire that closed
this godforsaken building and turned it into a devil’s playground.
 Chapter 10

Monday rolled around way too quick, and I dreaded facing school
today. The only motivation that got me out of bed was that summer
break was in two weeks, and you guessed it…. coffee.
I tugged my uniform on, doing my best to pull the pleated navy-
blue skirt down to the acceptable height and tucking the white
blouse in. The tie felt oddly tight around my neck as memories of
Grayson’s hand around my throat edged into my brain.
After Colton’s fight, people started to head out and I used the
opportunity to create distance between myself and the guys after I
grabbed my winnings. My control was wearing thin and the last thing
I needed was to do something I would regret. My inexperienced
body yearned for touch, but I had to be smart about it.
This was the Spades for fuck’s sake.
I threw on my blazer and shoes, and grabbed my bag as I headed
out of the room. The house was quiet, and I walked by dad’s office
to notice it empty. He must have had an early start with that case he
was so concerned about.
A beep outside lifted my spirits as I jogged out the front door.
Quinn was in her little red car, mouthing the words to the song
playing on the radio.
I smiled as I shut the front door and skipped down the front steps
to her car. I pulled open the door and threw my bag in.
“Well good morning, Sunshine.”
Quinn threw me a look and raised an eyebrow, “You need to get
another car. It’s killing me getting up 45 minutes earlier than usual
to come get you.”
I shot her an amused look. “I don’t live 45 minutes from you
though.”
“Yeah well, traffic and beauty and all things sugary.”
I shook my head as I settled into the seat and clicked my seat belt
in.
 Quinn drove out of the estate and turned the radio down, “So,
how was your weekend? You barely responded to me about Friday.
Then I didn’t hear from you Saturday or Sunday.” She shot me an
accusing look.
I slid down into my seat, trying to keep my facial expression
neutral. Quinn wasn’t buying it.
“Nah-uh. Hell no. Spill it.”
I swallowed, and went through the events in my mind quickly,
deciding how much to tell her.
“The Spades helped me out of a … pickle on Friday. Saturday
night I went out and just decompressed Sunday.”
Quinn’s eyes narrowed at the road.
“Pickle. Right. I was worried that Colton was going to piledrive you
into the kitchen floor after you found some balls of steel.”
Images of Colton fighting from the ring played in my mind, which
of course then started memories of Grayson and his curious, warm
hands.
Fuck. Concentrate!
“It’s fine. I don’t think they will hurt me.” At least, not in the way
you think…
“And yet, you also went out Saturday night without me. Who were
you with?”
My cheeks burned at her question. I opened my mouth to blurt
out some little white lie but when you’ve been friends for as long as
we have, you have to have a better poker face than what I have.
“Blair are you fucking serious right now? Were you out with
them?”
I tried to slide down further in my seat to no avail.
“I ran into them. It wasn’t intentional.”
Quinn pursed her lips and stared at the road in silence. I could
practically see the wheels turning in her mind.
“Quinn…”
“Blair,” she paused, holding up a hand to cut me off, “You know I
love you. And I know, I know, you feel caged. But don’t play with
fire. You will get burnt babe.”
 I didn’t say anything as we pulled into the school grounds. She
was right. I know she was. But that didn’t stop my desire to go up in
flames.

The day went quick, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I made my

