Free Musclebound by Liza Cody Page B

eye.
    ‘Shurrup when I’m talking,’ I said. ‘You think you’re the boss. You ain’t.’
    His lip went up. He gave me a look at his teeth.
    ‘R-r-r-r-r,’ he said. He was stone out of order. Lineker and Milo sat there watching. They were all wired up too. If they’d of been people they’d of been on the edge of their seats.
    I tried to stare Ramses down. I couldn’t lose a fight with him in front of Milo and Lineker. But Ramses kept his evil little eyes on mine. And I suddenly knew he felt the same way. He’d beaten one human already. He’d tasted blood. It was his night. And he wanted to prove, now and for ever, that he was top dog.
    ‘Yeah, you bastard,’ I snarled back at him. ‘You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight. I want one too.’
    True. Absolutely fuckin’ true. I did want a fight. I’d had it up to my eyeballs not knowing which way was up.
    We stood there facing up to each other. He was just waiting for me to back off or turn away or drop my guard. But I didn’t. Neither one of us backed off.
    ‘Chickenshit,’ I said.
    ‘R-r-r-r-ro!’ he said.
    ‘All mouth,’ I said. ‘Where’s the muscle?’
    When he came at me he went straight for my throat – half a ton of flying dog. But I was ready for him. I dodged and knocked him out of the air with me torch. I didn’t have time to think. He was up and charging again almost before he hit the ground. He was much too quick.
    I dodged again.
    ‘Wow!’ said Milo, ‘cos I trod on him. The stupid fuckin’ pup caught himself in my ankles, and I went arse over topside.
    Sometimes it’s the accident which saves you. As I toppled, Ramses missed his aim. When I landed on my back my legs flew up and hit him in the chest as he went by. The kick turned him over in mid-air. He didn’t land on his feet. He went down and that gave me the split second I needed to fling myself sideways and grab for his choke-chain. I caught it under his chin and I caught some of his wattle too. First he pulled away, squirming low on the ground, dragging me a couple of yards through the mud. He was twisting his neck trying to find the angle so that he could get his jaws round my wrist. It was like catching a shark – all that raw muscle writhing on the end of my arm.
    Then he changed tactics and came in on me. But I was ready for him. It was exactly what he used to do when he first met me, when I was training him – he’d pull away with all his strength and then, with no warning, lunge in.
    I clenched my fist round his choke-chain and locked my elbow straight so that he ran on to my fist. I didn’t give an inch.
    Then it was my turn to start twisting. I kept an iron grip on his chain and his throat and rotated my arm from the shoulder. I had to roll over, but with each twist his head sank lower and lower. It took every ounce of my strength but in the end his head was down on the ground and all he could do was lie on his side.
    I still had to be very, very careful. If I gave him even the tiniest chance he’d be chewing on my windpipe like it was macaroni cheese. Ramses is a bitchin’ bastard dog. As dogs go he’s as bad as they get. That’s why he’s so brilliant at his job.
    It’s a good thing I’ve got a wrist like a riveter’s ‘cos he hadn’t given up yet. He was just waiting. He could read every twitch of my grip the way I could read every twitch of him. He knew and I knew I couldn’t hold him down for ever, lying flat in the mud, just by the strength of one outstretched arm. He knew and I knew I’d have to come in close to finish the job. His horrible glittering eye told me everything he was thinking. He didn’t blink once.
    I inched in, keeping the strangle lock on, holding his head down. And then, just as my wrist was giving up, I heaved one knee over him, reared up and sat astride. Now I could use both hands and all me weight. I had him. I had him good.
    All I had to do now was wait for him to agree with me. I didn’t have to hit him or nothing –