Shane rolled hard to the side and kicked off the cage with his foot, barely forcing the angle wide enough to relieve some of the torque.
He pulled his arm down, twisting his shoulder out of danger with pure grit and timing. The crowd reacted to the escape.
He scrambled to all fours, face red with effort, arm hanging loose. Damon followed, fast and clean. He slammed a knee to the body, then sprawled and pressed Shane back down.
"You got heart," Damon said, dragging Shane into a front headlock. "But I'm still breaking something."
Shane growled. "Try it, bitch."
Damon locked his grip tighter, pressing all his weight down, his hips riding high.
He transitioned from the front headlock to a cradle, then dragged Shane sideways, slowly pinning the same arm that had nearly been ripped earlier.
One commentator spoke through the booth, voice sharp. "He's targeting that left arm. Over and over. This is surgical."
