Before the semester started, my stepmom, Brenda, broke my leg to steal my college spot for her son, Kyle. She dragged me to a garage in the suburbs with an “Authorized Personnel Only” sign. “Skylar, the guys here love little girls like you. Just rot here.” With that, she drove off, leaving me behind. A few greasy men, their arms covered in tattoos, circled me, their gazes menacing. I closed my eyes in despair. But Jax, the scarred man leading them, kicked away one of his subordinates who was getting too close. “What are you looking at? Never seen a broken leg before?” He squatted down, pinching my shattered bone with his rough fingers, his brow furrowed. “Damn, that’s brutal. Someone really didn’t hold back. Reminds me of the good old days.” This garage wasn’t just a garage; it was a sanctuary for tough guys, most of whom had seen the inside of a cell more than once. They silently carried me inside. Pops, who used to be a black-market doctor, set my bone. Jax handed me a wrench. “Want revenge?” “First, learn how to fix cars. Later, it’ll make breaking people easier.”
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.”
“CRACK!” A sharp snap, accompanied by my scream, echoed through the garage. I lay drenched in sweat on the makeshift bed, every breath a stab of pain. Pops skillfully splinted my leg with two wooden boards and bandages. “Alright, bone’s set.” “No walking for three months. Whether it heals properly is up to her.” Pops wiped the blood and whiskey from his hands, turning to Jax. “This kid’s bones are thin, brittle. Whoever did this really didn’t hold back.” Jax said nothing, pulling a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket and offering one to Pops. The two walked to the doorway, lit up, and smoke swirled around their faces. “Boss, are we really keeping her?” Vince asked, leaning in. “She’s a huge problem.” “What if her family comes looking for her…” “Her family?” Jax blew a smoke ring, his voice dripping sarcasm. “The kind of family that beats you half to death and dumps you here to die? They’d probably be happier if she was gone.” My consciousness blurred, but my mind uncontrollably replayed scenes. My senior year parent-teacher conference. Brenda, my stepmom, in an elegant suit, arm linked with my father, David, smiled politely at the teacher. “Our Skylar is just too introverted, she doesn’t know how to fight for what she wants.” “Not like our Kyle, he’s lively and outgoing, everyone loves him.” The teacher smiled awkwardly: “Skylar’s grades are excellent, always top of her class. Getting into a good university won’t be a problem.” Brenda’s smile faded: “Girls, what’s the point of studying so much? She’ll just get married eventually.” “Now for boys, a good education is everything.” David stood by silently, never saying a word. His silence was as good as a ‘yes’. From the day my mother passed away and David brought Brenda and her son, Kyle, home. I became an outsider in my own house. Kyle broke the only memento my mother left me, and Brenda said: “He’s just a child, Skylar. You’re the older sister, you should be understanding.” Kyle stole my allowance to buy the latest gaming console, and Brenda said: “We’re family, there’s no ‘yours’ and ‘mine’.” And my father always had just one thing to say: “Listen to your Aunt Brenda.” This time, I received an acceptance letter from a top university. Kyle barely got into a low-tier local college. Brenda stared at my acceptance letter, her eyes filled with undisguised envy. She begged me to give my spot to Kyle. There was no way I would agree. And then, everything happened today. She swung a baseball bat at my leg. David stood nearby, turning his face away, offering no resistance. “Skylar, don’t blame me,” Brenda’s voice was soft yet cruel. “Kyle’s future is more important than yours. He has to get that spot.” “Just consider it a sacrifice for your little brother.” A sacrifice. My future, my life, in their eyes, was something that could be casually sacrificed. “Awake?” Jax’s voice pulled me back from my agonizing memories. I opened my eyes, meeting his deep, unfathomable gaze. “Drink,” he said, holding a chipped enamel bowl to my lips. Inside was warm, soft rice porridge. I parted my dry, cracked lips and swallowed mechanically. A warm current flowed into my stomach, dispelling some of the cold. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Skylar.” “Skylar,” he repeated, without much emotion. “From today on, you’ll stay here.” “When your leg heals, you’ll work to pay off your medical bills and food.” “If you want to leave, you can, anytime.” “But step outside that door, and whether you live or die is none of our business.” He spoke coldly, yet it was the most sensible thing I’d heard in over a decade. None of that phony ‘I’m doing this for your benefit’ crap. “Why?” I asked, my voice still weak. “Why did you save me?” We were strangers; taking me in brought them nothing but trouble. Jax took the empty bowl, tossing it into the sink with a clang. He stood with his back to me, his tall frame blocking the dim light. “I used to have a sister,” his voice was low, as if speaking of something very distant. “She was about your age, and her grades were good too.” He paused, and I could feel the sadness emanating from him. “Later, she died.” “Her piece-of-shit stepfather beat her to death.” “All to get his own kid a chance at a good life, a ticket out of this dump.”