way out of the science building. I was counting down the days to
break and ready to spend the summer sitting by the pool with a
book.
I reached into my bag on the ground and pulled out my phone to
find a message from Quinn.
Quinn: Argh. Rafferty gave me detention. Can’t drive you home.
I frowned as I shot back a quick text, sympathizing with her and
telling her not to worry. I could always Uber.
As I clicked into the app on my phone, a shadow fell over me from
behind.
My heart jolted as I spun around with a surprised gasp. Relief
poured through my veins as I stood nose to… chest with Grayson.
“Hi, baby.”
I exhaled a breath and took a step back.
“Jesus, don’t sneak up on me like that. I can’t handle… on
Friday…” I trailed off, but Grayson understood.
“Sorry, Beez. What are you doing out here anyways? You should
be getting home.”
I looked back at my phone and unlocked the screen which had
timed out. “I am just ordering an Uber now.”
Grayson raised an eyebrow, “An Uber?”
“Ah-uh. Remember… car plus fire?”
“Don’t you get a lift with your friend?”
I ignored the question as to how he knew that. “Yes, but she’s in
detention. Thus, the Uber.”
“Nah, fuck that. Come on, I’ll give you a lift.”
He grabbed my bag and stalked off towards the car park.
“What- hey! You can’t just do that.”
 I caught up to him and yanked on his blazer. He stopped, spinning
around to face me. His green eyes skimmed my face, amused at my
clear distain.
“I can. Come on. We can stop for food on the way.”
I stood on the spot as he walked away. This boy was going to be
the death of me. I just knew it.

