There were plenty of guys in the club who lived for knocking heads. Ricky wasn’t one of them. Of course, he could fight. The Saints had been training him since he was old enough to throw a punch. But that night, Ricky had been on edge, his father starting to suspect he was seeing Liv. When they’d gone to warn the knuckleheads off their turf, the leader had taunted Ricky about the photo of him and Liv in the Post. Then he switched to insulting Liv . . . Well, Ricky had heard other guys talk about “seeing red,” but he’d never understood what they meant until that night. It was like his temper went from smolder to detonation in two seconds flat, and the next thing he knew, the guys were pulling him off his target, who was lying bloody on the floor.

For a lot of the guys, that fight was the best thing Ricky could have done to show them he was indeed growing into a man they could follow. His father had not been nearly so pleased. Then the guy’s “gang” took their complaint to the Rebels and threw in with them. So, in effect, Ricky had caused the current crisis.

When his phone finally buzzed, he scrambled out of his seat. Don looked over and his eyes narrowed, telling Ricky he’d better sit his ass back down. Ricky walked out the door.

No one tried to stop him. CJ even chuckled under his breath. Outright rebellion would be cause for concern—the boss was still the boss. Submission, though, would be just as worrying, supporting what they feared most—that Ricky was a little too easygoing, too laid-back, given too much to thinking and too little to acting.

Subtle fuck yous in his father’s direction met with equally subtle approval. Ricky didn’t give a shit about that. He didn’t plan to win the gang over by rebelling against his father’s authority or beating the crap out of rival leaders. It would be at least a decade before his father stepped down, and that was ten years to prove that Ricky was the man they wanted in charge, and to do it his way.

Right now, though, he didn’t give a shit what Don thought, either. He’d told his father that Liv was going to visit Todd in prison for the first time, and he’d explained how difficult that would be for her, and asked if there was any chance he could bail on part of tonight. Maybe leave early? Or arrive late?

No. That’d been Don’s answer. No discussion. No room for negotiation. If Olivia had a problem with it, then Ricky should cut her loose now.

Cut her loose? Sure, because she was the one who pursued him and, really, it wasn’t like he cared about her. Oh, wait.