The tiny child raced right past all the “normal” individuals in the parking lot who were trying to help and went straight to the scariest-looking motorcyclist.
She was barefoot, her pajamas were ripped, and there were bruises on her skinny arms. She clutched onto the leg of this 300-pound bearded stranger and wouldn’t let go, crying, “Please don’t let him find me.”
The soccer moms at the petrol station were shocked. Some even filmed as this tattooed behemoth in leather went down to the child’s level and checked her injuries with his huge, soft hands.
They talked quietly about calling the police on him since they were concerned that a little girl would run TO a motorcyclist instead of away from one.
The
But when the little girl eventually spoke and told us why she knew the skull patch on his vest, everyone understood why she had run to him.
She said, “You’re the angels Mommy told me about.” “The ones with wings on their backs that help kids.” If I ever got away from him, she told me to find the skull angels and say that.
She
“What’s your name, dear? He asked softly, without taking his eyes from the entrance to the parking lot.
“Emma.” “Emma Bradley.”
The biker’s face turned white under his beard. That name was familiar to him. We all knew that name.
“Brothers!” He yelled, and all of a sudden, four more bikes came out from behind the gas pumps and headed straight for us.
The soccer parents ran back, holding their kids tightly, but the bikers didn’t even look at them.
“It’s
The station manager was on the phone, most likely contacting the cops. “I’m warning you, get away from that child or—”
“Or what?” the rider asked in a calm voice. “Are you going to call the police? Fine. Get in touch with them. Tell them that Emma Bradley is safe and with the Guardians of the Children. They will understand what that means.
I was the only “normal” person who hadn’t run away. The way these men moved and set themselves up made me think this wasn’t an abduction. This was a rescue.
One of the bikers said to me, “Ma’am,” and his voice was polite even though he looked scary. “Could you just go inside and get some water and maybe some band-aids? Emma’s feet are pretty hurt.
I nodded and went inside quickly. I watched the lead biker, the one Emma had raced to, pull off his leather vest and put it around her tiny shoulders through the window.
The skull patch that had horrified everyone was now keeping a child who was scared warm.
When I got back outside with supplies, Emma was sitting on the biker’s motorcycle with her feet off the ground. Another biker was gently cleaning her wounds. She was chatting now, and her soft voice could be heard all the way across the quiet parking lot.
“Mommy told me to run if Ray ever hurt me badly again. Go find the skull angels and run. She stated you helped her when she was young, like me. You said you had a magical word that meant you would keep me secure.
The lead biker’s hands were so soft as he put antibiotic ointment on her feet. “Emma, your mom was brave.” She found us when she was eight years old, just like you. We did everything we said we would do to keep her safe.
“But Ray found us,” Emma said in a low voice. “He discovered the shelter. This time he really injured Mommy. She wasn’t able to get up. “Run, find the skull angels, and say the word,” they said.
The biker murmured quietly, “Sanctuary.” “The word is sanctuary.”
Emma nodded, and tears ran down her face. “She said you’d remember her.” You promised to keep me safe like you kept her safe.
One of the soccer parents who had been filming eventually put down her phone. “Wait… are you saying that you helped this little girl’s mother twenty years ago?”
The biker, who I heard the others call Tank, nodded but didn’t look at her.
“She was Rebecca Martinez then. She was eight years old and had a lot of bruises. She was fleeing away from her stepfather. We were in a Harley shop. She ran right up to the biggest, meanest-looking rider she could see, which happened to be me. She said her teacher urged her to look for the motorcyclists with skull patches if she was ever in big danger.
“Mrs. Hey, Patterson,” Emma exclaimed all of a sudden. “That was Mommy’s teacher.” “She’s also my teacher now.”
Tank smiled regretfully. “Linda Patterson. Before everyone else, she knew what we were up to. “Over the years, they sent us more than one child.”
Two police cars pulled into the station as the sound of sirens got closer. The officers that got out didn’t have their guns in their hands. Instead, they nodded at the motorcycles in a way that seemed respectful.
The older cop called the lead biker “Tank.” “Ray Hutchinson is wanted. Attack on Rebecca Bradley and possible kidnapping of Emma. How long has she been with you?”
“About ten minutes,” Tank said. “She has wounds on her back and has been running barefoot for a while.” She says her mom is really hurt.
The officer’s radio made a crackling sound. “Unit 12, please be aware. Rebecca Bradley was found unconscious at the Riverside Shelter. In bad shape, on the way to General. Ray Hutchinson, the suspect, is still on the loose and is thought to be armed and dangerous.
Emma started to cry. “Is Mommy going to die?”
He took her off his bike with ease, as if she were weightless.
“Your mama is tough, little one.” She made it through before, and she’ll make it through again. And you did what she told you to do. “You found us.”
