Supersonic | Zayn Malik | AU |

Seventy-Five

☠ Chapter Seventy-Five ☠

➳ EZRA/SULLIVAN'S POV

I'd been around all day, doing shit for Kit just to learn what Zayn's hiding. She'd wanted me to do many things—including paying her some money, buying her plenty of smokes, grabbing her things that would be considered prison valuables and now, I was at my final stop. Kit wanted me to break into Zayn's home and steal a piece of paper.

I wasn't entirely sure what the paper meant, but it was obvious that Kit would basically kill for it. I was assuming that whatever was on this piece of paper had to do with Zayn's secret and I'm almost jumping out of my skin knowing just how close I finally am.

After the short visit at the prison where Kit tormented me about knowing everything, while I apparently knew nothing, I went home for the night to scheme up how I'd break into Zayn's. I knew he had a good alarm system, along with that damn puppy. But I also knew that the puppy was off at Nyjah's for the week—as I saw her growling about in her cage, clearly not happy to see me when I visited yesterday.

All there is to worry about is Zayn's pesky alarm system, along with sneakily picking the locks to avoid any sort of detection. I'm aware that it's best to do this entire thing at night, and so I spent all day running Kit's errands until they were exhausted and then waited for nightfall. In my time spent waiting, Marcello had figured out a way to hack his alarm system—all I had to do was ring him the second I managed to pick the lock.

After the long drive across the city, I'm sitting about two blocks away from his house. I parked a ways away, in case someone happens to notice me breaking in, they at least won't be able to identify a vehicle. Hell, if someone saw me, I'd run in any direction except my car.

I grab the black gloves I'd chosen to avoid leaving fingerprints behind as evidence, grabbing the sophisticated lock picker I'd packed earlier. Holding my car keys, I exit the vehicle and lock it on the way, stuffing the gloves into the pocket of my hooded sweatshirt.

I fucking hate the way I'm dressed—in sweatpants and a hoodie. That was another errand I had to run today, knowing that I'd probably look inconspicuous in a suit walking down a sidewalk in the late evening. And so, I played the part of the heart healthy runner, jogging down the sidewalk as if I was just another father and husband in this bland neighbourhood.

No one seems to notice that anything's out of sorts as I jog down the paved path, up until I reach Zayn's house and head up the driveway, peeking around the side of the house to head straight for his back door. I know it's dark there and without many lights, so I feel it's my best bet to sneak in undetected.

Managing to avoid alerting any of his motion detecting lights, I kneel in front of the back patio door, putting my gloves on my hands before pulling the lock picker out of its case. It's a breeze, really, inserting it and twisting it until I hear that satisfying click that warns me it's unlocked.

I ring Marcello in a hurry, blurting out, "It's done," before even saying hello.

I hear some noise in the background as he does what he's asked and after a few minutes, I get the confirmation I need. "You're clear."

I rip the battery out of the disposable, stuffing both it and the phone itself into my pocket. I clean up my lock picking device, putting that away as well. When I push open the door, I almost expect the alarm to go off, but it doesn't and a satisfied smirk curls my lips, happy that Marcello's once again proved why he's my right-hand man.

I first step into the kitchen, admiring the way Zayn's decorated the place. I'll admit that he's got good taste—in cars, furniture, and women.

I take a moment to look around his house, more in a curious snoop of how he lives. I notice the puppy's area—with her bed and toys spread out everywhere. I peek at the sight of remnants of a joint in the ashtray. I also take note of some of the art that hangs on the wall. One specific piece interests me, but I don't pay much attention to it because I know that I must see this piece of paper.