Cole: The Mangler: Book 1 (A Phoenix Club Serial thriller)

CHAPTER 2: I'm Hungry

Their boots sank into the fresh snow, each step dropping them knee-deep into the icy powder. The guard led the way, taking them into the forest on the far side of the mountain road. The Mangler watched the man's back, trying to puzzle out why the guard had saved him and no one else. Not only saved him but orchestrated the entire rescue. He would allow the guard a chance to explain himself—before he butchered him.

Before prison, The Mangler wasn't so filled with blood lust that he couldn't control himself. Planning was the key—and no messes. He had learned early on to clean up after himself. But his last fix was some time ago. Leroy. He was a sweet treat, but the sense of satisfaction and fulfillment he'd received from that encounter had long since faded... leaving the monster hungry again. Starving.

The guard wasn't his preferred meal—too masculine—but beggars couldn't be choosers. He needed to feed. Just when his appetite was about to get the better of him and he'd decided to forego explanation and take down his prey, they emerged into a small clearing. A few yards ahead, a vehicle sat beneath a green canvas tarp, piled high with snow.

"Here." The guard walked over to the rig and, with some effort, yanked off the tarp and the mountain of snow, unveiling an old Jeep Wagoneer with large, thick-treaded tires.

The Mangler frowned and halted. "What is this?"

"A Jeep," the guard mumbled as he dug out a set of keys and unlocked the passenger door. "Get in."

The Mangler didn't budge. "Who the fuck are you? Why did you get me off the bus?"

"I have my reasons," the guard spoke low and walked around the hood of the Jeep and unlocked the driver's door.

"What reasons?" The Mangler moved warily forward. "Do you know who I am... or what I could do to you?"

"I'm aware." The guard came back around the rig when The Mangler made no move to climb inside the Jeep. "More aware than anyone."

"What does that mean?"

The guard stood a few feet before him and stared into his eyes. There was something familiar about the man... something in his eyes. Without answering his question, the guard reached up—and began peeling off his beard.

What the fuck...?

Next came the mustache, tossed into the snow with the fake beard. The guard removed his hat—then his hair.

The Mangler studied the man before him, younger than he'd looked with his false appearance. And identifiable with his clean face and shaven head.

"You..." The Mangler lunged and grabbed the guard's throat, slamming him against the Jeep, squeezing... squeezing. His face twisted in maniacal rage as his thumbs pressed hard against the younger man's juggler.

The guard stared back at him; eyes wide... but not surprised. He neither struggled nor begged for his life. His eyes squinted with a strained smile as his face reddened.

"You did this to me," The Mangler snarled and squeezed tighter until the whites of the guard's eyes went bloodshot and watery tears trickled down his flushed face. "I should fucking kill you."

Sliding his hands around the older man's wrist, the guard squeezed almost affectionately, his strained smile stretching. "So... do it," he wheezed. "But if... I'm dead... you'll never find... him."

The Mangler's face twitched, lips rippling against his teeth. He released the man with a short, stiff grunt and stood rigid, staring savagely at the guard. "You know where he is?"