Page 89 of The Succubi's Choice

“Any record the Organization has, any records they have kept, I have access. I can edit, delete, change around, anything.”

“This is why you picked Thomas?” She asks, still looking at the screen. “To be able to do anything with this?”

There’s a record for Gabriel, in relation to her. There’s a link, large looking, that leads to Katya’s name, under known associates.

He nods, but she can barely see it out of the corner of her eye. “He’s computer savvy. It’s incredible.”

She gives him a direct look. “This is more than computer savvy, this is high level hacking for what’s supposed to be a very secure system.” She picks up the instructions out of a lack of anything to do with her hands, and immediately sets it back down. “Jesus Christ.”

“And I can delete any of them,” he says, his voice turning serious, and she looks over at him, finally. “I can delete your existence from the Organization. They would have no records, your boss and your handler would no longer have your number, and they would have no way to regulate you.”

She breaks her eye contact from the screen, and he’s staring at her, serious.

“I can put in that you are allowed to feed five days a week, and they would be pretty unable to fix it. I can put in that you have unlimited freedom, and...”

“Why do you have this?” The words fall from her mouth. “Why?”

Gentle, ever gentle, he pulls her hand back into his. “Because the way they are treating people like us isn’t right.”

For a few seconds, she stares at the screen, the indications dizzying. The amount of trust he is showing her by showing her this, without any promise to keep it secret, makes her head swim.

“This is...very stupid to show me,” she says, slowly, and he rubs his thumbs along the aching veins of her arm. “I told you, I work for them, and —"

“I want you to trust me,” he says, once more, like this is all about that. “I wanted you to see what is at stake for that.”

She looks at him, really looks at him, and he’s staring up at her, unwavering. “How many people know?”

“No one for sure,” he says, still keeping the eye contact, and it’s intense. “I think Grant might suspect, he’s much smarter than he lets on. Thomas, obviously. And you.”

“And me,” she repeats.

There’s silence, in the little apartment in Silverlake, though if she strains she can hear the birds singing and the traffic going outside, so close, yet so alienating and far away.

“I would prefer you don’t tell anyone,” he says, like it’s something simple, like a bank account number or a diary entry. “You understand, it could be bad for me.”

She stares at him. “Yeah I got that,” she says, and her voice feels hollow, and she leans back down to the computer.

There’s even a section on past infractions, past write ups, even the minor car accident she got into a few years ago, things she didn’t even know they tracked.

“And they have everyone’s on here?”

He nods, swiveling in the office chair. “I haven’t found a record of Beatriz ordering torture but...I’m willing to bet she’s not there in an official capacity. There’s even the limited one on me and Thomas, that you put in.” He glances up at her, as if suddenly feeling like this would be the thing she took offense at. “I deleted most of it, but that’s for security.”

“No, that’s okay, I keep paper records,” she says, still in a daze.

There’s a section for past text messages she sent. She cursors over to them, clicks them open, and there they are, organized by date and person sent.

She knew they had access, she knew that Lundy, at the very least, kept tabs. But this…

Belatedly, she realizes that he has a hand on her back, a stabilizing, comforting pressure, and the fact that she didn’t realize immediately when he touches her says something. Brings her brain back down to earth, settles her back in her skin.

“So this is your ally in the system,” she says, much more matter of fact, trying to pull her feet back underneath her. “That’s how Thomas saw I had a head injury when even Katya didn’t know.” She reaches for her phone, but stops, realizing it’s back at her apartment. “Oh god...”

“What?” He says, quick. “What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing, I just...I forgot my phone back there. They’ll worry.”

Saying that, with the concrete knowledge in front of her, feels weird.

---