Breaking Ties Read Online Free PDF Page A

fetching caffeine for a parishioner of the Church of Red Tape. Even worse, the guy’s a bro . Yelling at powerless subservients, using petty cash to pay for visits to strip clubs with other bros in the office so it’ll be a business expense, and zero chance of any of that changing without outside intervention. He’s the kind of mark that’s handed to you on a silver platter with a card attached reading, Have fun! Love, Fate .
    And I can’t do a damned thing to the guy.
    There’s a cardinal rule to being a Coyote: don’t rat out family. I broke it, got caught, and as a result my grandfather, Father Coyote himself , has put me on the outs with the clan. Cosmetically, all this means is that my eyes are a common blue instead of a golden brown. Jobwise, it means I’m no longer covered by the crazy luck granted by Fate, and that if the Kitsune and Phouka, the other two big players in the Feud, want to come after me, my fellow Coyotes will likely hand them my home address.
    The first two are taking their time and setting me up. My own clan, on the other hand, has been playing kid pranks on me for the last six months. Popped tires, shoddy pool cues, shower dye, and I can’t even eat anything sugary anymore because it’s usually laced with a heavy helping of salt. I won’t even mention what they did to my Facebook, much less my FarmVille.
    At least they haven’t screwed with my job. My half-brother Thornton has espoused the notion that the best trick you can play on anyone is to get them fired, and since he’s the Coyote I narced on (and trashed one of his aliases), it wouldn’t surprise me if that is the flavor retribution comes in.
    As I ride the elevator down to Victory Station, where there is a Starbucks, I have to consider the simple fact that keeping me in this job is likely a better revenge. After all, I have a demanding idiot boss who has no authority or sway in the company, other than over me. The work itself is running errands and occasional data entry, the dress code is strict, and it’s nine hours a day under soul-sucking fluorescent lights. And I’m paid in experience .
    I’m tempted to say screw it and just wash dishes at the diner where I’m still crashing after six months. Shit pay’s better than no pay. But this can lead to something better, I have to keep telling myself that. Have to be responsible and all, don’t want to end up a career criminal.
    Just pisses me off that the Fae I hustled last night ran out before paying that ninety bucks he owed.
    Victory Station is built underneath Victory Tower, and is the major hub for the United Transit Authority, as well as a hub for Greyhound and Amtrak, with shuttles out to MacArthur Airport. It’s a proving ground for pickpockets and short-conners, as it’s busy, has people from all walks of life, and cops here and there. It’s also where I first met James.
    He was leaving his boyfriend who was hitting him, so I gave him my bus ticket out of town, thinking he’d end up in the Capital and able to have a happily ever after. Didn’t quite work out that way.
    â€œGrande cappuccino, piping hot, please.” I flash a Coyote smile to the barista, a college-age girl with a nice smile. “Feel free to make it scalding, it’s for my boss.” That earns a giggle and a wider smile. She writes Boss on the cup and motions for me to wait off to the side, which I do, occasionally grinning over at her. She’s apparently new, as I haven’t seen her here before, which is good because for once my reputation isn’t preceding me.
    Of course my cell has to go off at that moment. So much for setting up a quickie with a barista. I answer it, expecting to hear my boss chewing me out for taking so long with his damned coffee.
    â€œCrain.” I’ve learned to be curt.
    â€œSix months, Spencer.” If my body didn’t recognize the voice, the accent would be a dead