I scooted into the bench seat at Oreo’s café, eyes narrowing at

Grayson who mimicked my movements across from me.
How I got talked into a ride and food is anyone’s guess. But if I
had to put my money on it, I can almost guarantee it’s fueled by my
hormones and the memories of his fingers from Saturday night.
My cheeks flushed at the memory as I pulled a menu in front of
my face to hide the evidence.
My eyes glanced over the top of the menu at Grayson, who sat
back with his arms folded, a panty-dropping smirk on his face.
He knows.
I cleared my throat and looked down at the menu as a waitress
appeared.
“Are you kids ready to order?”
A flood of panic went through me as I tried to read the menu at
lightning speed – the distraction from Grayson delaying me in being
ready.
Grayson pushed his menu towards her, “I’ll have a serving of
buffalo wings and blue cheese sauce. And a diet coke.”
I froze as his order rang in my ears. No fucking way…
The waitress looked at me and as the seconds passed in silence,
she awkwardly shifted on her feet.
“And for you…?” she prompted.
I looked up at Grayson, my eyes visually interrogating him. He
stared back at me in fascination, but nothing indicating his order was
a personal mock at me.
 “I’ll have the same,” I finally answered, pushing my menu towards
the waitress who breathed a sigh of relief at being able to get away
finally.
Grayson raised an eyebrow at me. “You like spicy food?”
A smile broke through my defenses, “I love spicy food. Buffalo
wings are my favorite.”
Grayson leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, hands
together as he put his chin on them.
“Really?”
I shrugged shyly and stared at the fork on the table.
“Yeah.”
I reached into my bag and pulled out a hair band. “It’s my comfort
food. It’s just such a damn shame it’s so hard to find proper blue
cheese sauce. Not that aioli crap most places serve with them.”
My fingers threaded through my hair as I placed my hair in a
messy bun.
Grayson’s eyes softened as he watched.
“Yeah, I agree,” his husky voice dipped low, “though, I think
there’s another comfort food I’m interested in too.”
The innuendo in his voice did not slip past me and my body
flushed. I crossed my legs under the table and squeezed my thighs
together as I looked around at the empty café.
Clearly nothing got past this guy though as he let out a dark
chuckle, and I jumped as I felt his hand slide up my shin and come
to rest on my knee under the table.
Fuck. Just breathe, Blair.
I forced myself to meet his gaze and words were caught in my
throat as I looked over his features. His eyes were the most
gorgeous green I’d ever seen, and they highlighted his jawline which
begged to be kissed. His lips were a soft pink and I had the sudden
urge to bite his bottom lip.
His hand slipped a few inches higher up my quad and I swear I
forgot how to breathe.
From an outside perspective, no one would suspect Grayson as his
face stayed cool and calm.
 I closed my eyes as I felt his fingers reach the bottom of my
pleated skirt, begging to slip under the fabric. He played with it
before they ducked under and trailed along my skin but as he
reached my thighs, a clink jolted me back to reality.
The waitress placed our drinks down with an embarrassed
expression.
“Here’s your cokes.”
“Thanks,” Grayson answered, grabbing his with the hand above
the tabletop and taking a sip.
My skin burned where his fingertips rested on my leg – a few
inches to the left of my burning desire. Could he feel my heat?
I clenched my thighs again, slightly readjusting my crossed legs as
I reached for my coke – taking a sip and trying to act like my world
wasn’t in complete melt down.
I looked at Grayson, challenging him.
You won’t rattle me. You won’t. I am in control.
A flare of pride shot through me as Grayson smiled brightly at my
direct stare.
I nearly mewed in disappointment as his hand slowly moved off
my leg.
“So, baby. Tell me about yourself.”
It was so ridiculous and out of the blue that I burst out in a laugh.
Despite how unexpected it was, I felt oddly at ease with Grayson.
And as our buffalo wings arrived, we spoke like two normal people,
talking about our interests and I nearly forgot about the ache
between my thighs. Nearly.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
tenaculum hook and cutting the conelike elevation off with delicate
scissors. The grafts thus obtained contain the epiderm and corium
and a slight base of the Malpighian layer. They are immediately
transferred, without handling, to the granulating surface and fixed by
the gentle pressure of the hook point.
The skin may be transfixed with an ordinary sewing needle and
the graft cut away with a delicate flat knife or razor blade, or scissors
especially designed for the purpose may be used. (See Fig. 84.)
A number of these grafts are often
needed to cover a defect, in which
case they are placed side by side
upon the surface with a little space
between their borders. Several such
operations may be necessary, as
many of the grafts are liable to die
from malnutrition, pressure, or
defective cutting.
The granulating surface to be
covered in this manner must first be
cleansed with a weak sublimate
solution, followed by a sterilized
normal salt solution. When an
ulcerated or denuded surface requires
skin-grafting, the best time to begin is
as soon as there is evidence of the
formation of new skin at the edges of
Fig. 84.—Smith Skin Grafting the wound; in other words, when
Scissors. reparative action is becoming
established. This does not apply to
surfaces just denuded over healthy
areas for plastic purposes, which should be grafted immediately.
The grafts, having been placed, are covered with a layer of very
thin protective silk, or gutta percha, over which a soft gauze or cotton
dressing may be applied, borated absorbent cotton being most
