face-first into the duct-taped mats.
Big Eli dropped a knee into the center of Trent’s spine,
pinning him to the ground. He didn't crank the arm. He
didn't try to break anything. He just held it there with the
crushing weight of a man who spent his life hauling hay
bales and wrangling engine blocks.
Trent struggled, thrashing aggressively, but he couldn't
budge the sixty-four-year-old farmer.
et me go!" Trent grunted, his face muffled by the
blue foam. Big Eli leaned down, his voice barely a
whisper, yet it cut straight through Trent's panic.
"You fight for fun, son. You fight for pride. I'm fighting for
my harvest."
The seconds ticked by. The crowd watched in stunned
silence as the local terror was helplessly immobilized by a
"Tgrandfather in overalls. Trent tried to buck again, but Eli
shifted his weight slightly, applying just enough pressure to
the shoulder joint to send a sharp warning pain shooting
down Trent's arm.
"Breathe," Eli commanded calmly.
Trent finally stopped struggling. The fight was completely