Chaos Claimed (Sin & Steel #2)

Chapter One

Aswirl 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.

Instead, he turned back to the stove, stirring the pasta, acting like he wasn’t severely damaged now. Just another bright, sunny day.

“You gonna hover, or you gonna help?”

he asked. His voice came out even, like everything was normal. Like he was normal.

Santiago just grinned, resting a hip against the counter. “Nah. I like watching you work.”

Percy rolled his eyes, shoving down the way his stomach fluttered. The way he desperately wanted Santiago to hold him and chase away the nightmares like he always chased away Percy’s father.

“Well, I’m putting you to work anyway.”

He pointed the wooden spoon at the pantry. “Grab some pasta, buddy. Can’t eat just sauce and garlic bread.”

He pursed his lips. “I guess you can, and it would be a lot healthier without the extra carbs.”

“If I’m helping, I’m eating.”

Santiago snorted. As he walked away, Percy checked out his backside. Nice glutes, like he’d been sculpted by gods. “What kind of pasta?”

he asked, blissfully unaware Percy had just been cataloguing the curve of his ass.

Percy quickly glanced away before he was busted. He might appreciate Santiago’s body, but the guy was associated with that biker club. The same club he’d belonged to.

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

“You pick.”

Percy opened the oven, checking on the garlic bread, but the rush of hot air caused him to let go of the handle, the oven door slamming shut.

“Did you burn yourself?”

Santiago was at his side in seconds, his gaze flicking over Percy’s hands.

“No.”

But Percy couldn’t move. Couldn't force himself to reach for the handle. Sweat trickled down his back, sliding along his spine. He was on the border where fear and attraction crashed together in a swirl of heat and longing.

Santiago set the box aside, moved into Percy’s line of sight—no touching—and gazed at him. “Deep breath in through your nose. Deep exhale out through your mouth.”

Percy wanted to say he was fine, that he didn’t need Santiago’s help, but found himself doing as he was told. He concentrated on the man’s hazel eyes, the sound of his deep, soothing voice, and his nicely trimmed facial hair. Would it agitate his sensitive skin as he kissed Santiago? Percy had never kissed anyone with a beard and mustache before.

“You with me?”

Santiago asked, his voice never rising above a whisper. “You’re doing beautifully, carino .”

Another deep breath in. Another deep breath out. Not because of the heat. His fingers itched to touch those swollen pecs, to squeeze his huge biceps. Percy resisted.

Santiago turned and checked on the garlic bread.

Percy stood there feeling useless. He watched as Santiago added the pasta to the boiling water, stirred the sauce, adding a touch more garlic to it.

“This tastes incredible.”

Santiago lifted the spoon to Percy’s lips. “You did amazing.”

That snapped him out of it. “It’s my secret recipe.”

He parted his lips and accepted the spoon full of sauce Santiago fed him.

“Secret.”

His smile was soft, and made Percy ache inside.

“Prego.”

It was just sauce from the store, not something made from scratch. But Santiago didn’t need to know that.

“You speak Italian?”

One of his thick brows rose again, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

“ Sí .”

Percy smirked, knowing full well he’d answered in Spanish. He knew a few sentences he could dazzle Santiago with.

“? Entonces ahora hablas espanol ?”

So now you speak Spanish?

“ Tengo cinco dólares para gastar .”

I have five dollars to spend.

Santiago’s mouth twitched, his lips quivering from fighting back a smile. His almost-laugh was contagious. Percy broke first, bursting out laughing. Seconds later, Santiago joined him, his deep booming laughter filling the room. It only made his green eyes sparkle even brighter.

How could Percy want someone so badly, but he so afraid of him at the same time?

“Let’s cook together,”

Santiago said, his accent thicker today than it normally was.

“ Compré una lata de frijoles .”

I bought a can of beans. Percy lifted the wooden spoon, twirling it around, determined to shake off the shadows that were a constant now.

A sound drew Percy’s attention, causing him to glance up at the clock on the wall. Five o’clock. His mom was right on schedule.

“Go ahead and get the garlic bread. I’m gonna see if my mom needs any help.”

“I’ll hold down the fort until you return.”

Their eyes met, Santiago’s gaze lingering a moment too long. Percy’s heart gave a quick, unexpected thump, a flutter of nerves spreading through him.

Before his life had unraveled, Percy would’ve welcomed such a look, encouraged it even. Now, he dashed out of the kitchen, reminding himself not to lead Santiago on.

Since moving in next door, Santiago had been a genuine sweetheart, and Percy didn’t want to give him any false hope.

Things would never return to how they once were, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Percy pushed the screen door open, stepping onto the porch, before the door shut behind him with a familiar clatter. The breeze felt amazing on his heated skin, cooling him off with a gentle whisper.