suitable.
 Thiersch recommends the use of gauze compresses saturated in
the normal salt solution, which are changed each day.
Another method of covering the grafts is to use perforated silk or
small strips of the same material, which permit the dressings to
absorb the excretions from the wound and also allow of the free use
of either weak antiseptic or sterile salt solutions.
The use of silk or rubber prevents the adhesion of the grafts,
which would otherwise be torn away by the removal of dressings,
although iodoform gauze answers the purpose very well. It can be
safely lifted by first thoroughly wetting it with the normal salt solution.
Strips of tinfoil, first rendered aseptic by immersion in a 1-1,000
sublimate solution and then dipped into sterilized oil or two-per-cent
salicylized oil, have been recommended by Socin. Goldbeaters’ skin
has also been advocated.
A method that has proved of great value in America is that of skin-
grafting in blood. In this method the grafted site is covered with
perforated protective silk or rubber tissue, covered with a thin layer
of absorbent cotton, or, better, several folds of sterilized gauze,
which is kept wet constantly with bovinine. The latter undoubtedly is
the means of keeping life in the grafts by supplying the necessary
nutrition until the grafts have formed vascular connection, have
become firmly adherent, and begin to spread or grow out at their
edges.
The living grafts remain as pale islets of skin, which throw out thin
epidermal films that meet and grow thicker, until finally the interjoined
grafts assume all the functions of normal skin.
It is often necessary to reduce or scarify the edges of the healthy
skin that has become thickened where the grafts meet it. This is
permissible only when the grafts have become firm and thrive, and
may be accomplished by the careful and intelligent use of pure
carbolic acid applied with a wooden pick, or by the employment of a
stick of fused nitrate of silver, care being taken not to come in
contact or to allow the cauterant to touch directly or in solution the
new skin.
 b. Autodermic Skin-grafting.—Larger pieces of skin may be
excised from selected parts of the body, preferably the outer side of
the arm, and utilized to cover the entire defect. The piece of skin is
cut about one third larger than the size and shape of the area to be
covered. This method was first introduced by R. Wolfe in 1876, and
gives splendid results. He advises removing all subcutaneous
adipose tissue from the graft by gently cutting it away with fine
scissors or the razor, and then loosely suturing the flap to the skin
surrounding the denuded defect.
Granulating surfaces must first be freed of their loose superficial
layers with a sharp curette and the bleeding controlled by sponge-
pressure before the flaps are placed. The edges of the wound made
by the excision of the flap are simply sewn together, or one of the
plastic methods may be used to accomplish the same. Unfortunately
these flaps, if they thrive, contract, leaving uncovered spaces, which
must be treated separately or allowed to granulate. The dressing in
this case is the same as in the Reverdin process.
F. Krause, of Altoona (1896), advocates the use of freed flaps from
which the subcutaneous adipose tissue has not been removed,
holding that in the healing of such there is less contraction to follow.
The success in both of the above methods depends upon an early
vascular connection, as considerable nutrition is necessary to supply
their want. The blood dressing has aided much in bringing about a
happy result. The latter is continued in the manner described for
about ten or twelve days, when the grafts may be allowed to depend
upon their own circulatory supply. The parts must, in the meantime,
be kept at rest and all undue pressure is to be avoided.
These grafts, while becoming organized, change in color more or
less from a light gray to a bluish gray and shed off their epitheliar
layers, while the cutis vera remains, rebuilding its squamous
covering eventually and leaving the surface quite normal.
At times small points of the flap, where subjected to undue
pressure or interference, will turn dark and break down, sloughing
away and leaving the granulating surface exposed. These areas are,
however, soon recovered by skin cells being thrown out from the
infral edges of the graft. Often the use of the nitrate-of-silver stick,
applied gently at various tardy points, will hasten the process of
repair.
The most satisfactory results in skin-grafting are those obtained by
the method introduced by Ollier, of Lyons, in 1872, and perfected by
Thiersch, of Leipzig, 1874. His method is now almost entirely used
for covering large defects. The grafts can be applied over connective
tissue, periosteum, bone, and even adipose tissue. The grafts
consist of very thin strips of skin taken from the extensor surface of
the arm or the anterior region of the thigh, after thorough antiseptic
preparation. They should be taken from the patient in preference to
those of other individuals or the new-dead or freshly amputated
parts.
Granulating surfaces are scraped clean of their superficial or loose
layer, while fresh wounds may be covered at once or a few days
after having been made, antiseptic compresses being used in the
meantime. Hemorrhage is controlled at the time of grafting by
sponge-pressure or torsion of the small vessels.
In this, as in the former method, it is desirable that the surface to
be covered be free from loose tissue and dry (Garre).
For the removal of the strips the Thiersch razor is to be used. It is
concave on its upper side and plane below, the blade being bent at
an angle to the handle (Fig. 85). Folding razors of the same type can
be procured; their advantage lies in having a protecting case when
not in use.

