Big Eli tightened his grip just a fraction. A subtle warning. The leverage pressed Trent's face deeper into the floor, cutting off his air supply enough to induce panic but not enough to cause damage.
"Save your breath, son," Eli murmured, his gravelly voice meant only for the boy beneath him.
The crowd was screaming now, a mix of disbelief and raucous cheers. Thirty seconds. Twenty. Trent's frantic struggling turned into exhausted, gasping heaves. The explosive energy of youth was completely neutralized by the immovable patience of old age.
"Time!" Rusty bellowed, chopping his hand down on the bar top. "That's three minutes!"