The moment felt peaceful, until he realized that wasn’t his mom’s car in the driveway.

“Jacob,”

he breathed, his voice a whisper of disbelief. Fuck. Just what he didn’t need right now. Each breath felt sharp and shallow, as if the air was fighting back.

“Got no business with you, boy. Just waiting on your ma.”

Eyes as cold as stone locked on to Percy, carrying nothing but cruel amusement.

The careful way Jacob looked past him rather than at him told its own story. He was wondering if Santiago was inside. Ever since Santiago had become Percy’s neighbor, he’d chased Jacob away.

Before his ordeal, Percy would have shouted for Santiago, and read his father the riot act. “You know she doesn’t want to see you.”

Percy had never been more relieved that his mom was running late. Hopefully she stayed gone until the bastard was gone. It had taken everything in Macey Weaver to put Jacob out then divorce him. Percy knew how much pain seeing her ex-husband caused her.

People couldn’t turn their feelings on and off like faucets. Macey still loved Jacob. You weren’t married to someone for over twenty years and not have feelings for them. But she always spiraled whenever he “visited” her.

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

The scent of freshly baked garlic bread wafted through the air, mixed with the pungent smell of Jacob’s chew and the tart, damp aroma of sweat.

The sound of Jacob spitting chew onto the flowers from over the railing made Percy’s stomach turn. He and his mom had worked so hard to plant those this past spring.

Now he’d have to water the flowers just to get that crap off.

Sweat cooled his hairline, but it still felt suffocating. He needed to get his phone and tell his mom to stop at the grocery store so he could delay her. If he told her that Jacob was there, she would come home right away, fearing for Percy’s safety.

He reached for the screen door, but froze at Jacob’s next words.

“Warn your boyfriend I’m here, and you’ll stay up at night wondering if the noise you hear outside was the wind… or me.”

He lifted his chin just a fraction, an unspoken challenge, daring Percy to call his bluff.

That showed how little he knew his own son. Percy smirked. “Luckily I sleep like a log.”

He stepped inside and hurried toward the kitchen. He might be questioning everything around him now, but no longer would Percy allow anyone to intimidate him.

Before he’d been lured away from the safety of the tavern, Percy had been downright na?ve. Now, he was still na?ve, but his father had no idea who he was fucking with.

“Your mom need any help?”

Santiago drained the pasta, the tray of garlic bread sitting on a cooling pad on the counter. The guy loved to cook. He could go for it. Percy hated the chore. He’d only been trying to make a nice meal for his mom.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Okay, so maybe Percy’s nerves were getting the better of him. After all, his father wasn’t a small man. “It was Jacob outside, not my mom.”

A slow tilt of his head. One blink. Then his whole face shifted into something dangerous. Santiago set the strainer down into the sink, wiped his hands on the tea towel like he wasn’t about to rip someone’s throat out, and calmly asked, “He’s on the porch?”

That calm didn’t fool Percy for a second. Santiago’s hazel eyes had gone dark—dead serious, deadly focused.

“Yeah,”

Percy said, voice quieter now, picking at the frayed hem of his too-small shorts. “He just showed up.”

And threatened my life. That had been a first. His father had always been hostile, but he’d never personally threatened Percy before.

Santiago nodded once. Then he walked past Percy, each step measured like he was holding back something feral.

Goddamn right Percy followed behind him to show Jacob he could shove his threat up his ass. He was expecting Santiago to slam the door open, to go all Hulk on Jacob. Instead, he opened it slowly, the door creaking before he stepped out. Then Santiago closed it right in Percy’s face.

The gorgeous jerk had done that on purpose, as if he was keeping Percy inside to protect him. He didn’t need to be protected… as long as Santiago was there.

Percy shoved the door open and stepped onto the porch, glaring at his father who’d parked his good for nothing ass on the swing. “Strange.”

Percy tapped his chin. “I could’ve sworn I took the trash out already. I must’ve missed the big pile of crap on the swing.”

Slowly, Jacob stood, his booted feet scraping across the porch floor. The chains on the swing rattled, the seat jerking. “Strange, but I could’ve sworn I taught you better than to mouth off.”

He sneered at Percy. “Got a pair of smaller shorts you wanna put on?”

Percy shouted as Santiago hauled off and punched Jacob in the face. One quick jab, so fast Percy almost hadn’t seen it. But he’d heard something crunch. Jacob howled, holding his nose as blood spurted between his fingers.

“Nothing personal. I just really, really don’t like you,”

Santiago’s voice dropped, low and dangerous.

Something wasn’t right. Percy gripped Santiago’s—Oh, wow. His biceps were rock hard—arms and pushed to the balls of his feet to try and stare him in his pretty hazel eyes. “You need to calm down.”

Santiago didn’t pull away, but he didn’t calm down either. “You seriously thought you could stand there and insult Percy?”

