Supersonic | Zayn Malik | AU |

Fifty

☠ Chapter Fifty ☠

➳ ARIELLE'S POV

"Death is inevitable. It's a promise made to us at birth."

The quote flashes suddenly in my mind, almost as if it's some sort of signal. I remember the quote from Zayn's chalk walls in his bedroom. It was one of the many written on the surface, which I read when I was cradling a bottle of wine back when I'd sort of first come to know him.

I'm not sure why it decides to come to me at this particular moment, but I hate it.

After meeting with Lieutenant Malik yesterday, it was a blur of a night. I didn't tell anybody about what I was doing, but that's not entirely by my own choice. I mean, yeah, I didn't want anyone knowing, Nyjah especially, but it was a part of working with the police—they wouldn't allow me to tell anyone in fear that the plan would be leaked. And if that would've happened, then Sullivan could've prepared for my arrival, whether that be with a gun, or removing himself from the country, or whatever he could do to save his ass.

And we definitely couldn't have that happening.

I've already been wired up—the wire placed inconspicuously in the valley between my breasts. The man said it was the best place for quality of sound, although I'm not entirely sure I believe that. I've also been driven to the location where I'll finally be meeting with the dreaded Sullivan.

Honestly, I wasn't feeling all that nervous, but once my brain suddenly decided to remember that quote, I'm kneeling over, afraid I'll vomit up my lunch. I end up nervously gagging a few times while Janet—the woman who's been briefing me on what's going on—rubs soothing circles on my back.

How in the hell did I get myself into this mess? My palms are sweating, my skin is flushing, my head is spinning, and I'm practically dry heaving up my salad from earlier.

"Look, everyone feels nervous about stuff like this," Janet says as she rubs another circle on my back and grabs my hair, despite the fact that I'm not actually vomiting. I'm just going through my own sick, little twisted hell because I can't vomit. It's just heaving so hard that I swear my innards are about to come up.

I feel irritated with Janet because she's practically trivializing the anxiety I'm feeling right now. I mean, yeah, it is my own fault for putting myself into this situation, but hell, you could at least help a girl out.

I don't even respond to her comment, I just gag again and utter whatever strangled sound that manages to come out of my diaphragm.

"How about we go over the plan again?"

I don't respond, and so she continues.

"You're going to go in there, introduce yourself as Emilia—"

I stand up then, irritated because we've gone over this a thousand times, and I get it. I get what I have to do, that's not the issue here! The issue is nerves. I'm nervous because I'm about to face some fucking mob boss or something and I could easily get killed with a snap of his blood-stained fingers!