Page 7 of Outfoxed

To give her some credit, she hadn’t fixated on anyone in a long time. Worse, I couldn’t fault her taste.

Any other day, any other situation, and I would’ve been issuing inappropriate invitations.

After I had a chit chat with my Asylum contact and had a better idea of how much trouble I was truly in, I’d go salvage goods, make some extra money, and buy a bottle of something cheap to take the edge off. I blamed adrenaline; a close brush with a swarm fried out the common sense circuits.

If I didn’t get my head back into the game and stop thinking about Sandro—and his hot ass—I’d be in a lot of trouble, and not the fun kind. Slapping my cheeks hard enough to sting, I nodded, swore I wouldn’t think about Sandro again until a more appropriate time, and marched across the residential district to the Asylum’s equivalent of the slums, a series of studio apartments for those who were worthy of being in Asylum but hadn’t earned its lord’s favor.

Noah Michaels’s place came in at rock bottom, tucked away in the basement of an apartment complex disguised as a townhouse. Had he been higher up in Asylum’s hierarchy, the exterior door of the complex would’ve locked, preventing people like me from waltzing in at my whim. The doorway opened to a cramped landing, and I headed down the brick steps to the four apartments below. He had the unit closest to the front, which gave him the dubious honor of having a slit of a window a few inches over street level.

While I could have jarred the lock open with a twist of my wrist, I knocked. Noah would understand if I barged in; I usually did, as the last thing I needed was someone cluing in I didn’t belong in Asylum.

The door creaked and opened a crack. Noah grunted, as much of an invitation I’d get, and I slipped inside.

Given five minutes, save for his bed, Noah could clear out of his apartment and leave no sign someone lived there. I’d grown accustomed to keeping little and being ready to move at a moment’s notice, but I wondered. He lived in Asylum.

Why did he refuse to settle?

“It’s not like you to come here when you’re scheduled to work.”

I twitched at his open acknowledgment he, too, was keeping track of me. “I bet you can guess the reason for that.”

“There’s no need to get bitchy, Jade. Lock the door. Let’s at least make people bump it out of the frame to come in and give us a little warning.”

“A metal worker and five minutes could fix that, you know.”

“But then our most esteemed lord would know there are members of his flock who do not trust him—or his other faithful.” Noah snorted, gesturing to his table with its sole chair. “Sit. You look worse for wear. While it’s not much better than the gym, you’re welcome to use my shower. You need it.”

I grimaced at my clothing, which attracted dirt on a good day. Thanks to the swarm and dive into the cellar, I wore mud as a second skin, something I’d grown accustomed to. “I’ll hit a gym later. I’m going to find someone to take my shift.” It wouldn’t be hard. Everyone needed extra shifts, even me. However, I could salvage. Most wouldn’t. I wouldn’t like the next few weeks of my life, but difficult times beat captivity. “I need to know about the bounty out for my head.”

“It’s not your head. It’s your entire body, living and untouched. You’re to be taken to New York, where you will be put up for auction as an uncontested courtesan.” Noah watched me, and when I stayed put, he smiled and turned to the seat he’d offered to me.

He limped the few steps from the door to his table. He’d gotten lucky; the twister that had given him his limp had brushed close without killing him, instead pinning him with debris. I’d found him in my sweep for survivors, pulling him free. I’d even, somewhat outside of my norm, taken him to a doctor and paid the fee, which had wiped out all of my savings.

At the time, I hadn’t known he had earned Mansfield’s favor. He also believed in life debts.

I considered him and his words, wondering how far I could trust the debt he perceived but I never acknowledged. I’d heard of courtesans before; any woman with a grain of sense in her head knew about the slave trade and what might happen to her if she was picked by the powers that be to serve society as a possession rather than as a free-willed citizen.

However, courtesans weren’t just slaves—when they got lucky and weren’t treated like sex slaves, they were princesses without kingdoms, queens in the making, and future wives of the powerful or wealthy.

“That is the dumbest damned thing I’ve ever heard, Noah. Me? A courtesan?” To make it clear I was not courtesan material, I turned a circle before gesturing to my non-existent chest. “Why the hell would anyone want to turn me into a slave with a potential future?”

I understood my luck. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all. I wouldn’t be a princess without a kingdom, a queen in the making, or the future wife of someone—anyone. I’d ditched the East the instant my parents thought I might be good fodder for a betrothal, a fate not much different from a courtesan’s.

I would’ve been married, likely to someone I’d never met, at the suggestion of someone my parents, assholes that they were, wanted to impress.

I understood how life worked enough to know I preferred salvaging and scraping to get by.

“You misunderstand, Jade. You wouldn’t be a courtesan. You’d be an uncontested courtesan.” Noah smirked, which warned me my ignorance was about to slap me upside the face. He challenged me, and the only way I could avoid some of his typical barbs was to suck it up and ask without dancing the dance.

Sometimes, I wished I’d left the bastard to a tornado’s mercy.

“All right. I have no idea what an uncontested courtesan is.”

“It means, instead of a cool twenty thousand a courtesan a family will spend on a second or third son, you’re worth a hundred thousand or more and will go to the eldest son, the family’s heir. An uncontested courtesan cannot be sold outside of a few exceptions, she cannot be abandoned, and her new family’s honor is tied to her health, her care, and her wellbeing. She is the intended bride of an heir, the future matron of a house, and a true jewel. That hundred thousand is only the bounty hunter’s share. You will sell for far more than that on the block. The average is a quarter of a million. Treasured uncontested courtesans sell for four hundred thousand, rarely more. How much you sell for becomes the pride of the house you will join. Typically, the matron or patron of the house will handle your purchase and be your owner until your intended groom properly earns you.”

My mouth dropped open.

No wonder bounty hunters had been hot on my heels and drooling over me like I was a choice piece of meat. My bounty would be enough to retire on in the Alley—and pay for a place within Asylum with extra to spare. I couldn’t blame Sandro for risking a storm to catch me.