A Criminal Kiss [Max Verstappen]

chapter ten

The cold night air stung my face as I hurried down the dimly lit streets, my shawl trailing behind me. Lando and Oscar called after me, their voices tinged with confusion, but I paid them no mind. My heart was set on the figure disappearing into the shadows ahead.

Max.

What I had seen moments before—his crouched posture, his swift movements as he tucked the loaf of bread under his arm—played on repeat in my mind. It didn't align with the man I had come to know. Max was brash and maddening, but there had been no desperation in his eyes tonight, only resolve.

"Ann!" Lando's voice cut through my thoughts, and I slowed my pace just enough to let them catch up.

"Go back to the estate," I said firmly, not even turning to face them.

"Pardon?" Oscar asked, incredulous. "We can't leave you wandering the streets alone!"

"I'll be fine," I snapped, spinning to meet their worried gazes. "This is not up for discussion."

Lando hesitated, glancing at Oscar, who shrugged in reluctant agreement. "We'll stay nearby," he said finally.

"Do as you wish." I waved them off, already moving again, determined not to lose sight of Max.

He was ahead of me, his strides long and purposeful. He didn't look back, didn't pause to check if he was being followed. That alone told me he was confident in his secrecy.

The streets grew narrower and darker the farther we went. My heels clicked softly on the cobblestones, and I slowed my pace, careful not to draw his attention. Max turned onto a side street, and I hesitated for a moment before following.

The houses here were smaller, worn from time and weather, their shutters closed tightly against the chill of the night. This part of town was unfamiliar to me, but that didn't stop me. Curiosity burned too fiercely in my chest.

Finally, Max stopped in front of a small, unremarkable building with a sagging roof and a crooked fence.

Except, the house was not a house at all. At least, not in the way I'd first imagined it. 

As I crept closer, staying within the shadows of the uneven cobblestone street, I realized it was part of the school—a narrow stairway tucked behind the modest building led to a single door above. The light that had flickered faintly through the window came from up there. 

He glanced around, his sharp eyes scanning the street. I pressed myself against the wall, holding my breath as he looked in my direction.

After a moment, he stepped inside, the door creaking softly behind him.

I hesitated, uncertainty gripping me. What exactly was I doing? What did I hope to gain by following him?

But the questions I had—the ones that had plagued me since I saw him stealing that bread—demanded answers. Steeling myself, I moved closer to the house, careful to keep to the shadows.

I stopped at the base of the stairs, my breath catching in the cool night air. From where I stood, I could just make out the soft murmur of voices filtering through the slightly ajar window. Curiosity tugged at me, stronger than the fear of discovery. Carefully, I climbed the first few steps, my footsteps silent against the worn wood. 

The voices grew clearer. 

"Max!" The boy's voice was unmistakable—light and cheerful, full of eager warmth. 

"I know, Thomas," came Max's voice, rougher but tempered with an unusual softness. "I'm late. Sorry about that." 

"You always say that," Thomas teased, his words punctuated by a laugh. 

I froze just below the window, peering through the small gap. The space beyond was cramped, with low ceilings and furniture that looked as though it had been scavenged or built by hand. Max stood near a rickety table, holding a loaf of bread in one hand. Thomas, a young boy no older than twelve, beamed up at him with a grin that could have lit the entire room. 

"You brought bread!" Thomas exclaimed, grabbing it eagerly. He tore off a piece and shoved it into his mouth, chewing with a kind of hunger that made my stomach twist. 

"Don't eat it all at once," Max chided gently, though there was a trace of a smile on his face. 

Thomas shrugged, his mouth still full. "Did you eat?" 

Max didn't answer right away. Instead, he lowered himself into a worn chair by the table, his body visibly relaxing. "I'll eat later," he said finally, the words quiet but firm. 

The boy frowned. "You always say that, too." 

"Don't worry about me," Max said, reaching out to ruffle the boy's unruly dark hair. 

Their easy familiarity struck me like a blow. I'd never seen Max like this—so unguarded, so gentle. 

"How were you today, and your new job?" Max asked after a moment, leaning back in his chair. 

Job?

How old is this poor boy?

Thomas shrugged again, more focused on the bread than the question. "I almost got lost trying to get home, but there was a really nice man who helped me. But they let me do some learning today! It was like I was at school," he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "The man said you should stop by to see him, his kid goes to your job apparently." 

Max let out a short laugh, though it held no humor. "We'll see." 

Thomas's gaze flickered toward the small pile of books stacked in the corner, their spines worn and faded. "Do you think you could help me with my reading tonight?" 

"Not tonight," Max said, his tone softening. "I can't stay long." 

Thomas's face fell, and he ducked his head, fiddling with the edge of his chair. "You never stay long anymore." 

A wave of guilt passed over Max's face—brief, but unmistakable. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'll try to stay tomorrow," he said, his voice quieter now. "But you have to promise me something." 

Thomas looked up, his eyes wide with curiosity. 

"Keep working hard," Max said. "Don't give your new bosses any trouble. And no skipping meals they give you, even if the food isn't great. Understand?" 

Thomas nodded solemnly, his small hands gripping the remaining bread as though it were a treasure. 

I stayed frozen in place, my heart hammering in my chest. There was so much about this moment that I didn't understand. Why was Max here? Why did he care so deeply for this boy? And why had he stolen bread instead of simply asking for it? 

Thomas yawned, his head nodding slightly as the bread slipped from his fingers. Max caught it before it hit the floor, a faint smile on his lips. 

"Bedtime," Max said, standing and guiding Thomas toward a small mattress tucked into the corner of the room. 

The boy mumbled something in protest, but his exhaustion overtook him quickly. Within moments, his breathing evened out, and Max stood watching him, the faint flicker of the lantern casting long shadows across his face. 

I didn't move, barely dared to breathe. There was something achingly private about the way Max stood there, his expression unreadable as he looked down at the sleeping boy. 

Finally, Max turned, his shoulders heavy with an invisible weight. He glanced around the room, his eyes lingering on the books, the chair, the bread—all of it. Then he blew out the lantern, plunging the room into darkness. 

I backed away from the window, my heart still racing as I crept down the stairs. The night felt colder now, the weight of what I'd seen settling over me like a thick blanket. 

Max wasn't just the arrogant, sharp-tongued man I thought I knew. There was something more—something I couldn't quite name. 

And I needed to know what it was.

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