Jax never spoke of his sister again, and no one at the garage dared to ask. But from that day on, my status here changed. From a nuisance, I became a tacitly accepted presence. My bed was set up in the storage room, a simple cot made of wooden planks. Though crude, at least I had my own space. Pops came every day to change my dressing, grumbling, but his movements were gentle. “Girls shouldn’t have nasty scars. Jax said to use the best medicine on you.” He complained while applying a dark, gooey ointment. “This is my top-shelf secret formula, kid. Don’t tell anyone.” Mitch, the blonde kid, the one who tried to touch my face, would secretly slip me snacks, usually a lollipop or a bag of nearly expired chips. “Here, candy. Candy makes the pain go away.” He grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth, a surprisingly innocent contrast to his intimidating tattoos. Tank was in charge of my meals, three times a day, like clockwork. Though the food was simple, there was always a bowl of hot soup. Every one of them had a record, and every one carried a past they couldn’t bear to look back on. They were rough and volatile, but they all looked out for me. A month later, my leg gradually deflated, and the pain subsided. Jax tossed me a book thick as a brick: Automotive Construction and Repair. “You’re just sitting around anyway, read a book.” I held the greasy book, turning the pages one by one. Every part diagram, every mechanical principle, was like Greek to me. “Can’t understand it?” Jax had appeared behind me without a sound. I nodded. He pulled up a stool and sat down, picking up a wrench and pointing at a diagram in the book: “This is the engine, the car’s heart.” “Pistons, connecting rods, crankshaft… they’re like the bones and joints of a body, working together to create power.” His explanations weren’t like a textbook lecture; they were vivid analogies. “See this clutch? Total jerk. Grabs on tight when it needs you, then kicks you to the curb the second it doesn’t.” “And the brake system? That’s your lifeline.” “If these brakes go soft on you when it matters most, you’re not calling a mechanic; you’re calling a coroner.” I listened, captivated. These cold machines, in his mouth, seemed to acquire life and personality. Days passed in this strange calm. By day, I read, and I listened to Jax talk about cars. By night, I fell asleep to the sounds of card games, curses, and occasional arguments from outside. I rarely spoke, spending most of my time in silence. Until that day, Mitch excitedly ran in with a new phone. “Look! I just scored this sweet used smartphone, cheap!” “I’ll teach you how to use it, then you can go online!” He helped me set up a social media account. The first thing it recommended following was the local university newsfeed. The screen lit up, and a bold headline jumped out at me: 【Freshman Spotlight: Welcome A-State Valedictorian Kyle, Beginning a New Chapter!】 The accompanying photo showed Kyle in a brand-new uniform, standing at the entrance of A-State, grinning confidently. Beside him, David’s face crinkled with pride, and Brenda, beaming with satisfaction, clung to his arm. The three of them looked like a picture-perfect happy family. In the background of the photo was the tree-lined avenue I had dreamed of countless times. My blood ran cold.
