Rise: Populations Crumble, Book 2 by Gandy, A. (read book .txt) 📕

“The guys? How many guys are we talking, exactly?” I squeeze Patrick’s hand nervously.

“Me, plus three. You have four personal guards at all times, from here on out. As things progress and your new status becomes fully public, that will probably have to increase.”

I swallow, making the logical leap. “So, I guess that means you know—” I trail off, unsure how to actually say it out loud. Royalty.

He nods. “Teddy was pretty hot under the collar about the whole situation when he called, and he gave me an earful. Don’t worry, I talked him off the ledge.” He levels a glare at Patrick. “You, however, are on his crap list.”

Patrick looks contrite. “I don’t blame him in the least. All I can do is try to make it up to him, at this point.”

Peter stops at a breakfast table, and I let go of his arms to sit. Patrick sits next to me, and Peter pulls out the chair across from me. “So, if we have four guards, where are the other three?”

“Front door, back door, and off duty at the moment.” He points to illustrate their locations.

“Well, we have a lot of catching up to do,” I say, as the waiter arrives at our table.

We enjoy breakfast, just the three of us, and it’s so nice to have a normal conversation for once. Another guard in camouflage approaches our table as we’re finishing up.

“Peter, I’m here to relieve you.” The man stands at attention, waiting for Peter’s acknowledgement.

“I’m good for now, Spivey. Go tell Martinez to take his off shift.” The man nods, spins on his heel, and leaves the dining room without comment.

“Now, do you two want to stay in the guest house? Because if not, they’ve prepared a new cabin for you. I understand your last one was damaged in the kidnapping attempt.”

His words bring back the vivid image of the splintered bathroom door, and a pool of crimson staining the hallway. I shudder.

Patrick looks over at me. “It’s up to you, Sadie. We’d have more space in the cottage, but if you feel safer in the guest house we can stay here.”

“What are the four of you going to do, if we move back to a cottage?” I ask, and frown as I imagine them all standing around outside in the cold so I can have the illusion of privacy. Peter’s silence is all the answer I need. “It’s okay, we can stay in the guest house. That’s probably easier, right?”

Peter nods, confirming my suspicions.

“Is that okay with you, Patrick?”

He squeezes my hand. “Just fine.”

A crackle comes from Peter’s comm wristband. “We’ve got a situation out front. Everyone report.”

I exchange a worried glance with Patrick, as Peter surges to his feet. “You two stay here, I’ll be right back.”

I glance nervously at Patrick, but he looks unconcerned, as he sips his second cup of coffee. I see the guard who’d been dismissed for his rest come flying back down the stairs, and head in the same direction as Peter. A minute later, scuffling sounds come from the front door of the guest house, and I glance at Patrick again, my worry rising.

Still, he’s calm as he sits there, drinking coffee like it’s any other Tuesday. I guess for him, it is just another Tuesday.

Things quiet down, a door slams, and then Peter reappears. “Sorry about that, the media is getting bolder the longer they’re out there.”

I freeze to the spot. “What do you mean, the media? And how long have they been out there?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Ehh, five days? For the most part they stand in the driveway right past the grass hedge hoping for a shot of you two. Jokes on them because you’ve been locked in your room the whole time. Every now and then one of them makes a run for the front door, usually when one of the staff is carrying linens, or distracted on the phone. However, now that you two are out, I recommend a strict back-door policy for coming and going from the guest house.”

He picks up his abandoned cup of coffee, and drains it in a single swallow, before taking in my pale face.

“It’s okay, Sadie. The guys and I are on top of it. You’re safe here.” He shoots me a confident look, and I relax a hair. The idea of people standing outside, trying to photograph us is freaky, but I guess I need to get used to that.

An odd sound comes from the window to our left, and all of our heads whip over at the same instant. There, pressed against the window, is a short man in khaki cargo pants, with a camera in hand. He seems to recognize Peter, and then immediately lifts the camera and starts shooting right through the window.

Peter jumps into action like a shot, and darts straight to the back door of the guest house. The man lowers the camera, hits a few buttons, and then bolts. We watch in horrified fascination as Peter comes into view of the windows at a full run, another camouflaged guard we’ve not seen yet on his tail, and then hear a loud crash a few moments after they’re out of sight.

A minute passes, and a smashing sound is the only noise from outside. Then Peter, walking now, comes back across the windows, a mangled black mess in his hand. He makes his way in and sits back down, plopping the now-destroyed camera on the table between us. Before I can say anything, a cheer erupts out front. Confused, I turn to Patrick.

He sighs, finally sets his coffee down on the table, and addresses Peter. “Well, the secret’s out now. Auto-uploader?” He gestures to the smashed pile of technology in front of me.

What’s an auto-uploader?

Peter’s only response is a tight nod.

“What’s an auto-uploader? You smashed the camera, so what’s the issue?”

Peter points to a blue button before answering, “NAA One has