The younger officer was writing things down. “Emma, can you tell us what happened?”
Emma put her face in Tank’s shoulder.
“Ray got angry because Mommy wouldn’t give him any money. He smacked her with the bottle. She fell, and there was blood. She told me to run. To run and not stop till I found the skull angels.
“How far did you run, sweetheart?” The officer asked softly.
“I don’t know.” A long time. My feet hurt, and I was terrified, but Mommy told me to keep going. She said the skull angels would keep me safe like they kept her safe.
One of the soccer moms went forward, although not very confidently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get it. I thought…
Tank remarked, “You thought a little girl running to bikers meant danger,” without judging. “Most people would. That’s how it works.” Abusers don’t expect their victims to run to the scary-looking guys with skulls on their vests.”
The manager had come outside and seemed embarrassed. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know you were… what did you name it?
Another rider said, “Guardians of the Children.”
“We’re not for profit.” We support kids who have been hurt. Be there for them in court, walk them to school if they’re terrified, and let them know they’re not alone. Some of us have been abused ourselves.
As he got closer to Emma, the older cop was gentle. “Sweetheart, we need to get you to the hospital.” You can see your mom after the doctors check you out.
Emma held on to Tank more tightly. “Can the angels come, too?”
Tank said, “We’ll follow right behind.” “We’ll be there for you as long as you need us.” That’s what Guardians do.
Tank turned to me as the police were getting ready to take Emma away.
“Ma’am, I know you don’t know us, but would you mind giving the officers your phone number?” If Emma needs witnesses to prove her condition when she got here? “
I promptly nodded. “Of course.” And… I’m sorry. To judge. For thinking…”
He responded, “Don’t be sorry for being careful about a child’s safety.”
“Just remember that the people who look the scariest aren’t always the most dangerous.” We look scary on purpose so that the real monsters will think twice before hurting the kids we are protecting.
I told the police all I knew, and then I ended up following the convoy to the hospital.
I couldn’t say why—maybe it was the picture of that little kid holding on to that big biker, or maybe it was how these tough-looking men had turned into compassionate protectors right away. But I have to see this through.
When I got to the hospital, the bikers were already there. They had placed themselves in strategic places, with one near the elevator, one near the stairs, and others in other parts of the pediatric ward. Not scary, just there. Be careful.
Through the little glass, you could see Tank with Emma in an exam room. daddy was holding her hand while a doctor looked at her wounds. The child was definitely calmer because daddy was there.
A female motorcyclist I hadn’t seen before took over when Emma had to change into a hospital gown. She spoke sweetly to Emma and helped her.
One of the motorcyclists noticed me looking and said, “That’s Phoenix.” “She is also a survivor.” “Knows how to help kids with medical issues without making them worse.”
“How many of you are there?” “Why?” I asked.
“In our chapter? About thirty. All over the country? A lot.” We’re in almost every state now, and some other countries too.”
He reached out his hand. “I’m Scratch. Hammer is by the stairs, and Bones is over there. Tank is the president.
I shook his hand and said, “I’m Sarah.” “I was at the gas station.” I watched Emma run to Tank.
Scratch nodded. “Tank has that effect on kids who are in trouble.” They just know he’s safe because of something about him. Ever since I started doing this twenty-two years ago…
He stopped talking, but I could see there was a tale there. A disturbance at the elevator caught our attention before I could ask. A man in his thirties, who looked messy and angry, was trying to get by Bones.
“I want to see my daughter!” He was yelling. “Emma! Where is Emma?”
Every motorcyclist in the hall got tense. This had to be Ray Hutchinson.
Bones, who was 6’4″ tall, just stood in front of the elevator with his arms crossed. “Sir, I need you to calm down.”
“Get out of my path, you weirdo! That’s my child in there! Ray tried to push past, but Bones wouldn’t let him.
“No, sir,” Bones answered in a calm voice. “That’s Emma Bradley in there.” And you are Ray Hutchinson, who is wanted for assault and attempted kidnapping.
Ray’s face changed color from red to purple. “You can’t stop me from seeing my daughter!”
Bones said, “I’m not keeping you from anyone.” “I’m simply standing here. You can talk to hospital security if you want to make a complaint. Or the cops who are already on their way up.
I discovered that two officers had been waiting in the stairway all the while. This had been planned.
“Ray Hutchinson,” the officer in charge replied, “you are under arrest for assault, attempted kidnapping, and breaking a protection order.”
Ray started to scream when they put handcuffs on him. “She belongs to me! Emma is my girl!” You can’t stop me from getting to her! I’m going to kill all of you!”
The motorcyclists didn’t respond to his threats, but I could see that they were all ready for anything. As they took Ray to the elevator, his threats echoed down the hall.
