Then Brent got his hold. With his right arm clamped around the small of Moran’s back he squeezed down on it with a grip of death while his left arm was doubled under the other’s chin. Slowly, like opening a pair of shears, he lifted the left forearm, forcing Moran’s head up and back to snap the neck.
Moran could not break the hold. The veins purpled at his temples as he strained neck and shoulder muscles to resist the terrible pressure that was cutting off his wind. Specks danced before his eyes, and a nasty rattle sounded in his throat. Six times while the lock held he heard the wicked smash of the wolf against his chain.
His weight shifted to one side. The two men turned as one until they rested on their sides, but the grip still held. Brent arched his back for the final heave that would snap the neck, but instead his arms flew wide apart and Moran felt the blessed air rush back to his lungs.
The slight arching of his back had edged Brent just one bare inch within the limits of the chain, and Flash instantly struck just one inch deep and slashed the full length of his hip.
The two rose to their knees, and Moran bored his fist full against Brent’s mouth to drive him
