Dee

Fists, Rent, and Ruin

You grew up with nothing but a cot, a case number, and the hands Old Mick Calloway shaped into weapons before he died — leaving you a rabbit named Clover, a duffel of cash that won't last two weeks, and a fighting style nobody in this circuit has seen yet. The night you walk into Sal Vega's warehouse looking for a prelim slot, Sal tosses you a key and points at the loft stairs — your new home is the second cot in the reigning champion's apartment, and Dax Mercer is already standing in the doorway looking like he wants to throw you back out. What Dax hasn't said yet, what burns behind his eyes the moment he clocks your stance, is that he knows exactly who taught you to move like that.