I could see Emma squeezed against Tank, shaking, through the window of the exam room. He was talking to her in a low voice and gently rubbing her back with his big hand.
Phoenix was on the other side of Emma, and together they made a safe cocoon around the scared kid.
Dr. Chen came out of the room with a serious look on his face. “She had a lot of bruises, cuts on her feet from running barefoot, and signs of older injuries that were still healing.” There is clear proof that abuse is still going on.
She gazed at the people on bikes. “I guess you want copies of everything for the court case?”
Tank responded, “It would be helpful if you could send them to our legal team.” He came out of the room with Emma holding on to him like a koala. “Is she allowed to go upstairs?” She has to see her mother.
“Yes, physically. But… Dr. Chen spoke more quietly. Rebecca is in very bad shape. She is not awake. Emma could find it hard to see her like that.
Phoenix remarked, “It would be worse not to see her.” “Kids think of things that are worse than they are.” She needs to know that her mom is still alive, even if she is hurt.
Dr. Chen nodded. “ICU Room 4B.” I’ll call first.
The trip to the ICU was like a dream. Everyone we passed stared at our unusual procession: a little girl in a medical gown wrapped in a biker’s leather vest, with tattooed guards in leather all around her. But Emma didn’t appear to notice; she was just interested in getting to her mother.
When we got to the ICU, my heart broke. Rebecca Bradley’s face was swollen and bruised, and machines were keeping her alive. Emma let out a scream that no child should ever make.
“Mommy! Wake up, Mommy!”
Tank got down on one knee next to her. “She’s sleeping, little one.” Her body needs to take a break so it can repair. But she can hear you. Why not tell her that you’re okay?” Tell her you found the skull angels just like she said.
Emma walked carefully to the bed and reached for her mother’s hand with her small hand. “Mommy? I did everything you told me to do. I ran and ran until I found the skull angels. Mommy, Tank is here. The one you told me about. The person who helped you when you were a kid.
Rebecca’s eyes blinked a little, which may or may not have been a coincidence. But Emma gasped. “She heard me!” I’m safe, Mommy. “Just like you said, the angels are keeping me safe.”
A nurse came up discreetly. “Are you related?” “She asked Tank.
“We’re her guardians,” he said, and the way he said it made her stop asking questions.
We stayed for an hour. Emma talked to her mother, who was unconscious, about fleeing into the dark, finding Tank, and how the skull angels were exactly as protective as Rebecca had said they would be.
The motorcyclists took turns keeping watch, and I would learn that this watch never ended until Rebecca was freed weeks later.
A woman in her fifties came to the door as we were getting ready to go. She had gray hair tucked back into a bun and kind eyes behind glasses with wire rims.
“Emma?” She spoke it quietly. “Oh, honey, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Mrs. Hey, Patterson!” Emma ran to her instructor, who knelt down to hug her. “I remembered what Mom said! “About the angels in the skull!”
Linda Patterson peered up at Tank over Emma’s shoulder, her eyes full of tears. “Thanks.” Thanks for still being there.
“Always,” Tank responded without hesitation. “You sent us Rebecca twenty years ago.” “We don’t forget.”
Mrs. Patterson stood up and put one arm around Emma. “I’ve been sending kids to the Guardians for more than 20 years.” “You’ve always been there.” She looked at me. “Are you with child services?”
“No, I was at the gas station when Emma got there. I followed because… I stopped talking because I didn’t know how to explain why I had to see this through.
“Because you saw something amazing,” Mrs. Patterson said to finish. “A child running toward danger to find safety.” It alters how you look at the world, doesn’t it?
She was correct. In just a few hours, everything I thought I knew about judging people by how they seem had changed.
“What happens to Emma now?” I asked.
Mrs. Patterson remarked, “We will need to make arrangements for emergency custody.” “Foster care, most likely, unless—”
Tank cut in, “She stays with me.” “I have a license for emergency placement.” For the last fifteen years.
He took out his wallet and showed official papers. “We’ve done this before. Kids who come to us for help often need a safe place to stay while the law catches up with them.
Mrs. Patterson grinned. “I was hoping you would say that.” Emma, do you want to stay with Tank till your mom feels better?
Emma nodded much. “Can Phoenix come too?” And Bones? And Scratch? “
Phoenix told her, “We’ll all be there.” “That’s what Guardians do.” “We’ll stay until you don’t need us anymore.”
The next two hours were a flurry of forms, rules, and legal papers. The Guardians stayed close to Emma the whole time to protect her. Tank and Phoenix stayed in the room when a social worker came to talk to her. Their presence certainly made the terrified child feel better.
During those hours, I learned more about the Guardians of the Children. The organization started with one chapter and has now grown to hundreds, all of which are dedicated to assisting abused children. It was started by a biker named Chief who had been mistreated as a youngster. They went to court hearings, stood guard during visits, and were just scary enough to make abusers think twice.
