RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,135

Wren. Wren stares right back at him, the muscles in his jaw popping.

“Not friends,” he says. “We're together. She's my girlfriend.”

The general gives a curt nod. “Ah. I see. So you're fucking.”

Wren doesn't flinch. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, but only for a heartbeat; his facial features are under his complete control. “Yeah. We're fucking,” he answers flatly.

It's one thing having someone's parents know that you're probably having sex, another thing entirely to have it laid bare like this. And in such blunt terms? I'm so stung that I feel like I've just been slapped. By Wren, or by his father, the shock of it feels the same.

General Jacobi sighs. “Nice to know you're behaving like a gentleman up there, Wren. That school's one of the most expensive academic institutes in the country. And you're sleeping around now? Sullying a family name that's been held in high esteem for many generations?” He shakes his head, disappointment radiating off him. “Honestly, I had hoped you'd conduct yourself a little better.”

A cold, searing fire burns in Wren's eyes. “I'm not sleeping around. I'm sleeping with one person. I'd say I was doing a better job at preserving the Jacobi name than you are, Father. Given your past indiscretions.”

Oh my god.

My shoulders hike up around my ears. I would never...could never speak to my father like that. It wouldn't matter who was near. He'd beat the back teeth straight out of my head. It doesn't even bear thinking about. General Jacobi snarls. He's seething. He nods, running his tongue over his teeth. “All right. Well, that's enough of that. Dinner won't be until seven. Why don't the two of you make yourself scarce until you hear the bell? Elodie, in amongst rubbing your body on that boy, why don't you see if you can't rub some of those manners off on him, too.”

What...the actual...fuck.

He did not just say that.

Again, Wren doesn't show any sign of emotion. I'd be impressed if I weren't so fucking angry. I've never expected a knight in shining armor to ride in on a white steed to rescue me. But some flicker of annoyance on Wren's face would be nice right now.

He just blinks at his father. “For someone who puts so much stock in manners,” he says. “You're the rudest motherfucker I've ever met.”

General Jacobi laughs. Harsh. Unfriendly. “Oh, my darling boy. I'd respect you so much more if you had the stones to come and say that to my face.”

Wren doesn't hesitate. He walks right up to his father, and oh god, I cannot watch hi—

WOAH!

Holy fuck!

Holyshitholyshitholyshit!

General Jacobi's ready for his son to spit angry words in his face. He's unprepared for the powerful right hook Wren lands on his jaw. I watch, horrified, as the old man staggers into the mantlepiece, throwing out a hand to try and catch himself as he topples backward. It's no good, though. He lands in a heap in the grate, his feet up in the air, in the most undignified display I've ever seen. His face goes bright purple.

“Out! Out of my house!” he sputters. His arms and legs are everywhere as he tries to get up again. It takes him three attempts to right himself, and when he does find his feet, it turns out that the seat of his expensive black pants is covered in ash. He tries to grab Wren by the scruff of his t-shirt, but Wren smacks his hand away, laughing coldly under his breath.

“Try it,” he seethes. “Go ahead and fucking try it. See what happens next.”

The general lowers his hand, but he's not done with Wren. Not by a long shot. “Stupid boy. You’ve finally gone and done it, then. Fucked yourself over beyond measure. No more prissy, posh school for you now. You're finished. You're heading straight for military sch—”

“What’s the date?” Wren asks.

His father jerks back. “What?”

“What’s the date? Today’s date. Come on. You read the paper every day. You must know.”

“Don’t be obtuse. Of course I know today’s date. It’s the seventeenth of March.”

Wren feigns surprise. “Oh. Cool. And what happened on the fourth of March, Father?”

“I don’t know! Lots of things, I’m sure. The fourth of Mar—” He stops short. His face goes blank.

“Yeahhhh, that’s right. Good ol’ fourth of March. You forgot your children’s birthday again, didn’t you, Dad? Only this time, you forgot our eighteenth birthday. Which means…” Wren steps closer to his father, getting up in his face. He stabs a finger into General Jacobi’s