Chapter 2

My left leg throbbed with excruciating pain.

I huddled on the floor, cold sweat blurring my vision.

"Boss, where'd this chick come from? Looks like a student."

Vince, a tall, lean guy, squatted in front of me, a cigarette unlit in his mouth, asking indistinctly.

Another voice, impatient, cut in: "Who cares? Look at the license plate. She's from the city."

"Probably messed with the wrong people and got tossed here to die."

To die.

The word clenched my heart, hurting more than my leg.

Through my blurry vision, a few towering figures surrounded me like mountains.

The air smelled of motor oil.

"Damn, those eyes, all teary. Almost makes you feel bad."

Mitch, a guy with bleached blonde hair, reached out, trying to touch my face.

A hand slapped his away.

"Monkey, keep your paws to yourself."

It was Jax, the scarred man, the boss of this garage.

I later learned everyone called him Jax.

He squatted, bringing his gaze level with mine.

The scar, stretching from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, seemed particularly savage with his movement.

"Who did this?" he asked, his voice low and heavy.

I bit my lip, the metallic taste of blood spreading in my mouth.

"My… stepmom."

He didn't press further, just examined my leg.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, avoiding the most painful spots.

"Clean break. Single impact. No hesitation there."

"Someone really wanted to hurt her."

He delivered his verdict as if evaluating a car part, not a human leg.

"Jax, what... what do we do? Take her to the hospital?" Vince asked.

"Hospital? Whose ID would we use? Yours? Mine?" Jax sneered.

"Any one of us steps foot in a hospital, and they'll run our names, dig up everything. We're not exactly law-abiding citizens, remember?"

Vince immediately shut up.

"Then... just leave her here?"

Mitch whispered.

"It'll be dark soon. Plenty of strays out there. She won't make it through the night."

My heart squeezed tight.

I didn't want to die.

Why should I die here?

I used every ounce of strength I had, reaching out and grabbing Jax's pant leg.

It was covered in grease stains.

"Save me…" My voice trembled uncontrollably.

"Please."

Jax looked down at my hand clutching him.

He remained silent, neither agreeing nor refusing.

The air around us seemed to freeze.

My life hung in the balance, at his whim.

"Damn it, what a pain," he finally muttered, cursing.

He stood up, yelling toward the backroom: "Pops! Grab your gear! We've got a situation here!"

He didn't look at me again, turning and walking inside.

Two men, Vince and Tank, flanked me, hoisting me up.

Their movements were rough. When they jostled my broken leg, I cried out, my vision darkening, almost passing out.

I was dragged into the inner room of the garage.

It was even messier than the outside, with parts and tools scattered everywhere. A few framed certificates, reading "Expert Craftsmanship, Top-Tier Service," hung crookedly on the wall.

An old man in a grease-stained work coat walked over.

He carried an old medical kit. When he opened it, there wasn't a stethoscope or medicine, but a chilling array of gleaming steel pins, hammers, and pliers.

"Jax," Pops grumbled, "I'm telling you, I've only ever patched up livestock. A live human, a young girl no less? I've got no experience."

"Less talk," Jax cut him off, handing him a bottle of cheap whiskey. "Treat her like a damn animal if you have to."

Pops poured the liquor onto my wound. The searing pain as it seeped into my bone and flesh made me scream.

"Hold her down," Jax commanded.

Tank and Vince immediately pinned me.

Pops picked up a pair of pliers, aiming for my dislocated bone.

"Hang in there, kid."

I squeezed my eyes shut, tears streaming down my temples.

Just before the excruciating pain hit, I heard Jax whisper softly in my ear.

He said: "If you want revenge, first, survive."