Scratch told me while we waited, “We don’t hurt anyone.” “We don’t have to.” Just being there is enough. People that abuse kids are cowards since kids can’t fight back. But we can get in the way of them and their victims. “We can be the safety these kids never had before.”
By nightfall, Emma was released into Tank’s temporary care. She rode out of the hospital on his shoulders, still wearing his vest like a shield. The other Guardians made an escort to the parking lot, where a vehicle was waiting. It seems they had thought ahead about the need for car seats.
“Sarah,” Tank called to me as they were getting ready to depart. “Thanks. For not thinking the worst. To get the medical supplies. “To bear witness today.”
“I should thank you,” I said. “You’ve opened my eyes to a lot of things.”
He gave me a card. “The Guardians are always looking for people to help them. People who get what we’re trying to do. “Think about it.”
As they drove away, Emma waved goodbye to me through the window. I lingered in the parking lot and thought about what I had seen. A tiny girl who has been taught that individuals who look scary might be the safest. Bikers who had made it their life’s work to keep kids safe. There was a group of teachers, nurses, and police officers who knew just who to call when a youngster needed help.
That night, I went home and looked up the Guardians of the Children. Their website was full of stories like Emma’s—kids who had found protection with the skull angels, abusers who had been stopped by walls of leather-clad guards, and court cases where a child’s testimony was feasible because they had Guardians standing behind them.
But the visuals really got to me. Bikers who appear tough reading to kids. Tattooed arms showing kids how to fix motorcycles. People in leather taking kids to school. There was a big difference between how they looked and how they acted.
I began volunteering with the Guardians, where I helped with fundraising and running the organization. Three weeks later, when Rebecca woke up, I was there. Her first word was a soft “Emma?”
Tank held her hand and said, “She’s safe.” “She did what you told her to do.” She found us, said “sanctuary,” and we’ve had her ever since.
Rebecca cried then, letting go of twenty years of fear and pain. “You maintained your word. When I was eight and scared, you swore you’d always be there for me. “You kept your word.”
“Always do,” Tank answered with a shrug.
Ray Hutchinson was given fifteen years in prison six months later, and I was there. Emma sat in the courtroom between Tank and Phoenix and drew sketches while her father was taken away in chains. The Guardians had been there for every hearing and every witness, a wall of leather that never moved.
A year later, I was present when Rebecca, who had fully recovered and was in therapy, appeared in front of a room full of people at a Guardian’s fundraiser and shared her tale. How an eight-year-old girl called Rebecca Martinez ran away from her stepfather and found protection with bikers. How she grew up, believed she had found love, and then did it all over again. How her daughter had walked the same route and met the same people to protect her.
Rebecca said, “They say lightning doesn’t strike twice,” with Tank and Emma next to her on stage. “But sanctuary does. Protection does. Love does. The Guardians saved me twice: once when I was a kid and once when I was a parent. They taught me that certain commitments last forever and that some individuals spend their whole lives helping others who weren’t there for them.
Emma is ten years old today. She goes to treatment, does well in school, and lives with her mother in a house with great security that a biker-owned company put in for free. She still calls Tank when she has bad dreams and sometimes wears a tiny Guardian support vest to school.
And sometimes, at petrol stations or grocery shops, I see it happen again. A kid in distress looking among the throng for leather and skulls. Finding safety in a place where most people wouldn’t look. Instead of running away from the scary-looking motorcycles, they ran toward them.
Word gets about like essential knowledge does: from teacher to student, from survivor to victim, and from mother to kid. Look for the skull angels if you’re in difficulty, afraid, or someone is hurting you and no one else will help. Say “sanctuary,” and they’ll keep you safe.
The Protectors of the Kids. This shows that heroes don’t necessarily wear capes or carry guns. They ride motorcycles and wear leather vests sometimes. Sometimes they look like the threat they’re keeping you safe from. Sometimes the person who looks the scariest is the safest for a child who is in trouble.
That was something Emma taught me. An eight-year-old girl with ripped pajamas and bloody feet racing toward what everyone else was afraid of and finding precisely what her mother had promised her: safety, security, and the strongest love a kid could possibly want.
The angels of the skull. May they always ride. Children should always know where to go. May refuge always be just a word away.
In a society when kids need protection from the ones who should love them the most, thank God for the bikers who are ready to be the family those kids need.
That’s what I learned the day Emma Bradley rushed into a gas station without shoes on and transformed my life. That’s what I think about every time I see a Guardian’s vest or hear a motorcycle thunder by.
Angels can wear leather sometimes. There are times when safety has skulls on it.
Sometimes, the most essential thing a mother can teach her daughter is that the scariest individuals could be the ones who save her.