Fig. 85.—Thiersch Razor.

Slide fixation locks are a valuable addition to the latter, as they

hold the blade in place when open. See Fig. 86.
 Fig. 86.—Folding Razor.

The site from which the graft is to be taken is first thoroughly

scrubbed and washed, then cleansed with an antiseptic solution. The
skin of the anterior surface of the arm or upper thigh is usually
chosen. The skin of the part is made tense with the left hand, while
the point of beginning is slightly raised by the assistant with the aid
of a tenaculum hook. The razor, dipped into sterile salt solution, is
now taken in the right hand and by quick sawing movements, the
plane side being placed next to the limb, a strip of skin is detached
(Fig. 87), which, as it is cut, glides in folds upon the concave side of
the razor.
 Fig. 87.—Method of Cutting Thiersch Graft.

The uppermost layer of the skin is removed, including epidermis,

the Malpighian and papillary layers, as well as a small portion of the
stroma. Hübscher includes only the epidermis and the upper portion
of the papillary layer, with equal success.
The length and width of the strips so removed must be made
according to the defect to be covered. Their width may be made as
much as two inches and their length not to exceed four inches.
The collected strip of skin, still on the razor, is now brought to the
place of grafting and, with the point of a needle placed at its farther
end, is slid off upon the part to be covered and allowed to fall in
place by the gentle backward withdrawal of the razor blade, as
shown in Fig. 88.
 Fig. 88.—Method of Placing Thiersch Grafts.

The graft may be smoothed out with the needle held flatwise or be
stroked down gently, so that its fresh surface makes contact with
every portion of the part covered, a precaution the author considers
important to obtain the best results.
If the defect is large, and where several grafts are needed, the
second flap thus obtained is made to slightly overlap the one already
placed, and so on. The free, or distal, ends of the flaps are made to
slightly overlap the skin or that of a graft placed endwise to it. Every
part of the wound should be covered.
As soon as this has been accomplished the strips are powdered
over with iodol or aristol or protected with some antiseptic gauze
(boric or iodoform), or covered with strips of lint smeared with
borated petrolatum, over which light, teased-out pieces of sterilized
cotton are placed. A gauze bandage may be utilized to hold all in
place.
It is quite necessary to have the part kept at rest so as not to
displace the skin-graft arrangement. If the antiseptic powder has
been used the dressings need not be disturbed for a week or ten
days, but the petrolatum dressing must be changed every third day,
care being observed not to disturb the grafts.
Perhaps the best success is obtained by the aid of perforated
rubber tissue, covered with gauze dressing, constantly kept wet with
bovinine for ten days.
In healing, parts of the grafts may die, leaving small areas to
granulate over, but ordinarily the cicatrization resulting therefrom is
indeed slight. From the observations of E. Fisher, it seems that the
most successful results are obtained when the grafts are taken and
transplanted under the bloodless method of Von Esmarch.

2. Heterodermic Skin-grafting

c. Hetero-epidermic Skin-grafting.—A novel method of covering

wounds with skin is advocated by Z. J. Lusk, of Warsaw, N. Y., 1895,
in which small squares of epithelium, previously prepared, are
placed upon the granulating surface, over which a dressing of
sterilized gauze is placed, saturated with a mixture of balsam of
Peru, ʒj, and ol. Ricini, ℥j, and covered with several layers of
sterilized absorbent cotton. The dressing is allowed to remain
undisturbed until the tenth or twelfth day, unless there is an
accumulation of pus.
The advantage of this method is that the epidermal layers can be
collected at random from various patients who present themselves
with blistered surfaces—the result of burns—or where the skin has
been raised by some blistering process for counterirritative reasons.
This loose skin is collected and spread upon a glass plate and
sterilized in warm boric-acid solution, then allowed to dry in this
position to prevent curling, and, when dry, cut into desirable sizes
and laid away for future use.
d. Heterodermic Skin-grafting.—In this mode of skin-grafting the
pieces of skin are taken from freshly amputated limbs of one patient
or from any selected part of the body of the newly dead, and placed
upon the defects to be covered in another patient. These grafts have
been successfully employed even after ninety-six hours had elapsed
between the time of amputation or the death of a person and the
taking of the skin-grafts.
The method employed is as follows: The site of the amputated
member or dead body from which the skin is to be taken is
thoroughly cleansed, as in the Thiersch method. Pieces of the skin,
including the subcutaneous tissue, but no fat, are cut from the
cleansed parts. These sections are cut into smaller pieces, about
one inch square (Hartman and Weirick), and placed upon the
granulating surface to be covered, leaving one-half-inch wide interval
between each piece.
The grafts are then covered with overlapping narrow strips of
rubber tissue, over which a normal saline dressing is applied. The
outer dressing is composed of gauze saturated with the same
solution. These dressings are changed every twenty-four hours.
The grafts will soon be found to adhere, showing a pinkish color in
about six days; those showing a tendency to undergo gangrene or a
laziness of attachment at this time are removed.
In about two weeks the epitheliar surfaces of these grafts are
thrown off, as with other grafts already mentioned, and shortly
thereafter a new, deep-pink epithelium is formed, the ends of the
grafts throw out epitheliar cells, which soon coalesce with those of
the neighboring grafts, eventually taking on the normal appearance
and vitality of skin.

