“Macarena” began in the background, loud enough that he had to raise his voice another notch. “Did you choose the bar?”

“I found it, yes.”

“Not to question your taste, but Liv might prefer something . . . uh, quieter. She probably wants to talk about seeing Todd and . . . well, not much talking is happening in that place, I’m guessing.”

Silence.

“I know you can handle this, Gabriel. I’m not questioning that. I’m just worried. I could blow off this meeting and—”

“No need. Don wants you there.”

“Forget my dad, Gabriel. If you have any reason to think Liv needs me, say the word and I’m on my way.”

“She’s fine.”

“Okay, then. I trust you to make that call.” Not exactly true. He didn’t trust that Gabriel would necessarily be able to tell, but he did trust that Gabriel would tell him if Liv had given any indication she wanted Ricky there.

“She’s fine,” Gabriel said again. “You’re seeing her for breakfast, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“You can speak to her then.”

“I know. Sorry to be a pain. I’ll let you go. And thanks. I appreciate you being there for her tonight.”

—

What the Saints lacked in numbers, they made up for in cash flow. The Rebels left the meeting salivating at the possibility of a minor trade alliance, declaring the borders fine where they were. Whether the alliance came about depended entirely on the profit analysis Ricky would run after delving deeper into the Rebels’ finances, but in the meantime, the Rebels were getting off Saints territory as fast as they could, lest it damage their prospects.

Don, Ricky, and Wallace met briefly back at the clubhouse. After Wallace and CJ left, Ricky grabbed the Rebels file from the back office. He was coming out when his father said, “We need to talk.”

“Nope,” Ricky said. “Pretty sure we don’t.”

Don was in his path before he reached the door. “It’s becoming a problem.”

Ricky stopped dead. “What?”

“You and Olivia.”

“I was there tonight for all but five minutes, when I stepped out to talk to Gabriel.”

“You’re getting too serious about this girl.”

Ricky rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to control his temper. “Yes, I am. I’m a helluva lot more serious than I’ve been about a girl since . . . well, ever, I guess. But it has no impact on my commitment to the club or to school. I went to Miami, without complaint, despite the problem she’s having with her ex—”

“You don’t want to get mixed up in that.”

“Get mixed up—?” He bit his tongue. Keep it calm. Reasonable.

“You said she’s with Gabriel tonight. We can’t afford to lose him, Ricky.”