It's Not About Channing Tatum's Abs

Nate refused to wait for almost an hour for the mechanic to replace his car's engine, so he took one of Chuck's cars instead.

The checkered shirt he was wearing was painted red. A result of wiping it against his bloody mouth. He grimaced, wincing and grunting every other minute. 

Keira could imagine the painful, heavy throb. She sent a pitiful, sympathetic look toward the mechanic.

"Don't feel sorry," Nate caught her, a sneer on his lips. "He deserved it."

"His teeth for your car's engine?"

"Do you really want me to just roll with it and do nothing when we suddenly stop in the middle of nowhere just because our car died out? Is that what you want?"

"Stil …."

"What?"

"Do you have to use violence?"

"Diplomatic approach clearly didn't work with him now, did it?"

He was right. Of course. 

Why did they have to live in such a violent setting?