3. Zoödermic Skin-grafting

The advantage of using zoödermic grafts is that the patient is

saved the ordeal of general anesthesia and the secondary wound
occasioned by the removal of the graft, which necessarily leaves
more or less of a scar.
The grafts for this purpose may be taken from freshly killed
animals, such as dogs, rabbits, frogs, kittens, etc.
The best results, in the estimation of the author, are obtained by
the use of the skin taken from the abdominal region of dogs.
The method for preparing these grafts is to kill a healthy animal,
thoroughly cleansing the skin of the abdomen, as already described
in the taking of any graft.
The entire abdominal surface is neatly shaved under antiseptic
precautions and the skin is dissected off in one piece, leaving the
subcutaneous tissue. It is then placed in a warm boric-acid solution
and cut into small pieces, say one or two inches square, according to
the size of the defect to be covered.
These pieces are placed upon the granulating surface and firmly
pressed into place, so that they are in close contact throughout their
area. Other pieces are placed quite near or even in contact with the
edge of the first, and so on, until the space is entirely covered. Boric-
acid dressing of any desired form is placed over them and
superimposed by loose gauze and bandage.
The dressing should be left undisturbed for at least forty-eight
hours, and then be gently removed and renewed. The utmost care
should be exercised with the dressings, since here lies the success
of the whole result. The blood dressings have given excellent results
in cases undertaken by the author, and should be resorted to
whenever practicable. The method has already been fully described,
and does not differ in the event of employing zoödermic grafts.
When boric-acid dressings are used, they should be changed
every day after the first dressing has been removed, so that the
behavior of the grafts can be closely watched.
Lazy grafts and those showing signs of sloughing should be
removed at once, and granulations crowding through the grafts
should be snipped off with a fine scissors, as they are liable to
destroy the life of a graft by pressure or by crowding it away from its
bed of nourishment.
As in dermic grafts, the upper layers of these plaques will be
thrown off, giving at times the appearance of total sloughing, yet on
interference the deeper layers will be found to be intact and healthy.
The dressings should be continued until the grafts have not only
established their circulation, but until their edges have firmly united
and the surface has taken on a dull reddish color, which eventually
fades to a shade somewhat paler than the normal skin. The hairs
that have been carried over with the grafts at first seem to thrive, but
eventually drop out, leaving the surface bare. Spots of color so often
observed in the skin of the bellies of dogs also disappear from the
grafts, leaving their color uniform.
Amat, in 1895, claims that good results in skin-grafting are
obtained by substituting the epidermal pin grafts with the film or
inner-shell lining membrane of the fresh hen’s egg. For this purpose
as fresh an egg as can be obtained is used. It is broken along the
horizontal axis. A delicate forceps is now made to grasp the free
membrane found at the air chamber of the enlarged end of the egg.
The inner lining is drawn away from the shell in pieces four or five
millimeters long; these pieces are cut with a fine scissors into equal
lengths and placed with the point of the scissors to the granulating
surface to be covered, in the same way as the Reverdin grafts. Amat
covered the grafts with tinfoil, over which were placed several lays of
carbolized gauze. The dressings were changed every three or four
days.
The skin of the frog has successfully been implanted upon
granulating surfaces by Baratoux and Dobousquet-Laborderie. They
observed that the peculiar pigmented mottling of the skin
disappeared about the tenth day, and that the grafts gradually took
on the appearance of human skin thereafter.
The best results in this method are obtained with the skin taken
from the back of the frog in preference to that of the belly or legs.
This skin is cut into pieces about one fourth inch square, which are
placed upon the granulating surface in rows, each graft being
separate from its neighbor by a space of half an inch.
At the end of forty-eight hours the plaques of skin will have
adhered to the granulating surface. At the end of five days they lose
their original color and send out cells of epithelium to each
neighboring square.
The dressing to be applied over the flaps should consist of borated
vaselin, one dram to the ounce, which is smeared upon strips of
sterile gauze, over which loose gauze is placed, held in place by a
roller bandage.
The skin, once organized, is very thin, as a rule, and requires
more or less care for some time after.

