The bus seemed to be moving at a snail's pace today, and he was impossibly, ridiculously late. He tapped his foot against the floor, knowing V would not be pleased if he screwed up the schedule. Not for the first time that day, Owen cursed his rotten luck. Everything seemed to have conspired to delay him—from one of his teachers deciding to prolong their class, to his mother calling in to demand her check and his landlady asking for the rent money. The horrifying traffic hadn't helped, and Owen clenched his fingers around the strap of his bag, wishing he could be anywhere else but here. When the bus finally reached his stop, Owen practically shot out of the vehicle. It was already dark, but Owen knew every shortcut in the neighborhood and could have found his way to his destination in his sleep. He was panting and sweating when he finally ran the alley that led to the backdoor of the club. Sonny, the bouncer, arched a brow at him. "You're late, Ink. The boss is pissed." "Yes, yes, I know.
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