Sirens wail in the I ask inside. Patches with we make it halfway across the yard when an engine a pickup truck crashes through the gate. Metal twisting with a horrible patch shoves my chair behind a concrete planter. Stay down. The truck barrels into the yard swerving wildly.
James Harrove leans out the window, gun in hand. Jensen, he screams. You're dead. Shots ring out. Clubhouse windows shatter.
Angels die for cover. Patch stands in front of me, shielding me with his body. His hand reaches for the gun at his waist. Patch. No.
I cry. You'll get shot. More gunfire. The truck circles the yard. James firing wildly.
Angels return fire from behind vehicles buildings. Where's Hawk? I shout over the noise. Inside, Patch says with your mom. The truck turns head straight for us.
James sees me, recognizes me from the papers. His face contorts with rage. You, he screams. This is your fault. He aims the gun at me.
Patch steps directly in front of me, arms spread wide. A shot cracks the air. Patch jerks. Stumbles, falls to one knee. Patch!
I scream. Blood spreads across his shirt. He grits his teeth, stays upright, still shielding me. The truck speeds toward us 10 yard away. Five.
Another shot rings out. The truck's front tire explodes. It swerves violently, flips onto its side, skids across the yard in a shower of sparks. Hawk stands in the clubhouse doorway, rifle rays. Doc runs to Pat.
Mama Carter rushes out, head straight for me. Eli, are you hurt? Her hands check me for injury. I'm fine, I say. But Patch, Doc is already working, cutting away his shirt, pressing gauze to the wound.
Through and through, Doc says, "Miss the vital stuff. You lucky bastard. " Patch grimaces. "Doesn't feel lucky? " His eyes find mine. "You okay, kid? " I nod, too choked up to speak. Sirens grow louder.
Police cars pull in through the broken gate. Officers approach the overturned truck cautiously. Guns drawn. James Hargrove is unconscious but alive. They handcuff him before pulling him out.
Mom runs across the yard, drops to her knees beside me, pulls me into a fierce. "My brave, brave boy," she whispers. I cling to her. Over her shoulder, I watch as Doc and others load Patch onto a makeshift stretcher. "Will he be okay? " I ask.
"He'll be fine," Hawk says, joining us. Patch is too stubborn to die. "Mom doesn't let me go. " Her body shakes with silent sobs. "It's over now," Hawk says, his hand on her shoulder. "It's really over. " Later that night, after the police leave, after the paramedics take Patch to the hospital, after the gate is temporarily repaired, we gather in the main room.
The club is subdued, shaken. Glass crunches underfoot from the broken window. He was willing to die for me, I say to no one in particular. Patch was willing to die. That's what family does, Mama Carter says simply.
Protects its own. Hawk sits beside me. Patch knew what he was doing. He made a choice to save me, I say. Hawk nods.
And he'd do it again. Any of us would. I look around the room at these tough men and women who have taken me in, protected me, bled for me. Why? I ask.