General Remarks

The skin of the grafted area will always present a different

appearance from that of the healthy skin, both as to color, which is
always paler, and in texture. The grafted portion is usually slightly
elevated above the healthy skin, giving it an edematous look.
It has been found that skin grafts taken from the negro take more
successfully than those from the white race. White skin flaps placed
upon the negro do not meet with much success. In this event,
however, the newly grafted skin soon takes on the color peculiar to
the negro and vice versa (Thiersch).
The investigations of Karg seem to show that the pigmentation of
skin is not secreted in the rete, but is carried to it by wandering cells
arising from the deeper layer. Von Altmann has discovered certain
cell granules, termed by him bioblasts, which he believes are
responsible for the production of the pigmentary deposits under
peculiar influences of the blood.

MUCOUS-MEMBRANE-GRAFTING
 The grafting of mucous membrane, both from the animal and man,
has been accomplished by Wölfler. His methods are particularly
applicable to the restoration of the conjunctiva, mucous membrane
of the cheek, etc. Under certain circumstances pedunculated skin
flaps have been folded inward to serve as the mucous membrane by
Gersuny. When mucous-membrane flaps were taken from the
animal, the conjunctiva of the rabbit has been preferred.
Under peculiar circumstances, though rarely, mucous-membrane
flaps may be utilized to cover denuded skin areas. The mucous
membrane, in such cases, in about ten days takes on the
appearance of the skin.
Ofttimes, when it is impossible to obtain foreign mucous
membrane, grafts may be taken from the inner surface of the lips of
the patient. These grafts answer exceedingly well for conjunctival
restorations, while the wound occasioned by their removal is closed
by suture or allowed to heal by itself, if not too large, under boric-acid
antisepsis.

BONE-GRAFTING
Bone-grafting, as followed by MacEwen, Ollier, Poncet, and
Adamkierwicz, has been more or less successful. Their methods
have been often employed in plastic facial surgery, as will be shown
later. Their methods were later improved by Senn, who advocated
chips of decalcified bone in place of bone taken from young or new-
born animals, from which the bones under ossification have been
utilized.
Glück’s method of introducing pieces of ivory into bone defects
may be of interest, but is applicable only to long bone implantations.
The success of his method has yet to be practically demonstrated.
Zahn and Fisher have used various foreign substances to overcome
bone defects, but these do not interest the cosmetic surgeon to any
extent, since other methods have been proved to give better results.
These, however, belong to the subject of subcutaneous prothesis,
and must be considered separately thereunder.
 HAIR-TRANSPLANTATION
It may be of interest to know that Schweininger and v. Nussbaum
have attempted to graft hairs upon granulating tissue by sprinkling
the hairs, with their attached roots, upon the surface to be covered. If
any of these lived and attached themselves the root sheath formed a
scar center, and the hair dropped out after several days.
 CHAPTER IX
BLEPHAROPLASTY
(Surgery of the Eyelids)

Plastic operations about the eyelids are necessitated by and for:

I. Direct injury causing the loss of a part, one or both lids.

II. Loss of tissue following excision of tumor.
III. Loss of tissue, the result of gangrene or ulceration.
IV. Injuries due to burn or acid wounds.
V. The healing and cicatrization following lupus.
VI. The cicatrization following inflammatory lesions of the
orbital borders, especially those of the supra-orbital ridge.
Since the upper lid lies below the supra-orbital ridge, the
above cause is rarely met with.
VII. For the removal of redundant tissue.

