After pouring her fourth beer from the pitcher on the table, Shea felt her cellphone vibrate in her pocket. In the crowded bar, she couldn’t hear it ring above the noise. She opened her phone. Jessica was calling. It was nearly midnight. A flick of her thumb sent the call to voicemail.
“Sorry,” said Shea to the stocky woman with a square jaw and a blond buzz cut sitting across from her. “You were about to tell me how you got the name Savage.”
“It’s stupid, really.” The patches on the front of her cut identified her as the club’s sergeant at arms.
A woman who was sitting next to Savage, with the nickname Indigo, nudged her playfully. “I think it’s a funny story.” She swept her mahogany braids behind her shoulders.
Savage rolled her eyes. “Fine. Before I became an EMT, I was a navy corps
