breath leaving him in a loud oof. The crowd fell dead
silent.
The jukebox in the corner seemed to suddenly blare
louder, a tinny country song mocking the heavy
tension. Trent scrambled to his feet, his face flushing
crimson. The smirk was completely gone, replaced by a
tight, furious grimace.
He felt completely humiliated. A dirt-poor old farmer had
just dumped him on his back. Big Eli stood exactly where
he had been. He wiped a streak of blood from the corner of
his mouth with the back of his greasy thumb, looking at the
red smear on his dark skin.
He felt the heavy, rhythmic thumping of his heart in his
chest. He didn't want to be here. He hated the adrenaline
flooding his veins; it felt like poison.
"You're dead!" Trent hissed, shifting his stance. He dropped
his hands slightly, preparing for a takedown. He was going
to take the farmer to the ground, mount him, and end the
humiliation violently.
Uig Eli sighed, a short, ragged breath. He rolled his
broad shoulders, feeling the joints pop. He stopped