The result of the above causes leads to eversion of the lid

(ectropion). There may be cicatricial contraction of the conjunctiva
leading to ectropion, however, but its correction is not strictly of a
plastic nature and belongs principally to the oculist surgeon, and will
therefore not be referred to herein.

ECTROPION
Ectropion is not uncommon, and involves the lower lid only in the
great majority of cases. It may be partial or complete, according to
the extent of cicatricial changes in the skin.
 Fig. 89.—Dieffenbach Method.

Partial Ectropion

For the correction of partial ectropion a V-shaped incision is made

on the lid with the base of the triangle, including the maximum
eversion, as in Fig. 89, a.
 Fig. 90a.—Correction of Partial Ectropion.
(Author’s case.)

The incisions are made downward from the tarsal border, just
below the lashes, and converge to a point. The flap included therein
is carefully dissected up, dividing all the scar adhesions, and is
pushed upward until the tarsal border at the seat of the defect is
overcorrected in this position. The incisions are united with No. 1
twisted-silk structures to form the letter Y, as shown in Fig. 89, b.
As the lid has usually become elongated from prolonged eversion,
a small, triangular piece of skin may be excised at the outer end of
the lid, with its base turned upward. In bringing the two sides
together in linear form, horizontal traction is made along the tarsal
line, which aids much in bringing about the desired result.
In the case shown in Fig. 90a the ectropion was the result of the
application of nitric acid or caustic potash for the removal of a nevus.
It was corrected by the method just described, the result being
shown in Fig. 90b.
 Fig. 90b.—Correction of Partial Ectropion.
(Author’s case.)

Complete Ectropion

Dieffenbach Method.—In complete ectropion the entire lid

between the canthi is included in the V-shaped incision just
mentioned (Fig. 91) and the flap is sutured as shown in Fig. 92.
In crowding up the detached flap the palpebral border must be
overcorrected, since the contractions following union will reduce the
effect even to the extent of necessitating later minor operations.
 Fig. 91. Fig. 92.
Complete Ectropion, Dieffenbach Method.

To prevent this contraction the palpebral fissure may be united

after the correction is made by fine sutures, which are removed in
several weeks (Plessing). This is rather uncomfortable for the
patient, but there is no question as to the efficacy of the method. A
shield can be worn over the eye operated upon after the incisions
have united until the lids are separated. This relieves the discomfort
of the patient to some extent, while the constant conscious strain to
open the eye is greatly overcome by the mere knowledge of the
presence of the shield.
If the position, or the extent of the deformity, does not permit of the
Dieffenbach method, the following may be employed:
Wolfe Method.—An incision is made parallel to the tarsal border
just below the lashes. The scar tissue is then excised. The palpebral
fissure is closed by several sutures, as already described, thus
drawing up the everted portion and bringing the lids together and
causing a large, open wound (Fig. 93).
 After the hemorrhage has been controlled a piece of skin about
one third larger than the defect is taken from the arm or temporal
region of the patient. Next its reverse side is freed of all adipose
tissue. It is then laid upon the freshly made open wound, covering it
completely, and held in place by numerous fine silk sutures fixing it
along the wound margin, as shown in Fig. 94.

Fig. 93. Fig. 94.

Wolfe Method.

There is more or less contraction of the flap, although primary

union takes place. Less contraction of the flap is obtained in the
Wolfe method when the subcutaneous fat is not removed, as
mentioned above (Hirschberg).
Thiersch Skin-grafting Method.—To somewhat overcome the
contraction of the single-graft operation of Wolfe, the Thiersch skin-
grafting method may be resorted to as already described. Better
results have been obtained with this method. The graft should be
placed parallel to the tarsal border. A number of Reverdin grafts can
be taken from the temporal region, just below the hair line, and used
to cover the wound. These small grafts must be placed quite close
together to obtain the best result (Von Wecker). Immobility of the lid
is, of course, necessary, and the temporary fixation of the lid must be
accomplished as already described. Contraction in this, as in any