"Your brother's such an asshole," Tyson muttered, his expression as angry as Ezra's own must have been.

"Tell me about it." Ezra had just laid it all out for him. "Honestly, I don't even want to show up. But my mom..."

"Yeah, I get it. Last time was a shitshow too." Tyson stared into the distance, thinking. "You really think he's that fucking dumb? Or did they set him up? Maybe the Thorns are more pissed off than we thought, now that he quit and he's still hanging around in their backyard."

"You'd think if they were that pissed, they'd just shoot him in the head. Now he might talk. Last time, he kept his mouth shut."

"Maybe. He's tight with Rogue, right? Maybe this is their way of sending a final message: get the hell out. Back behind bars instead of hanging around their streets. That way he doesn't have to kill his old buddy himself. But after all the shit your brother's already pulled, he's probably looking at life."

Life. Fuck, this was a nightmare. His mom would never survive it. "Then we have to prove he was framed."

"Which isn't gonna be easy. You'd need security footage or a witness."

"Someone must've tipped off the cops."

"And they probably don't give a shit either way. They already see him as trash." 

Ezra drummed his fingers against the table. "Then he needs to give them something. Turn on the Thorns. Cut a deal for a new identity, new life in some other state. A real fresh start. Mom would finally be able to breathe."

He lifted his head. Would it actually work? And more importantly, would his brother even go for it?

Tyson had a point. His brother had been tight with Rogue for years—something that had driven Ezra up the wall—and it was the main reason Jacob had such a hard time cutting ties with the gang. No way he'd just sell him out. Ezra didn't buy that for a second.

But then again... would Rogue really betray him?

Their friendship went way back, all the way to their dad's death, when they were just kids running errands for the Thorns.

Would Rogue really treat him like this now? Maybe Rogue didn't even know about it. Maybe he was fine with Jacob walking away, but some of the other members weren't. Maybe they didn't trust him anymore. Wouldn't be hard to slip something into his jacket and call the cops... And if Rogue found out about it... Would he see it as betrayal? Could that, somehow, end up helping Jacob?

The questions buzzed through his mind. He just wasn't good at figuring out the way those guys thought. First things first: he had to see Caleb tomorrow. He wasn't going to bail him out but maybe they could at least start building some kind of plan.

Ezra got lucky—Marshall, his old classmate, happened to be on duty at the station that morning. Otherwise, who knows if he would've even been allowed to see his brother.

Now they were crammed into a small room, Marshall posted by the door. Not exactly the place for a private conversation, but Ezra didn't care. He wasn't here to exchange secrets.

Jacob sat across from him, cuffed, a scowl darkening his face. "What are we doing here?"
He must've already realized Ezra wasn't there to pay his bail.

"Why the hell did you think dealing drugs was a good idea?" Ezra kept his gaze steady, searching Jacob's face.

The anger was right there, no attempt to hide it. "I don't deal drugs," Jacob snapped. "That's for street rats. I'm not lowering myself to that—you know that."

"So those two baggies just magically ended up in your jacket?"

Jacob's eyes narrowed. "What do you think?"

Ezra leaned back in his chair, glancing over at Marshall. He didn't look like he was listening—but he'd be a damn poor cop if he wasn't. "I think not everyone in the Thorns was thrilled to see you back, and they'd rather shove you back in a cell than speaking up to their boss."

It wasn't exactly a secret that Rogue ran the Thorns. Still, talking so openly about him wasn't smart. He had no idea if he was making things worse for Jacob.

"Could be," Jacob muttered, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "But that doesn't explain why we're having this conversation here instead of at Mom's kitchen table."

"I don't have the money."

Jacob snorted. "You could call in a favor. I'll pay you back."

Ezra didn't bother listing all the things he'd already fronted for him over the years—and never gotten back. "I can't swing it," he said flatly. "But I had another idea. You've got a lot of inside info on the Thorns. Why not use it to cut a deal?"

"I'm not a fucking snitch," Jacob growled. "What the hell of a suggestion is that?"

"You're staring down a life sentence. For something you didn't even do. And you're getting screwed over by the people you thought were your friends."

"Or by someone trying to make it look like they did," Jacob said sharply.

Ezra bit the inside of his cheek. Okay, fair point. He hadn't thought of that.

"Talk it over with your lawyer. Maybe there are fingerprints on those baggies. Or some other way to trace who set you up. Tell them you're willing to make a deal if it turns out the Thorns are involved." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Rogue wouldn't be happy if he found out someone pulled this behind his back. He might actually want to clean house himself, get rid of the troublemakers, without starting a full-on war."

"And what, I'm the scapegoat? Even if I cut a deal, everyone'll still see me as a snitch. Someone'll kill me."

"Not if they give you a new identity. You'd disappear. Start over somewhere else."

Jacob let out a rough, bitter laugh. "Yeah, right. Like they'd go that far for me. I've got nothing worth trading."

You just don't want to. Ezra sighed, rubbing his face. "Then give them something else. Info on the Thorns' buyers. Drop spots. Vehicles. Hell, locations of buried bodies they could reopen cold cases on."

Jacob's eyes flickered—something shifted. That idea seemed to hit a nerve. Maybe giving up some info—stuff that didn't directly screw over his old buddy—was more appealing than rotting in prison. "Fine. I'll think about it," Jacob muttered. "You getting me outta here, then?"

Ezra pushed his chair back and shook his head. "No. Sitting here stewing might make you a little more motivated to cut a deal."

Jacob slammed his fists against the table. "You're a dick, Ezra."

"Right back at you. If you hadn't pulled this shit and sent Mom into a meltdown, I might've felt differently."

"If I'd called you, you wouldn't even have shown up!"

Ezra just shrugged. That didn't excuse the heart attack Jacob had just given their mother. "Keep me posted," he said, and walked out.

He just hoped it would be enough to reach some sort of deal. At the very least, he could tell his mom he was working on a way to get her son to safety. Maybe then she could finally breathe a little easier.