ELLA POV
“Three rounds,” Mercer boomed. “Three different partners. Five minutes each.”
He was maybe forty, maybe younger. Hard to tell with the shaved head, the scar cutting through one eyebrow, and the permanently unimpressed expression. His Fangar shirt stretched over shoulders that suggested he hadn’t retired from actual combat all that long ago.
He stood in the middle of the room with his arms folded over his chest while fifty future Alphas formed a loose semicircle around him.
Advanced Fighting Skills was held in what was basically a warehouse-sized training hall, with six raised rings and enough mats to cover half a football field.
A few people shifted beside me.
Mercer didn’t give a f**k. Nope. He just kept going.
“I don’t care who wins.”
That got more of a reaction, exactly