“This is none of your goddamn business!”

Jacob shouted, snatching a dirty-looking red bandana from his back pocket to press against his nose. “What happens to my family doesn’t concern you! Get the fuck off of my porch!”

The way Santiago grew still worried Percy. His gaze narrowed, voice low and venomous. “Keep talking. I want to remember the sound of your voice before I rip it from you.”

Oh shit. He had to stop Santiago. Jacob had made this way too easy.

Like… a setup.

The noise of a roaring engine could be heard over Jacob’s shouting. Turning his head, Percy watched as Matias rode toward them on his motorcycle, Elijah on the back clinging to him. It ticked Percy off that Elijah looked so chill on the back, dark sunglasses covering his eyes.

His pipsqueak bestie should not look that cool while on a monstrous motorcycle. Honestly, Matias’s bike was a work of art. A deep crimson color, always shining like he’d just polished it. Which he probably had. It had metalwork on it that looked like tendrils flowing from a wolf’s head on each side of the gas tank. Even the chrome pipes were fancy, curling like snakes down the side of the bike.

And the damn thing had a throaty growl.

But Santiago’s was better.

Crap! Coming down the street in the opposite direction were the cops, lightbar flashing. Even if a neighbor had called in the disturbance, the police wouldn’t have made it to Percy’s house in five seconds flat.

Matias pulled into Santiago’s driveway, then helped Elijah off the back of his motorcycle. The deep growl of his bike still echoed in Percy’s ears, low and dangerous—like it had teeth. Matias moved with slow confidence, sunglasses sliding up into silky black hair as he crossed the lawn, walking slowly toward them.

Elijah rushed to Percy’s side, his eyes wide when he saw the blood on Jacob’s face. “Santiago did that?”

“Are you for reals?”

Percy furrowed his brows. “Honey, the sun is baking your brain if you think I can slug anyone that hard.”

The deputy’s siren blared twice before he stopped at the curb. Shit. Percy wanted to push Santiago’s big ass into the house and take the blame for punching Jacob. As crazy as it was, family members seemed to face fewer consequences for assaulting each other than if a stranger was involved.

Percy should know. He’d spent his childhood watching Jacob fight his own brother and exchange blows with complete strangers. It was a damn miracle he hadn’t turned into a cruel asshole like his father.

But was inheriting his mom’s passive-aggressive nature any better?

The driver’s door swung open, and out stepped Deputy Gilmore.

Of course it was him, because Percy’s luck was just that fabulous. He was the very same cop who’d tried to pin a disturbance call on Percy when Jacob had been showing his ass one night.

He had an urge to extend his hands so Gilmore could slap on the cuffs. Percy was probably going to take some heat for this, even though this was entirely Jacob’s doing.

“Details, now,”

Matias demanded, stepping onto the porch as Gilmore made his way toward them.

“He mouthed off to Percy and insulted him, so I punched the little bitch,”

Santiago replied, jaw tight. Percy’s breath caught. Santiago didn’t flinch as he said it. Even though Percy had been standing there and knew what happened, hearing Santiago admit he’d assaulted Jacob to defend his honor left him at a loss for words.

“Play it cool,”

Matias warned as Gilmore approached them. His overconfident stride had a cockiness that made Percy want to gag.

The man had the swagger of someone who thought a badge made him untouchable.

“Got a report of a disturbance.”

He placed one booted foot on the lowest step like he was dropping by to see friends. Percy wanted to go down there and kick his foot right off. One hand rested casually on the butt of his gun, the other on the wood railing.

Percy clenched his teeth to keep from calling the deputy a straight-up liar. The six-foot-three bully might’ve folded if Percy flashed more cash than Jacob had probably slipped him.

Or maybe they’d struck a different deal. Percy wouldn’t be surprised if his father had resorted to blackmail, even against a deputy.

His mom had once mentioned that Jacob had been the kindest man when they first met. Percy had snorted at the time. If Jacob ever possessed a “kind”

bone in his body, he’d probably sold it on the black market for cash.

Before he realized it, he found himself sidling closer to Santiago. Was it to shield Santiago or was Percy looking for protection from Gilmore? Both. Definitely both.

“My mother has a restraining order,”

Percy informed Gilmore, hoping to defuse the situation before it escalated. Fat chance, but keep dreaming.

Gilmore slid his sunglasses to rest on his head, but it didn’t look as badass as when Matias had done it. “Is your mom home?”

His tone couldn’t have been more condescending if he’d tried. Percy never wanted to punch someone so badly. If Gilmore didn’t have a badge… or a gun… or muscles… Percy would throw hands.

Hold on… where was his mom? Macey never came home late. Not in a town this small. Blackthorn didn’t have traffic.

Something was wrong. He could feel it.