Page 1 of Chaos Claimed

Chapter One

A swirl of steam curled up from the pot, clinging to the air like it had nowhere else to go. Percy adjusted the burner, not that it helped. The kitchen was too warm despite the open back door, its screen letting in a breeze that barely existed.

With a soft huff, he pulled his phone from the counter for the hundredth time, flicking his thumb across the screen. Seventy degrees. Low humidity. No change. But still no excuse for how the air felt stuffy and thick, like it was a tropical day outside. He rubbed his forehead, fingers sliding over damp skin.

Maybe it was the steam. Maybe it was just him. But the image of the shed’s interior flashed in his mind, and he shut it down so fast it left him breathless. Nope. Not today. It had been a week since he’d gotten out of the hospital, and he was adamant about sticking to his plan.

If he didn’t think about his ordeal, it didn’t exist. Problem solved.

He turned toward the pantry, pushing his hand through his damp hair, then froze, his breath hitching. The walk-in stood open, shelves lined with pasta, rice, canned soup—too small. His throat went dry.

He could step inside, grab what he needed, and be out in seconds. But his feet stayed planted, like the floor had hardened around them.

The overhead light inside the pantry was off, leaving the space dimmer than it should be, the edges of shelves casting long shadows against the back wall. The door wasn’t closed. It wasn’t even locked. Still, his pulse quickened at the thought of stepping forward.

Of entering the small, dim space. No circulating air to cool him off. No other way out except what was in front of him.

Push it away. If you don’t think about it, it never happened.

His fingers curled around the hem of his shorts, tugging absently. Why had he worn them again? They’d been at the bottom of a donation box. Yet, he’d slipped them on like it was a compulsion, like there was something about heat pressing against his skin that made him want to wear less. Just in case.

He trailed his hands over his arms, his skin damp, hot. It was getting harder to breathe. Why was the room darkening? The sunlight was pouring through the kitchen windows, but the shadows chased it away.

A knock at the door sent a jolt through his chest, causing him to startle. He swallowed, his throat still dry.

Percy exhaled hard, shivering as if coming out of a bad dream. The knock sounded again. A familiar knock. Why did Santiago always use Shave and a Hair Cut?

Taking one last glance at the pantry—still open, still waiting—he turned and headed for the front door. Percy cursed when he tripped over his own shoes he’d left in the way.

“One of these days they’re gonna make me actually fall. Breaking News: Percy Weaver Knocked Unconscious by Laziness. News at Eleven.”

Santiago stood there, broad and easy, like he hadn’t just halted Percy’s spiraling thoughts with nothing more than his presence. Hazel eyes flicked over him, but not in a way that lingered. “Did you get a full view of my almost-death?”

“You gonna let me in?” Santiago smirked, leaning a brawny shoulder against the doorframe. “Or are we chatting through the screen?”

The sight of him had Percy’s heart racing, like the day they’d met. He knew the big guy was sweet on him, and the feeling was mutual. Only, since Percy’s ordeal… He shoved the thought aside, refusing to dwell on it. What was done was done.

“I’m surprised you didn’t bust through the screen to save me from faceplanting.” He pulled the door open wider. “My wayward shoes could’ve assaulted me.”

Santiago chuckled, stepping inside the house. Percy sniffed, trying to catch a hint of Santiago’s cologne, but all he smelled was cooked garlic and butter.

“You cooking?” One of Santiago’s thick brows arched. Sexy bastard.

“Attempting to, but the humidity is trying to drown me in there.” Percy walked back to the kitchen, Santiago on his heels. He could feel the man staring lasers into his ass. Wait, that didn’t even sound right.

When they entered, Santiago glanced toward the stove, his large frame taking up a lot of space. “What’s on the menu?”

Percy started to answer, but then Santiago moved even closer, just a little, like he wanted a better look at the pot on the stove. Percy’s pulse jumped before he even thought about it. Before he even registered it.

His body moved before his brain did, a tiny, instinctive step back.

Not much. Not obvious. But Santiago noticed everything.

If he caught it, though, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at Percy like something was wrong with him. He just pretended not to see it.

Percy hated that he appreciated it.

Hated that, for the first time ever, being close to Santiago made him feel like something inside of him was frayed, like he wanted to pull away when he really just wanted to lean in.

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