Blurb：
When Brenda shattered Skylar's leg to steal her college spot for Kyle, she thought she'd left her to die at a suburban garage marked "Authorized Personnel Only." But this was no ordinary garage—it was a sanctuary for hardened men like Jax, Vince, Mitch, and Tank, led by the scarred ex-con with a surprising code of honor. As Skylar lay broken, Jax saw not a victim, but a potential ally. With Pops, the former black-market doctor, setting her bone and Jax handing her a wrench, Skylar's journey from victim to avenger begins. In a world where fixing cars is training for breaking people, she'll learn that revenge is best served with grease-stained hands. Will Skylar survive the brutal world of Jax's crew and make Brenda pay?Content：
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."
1
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."
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