I stared fixedly at that photo. “Kid? What’s wrong? You know him?” Mitch noticed my distress. I didn’t answer. Tears streamed uncontrollably. All my carefully constructed composure crumbled at that moment. Why? Why did he get to steal my life and still smile so brightly? I grabbed a wrench from beside the bed and slammed it against the wall like a madwoman. “BANG! BANG! BANG!” Each impact felt like a blow to my own heart. “Enough!” Jax burst in, snatching the wrench from my hand. His grip was strong; I couldn’t break free. “What’s the point of crying? What’s the point of smashing the wall?” he glared at me, a cold fire in his eyes. “If you have energy, use it in the right place.” I looked up, my eyes blurry with tears: “What can I do? My leg is broken, my college is gone, everything is gone!” “If it’s gone, take it back,” Jax’s voice was low, but every word hit me with solid weight. He shoved the wrench back into my hand, the force of it digging into my palm. “Want revenge?” He squatted down, meeting my gaze, repeating the question he had asked when I first arrived. “First, learn how to fix cars.” “Later, it’ll make breaking people easier.” From that day on, I stopped crying. Tears were a weapon for the weak, and I no longer wanted to be weak. I poured all my time and energy into learning car repair. I sat in a wheelchair, letting Tank push me around the garage. Wherever Jax went, I followed. When he disassembled an engine, I handed him tools. When he painted a car, I stood by, learning how to mix colors. The greasy wrenches, screwdrivers, and jacks gradually became familiar in my hands. My fingernails were perpetually caked with black grease, impossible to wash clean. The smell of motor oil became my own scent. The men at the garage looked at me differently. From initial sympathy and pity, their expressions turned to surprise, and finally, acceptance. “Kid, you’re good! That carburetor is cleaner than mine!” Mitch gave me a thumbs-up. Pops ran his fingers over a part I had polished, nodding: “Hmm, steady hand, calm mind. You’ve got talent.” Only Jax never praised me. He only held me to stricter standards. “The torque on this screw is wrong; it’s too tight, you’ll strip the threads. Do it again.” “The wiring is wrong. Want the car to spontaneously combust? Take it apart, re-wire.” “Looks like a dog gnawed on it, take it back and make it shine until you can see your own pathetic face in it.” I didn’t complain. Whatever he told me to do, I did. Because I knew he wasn’t just teaching me how to fix cars. Two months later, my leg could finally bear weight. Though I still limped slightly, it no longer affected my movement. That night, Jax called me into his room. It was a small single room, with nothing but a bed and a table. On the table sat a photo frame, holding a picture of a sweet-smiling girl. It was his sister. He pulled a file folder from a drawer and tossed it to me.
I opened the file folder, my hands trembling slightly. Inside was all of Kyle’s information. His class schedule, his dorm room number, the restaurants he frequented, even his new girlfriend’s name and photo. The level of detail shocked me. “What do you want to do?” Jax asked. What did I want to do? I wanted him to taste what it was like to fall from grace. I wanted him to lose everything he now had. “I want to ruin his reputation,” I said, every word deliberate. Jax’s face showed something akin to a smile for the first time. “Good,” he said. “A goal gives you motivation.” He stood up and picked up a baseball bat from the corner of the room. It was the same bat Brenda used to break my leg. I didn’t know when Jax had picked it up. He handed the bat to me. “There are many ways to get revenge. The stupidest way is to be like the person who broke your leg – only knowing how to use brute force.” He walked to the table, picked up a photo of Kyle, and taped it to the wall. “First lesson: precision.” He looked at me: “See his right knee? Put all your strength into it, and hit.” I gripped the bat and walked to the wall. Kyle in the photo smiled brightly, a smile bought with my suffering. I took a deep breath, swung the bat, and with all my might, slammed it down! “BANG!” A deafening crash. The bat didn’t hit the photo; it struck the wall beside it, making my hands sting. “Worthless,” Jax’s voice was icily cold. “You can’t even hit a stationary target, and you want revenge?” Shame and fury engulfed me like a tide. “Again!” I raised the bat once more. “BANG!” Missed again. “Again!” “BANG!” “BANG!” “BANG!” I didn’t know how many times I swung, each time with all my strength, each time fueled by endless hatred. Until I collapsed to the ground, exhausted, my arms trembling, unable to lift the bat anymore. The wall was riddled with holes I’d created, but that photo remained untouched. Jax walked over and took the bat from my hand. He barely wound up, just a casual swing. “CRACK!” A crisp sound. The bat landed precisely on Kyle’s right knee in the photo, wood splinters flying. He dropped the bat on the floor. “Remember that feeling.” He turned, picked up an envelope from the table, and tossed it in front of me. “This is A-State’s campus map and his schedule for this week.” “He’s going to the movies with his girlfriend this weekend.” Jax looked at me. “As for what you want to do, that’s up to you.” The movie theater on the weekend was bustling. I wore a black baseball cap, pulled low, blending in with the couples lining up to enter. According to the information Jax provided, Kyle and his girlfriend had tickets for the 7:30 showing, a romance film.
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