Wicked Games: Book Two of The Psychopath Series

Chapter 16

Isabeth emerged deeper into the bedroom cloaked in the smell of sex; thick and heavy like the haze of a chain smoker. Isabeth squinted with riling. She was going to bark and order; demand Faith to get dressed and get in the car.

It won't work, been there done that. The result was shouting, name-calling, hurt feelings; bruised egos, and Alex shuffling around like a UN peacekeeper urging them to sign a peace treaty.

"I didn't ask you to go anywhere." Isabeth hearkened standing at the edge of the bed.

Isabeth averted her eyes away from the stark naked man, with his bare bum visible for the world to see, lying in the bed faking a deep slumber. She caught his opened eyes when she was at the door. He shut them, playing possum as soon as Faith spoke. The mystery was solved; it was his black Mercedes in the driveway.

"Your little mind game won't work on me. I'm not Harper or Gavin. I'm not Alex, so those sexual talents you hone won't work either." Faith flung back the red silk sheet off her perfectly tanned sun-kissed leg, and drug her feet to the bathroom.

The falsely hibernating man flipped over tugging at the sheet finally covering his naked skin, "She doesn't want to go. Drop it." He tossed a pillow behind his back refusing to touch his bare skin against the cold, gold metal slab headboard.

Isabeth glanced in the bathroom watching Faith pin her hair up in front of the mirror, then looked at his shuffled hair and deep-set clear blue eyes, his chiseled face, with every muscle of his body toned to perfection like a Greek gladiator with a few gritty fights under his belt. She hated him already; well hate was a strong word.

She loathed him with a strong distaste. Yes, she didn't know him but Faith picked him, which meant he was trash, the bottom of the barrel, the Chihuahua shit in the grass that got underneath your Jimmy Choo's and won't stop polluting your nostril with its awful stench. Plus, he didn't know his place and that, that's the worst kind.

"Why would I listen to you?" Isabeth asked resting her hands on her hips. "I don't know who you are?"

"Egan," He grabbed his wallet off the antique gold nightstand, flipped it open, and pulled out a little white card.

"I don't care if your father's Santa Claus and your mother's the Tooth fairy. Your name isn't Faith Emilie Payson." She picked up his tie from the floor, his shirt from the white chaise in the corner of the room, and yanked his pants from under Delilah's body.

"I'm sure you did your job quite well last night but since you don't know the role you play let me fill you in. You're the hook-up. The booty-call. Faith's sex-fix," Isabeth threw Egan's clothes into his chest. "This is when you leave and I come in." She kicked the bedroom door wide open banging it against the doorstopper.

Egan flung back the sheets, pulled his legs out of the bed. Isa turned around avoiding seeing more of his body than she had already seen. She studied the gold armoire with its delicate sphere-shaped handles as he swiped his legs through his pants. She looked at every one of Faith's perfumes, each one having an individual purpose.

The Viktor & Rolf Flower Bomb was everyday Faith, up to nothing special, just doing her regular routine going to class, restocking her kitchen with the newly ripe fruits from the local farmer's market, or taking Delilah to the groomer.

The Marc Jacobs Daisy was the after the day is done, after a shower, unwind with a show, light music, or book but a bottle of wine must be present perfume. The Dolce & Gabbana Velvet Tender was the, I may be sweatier than a linebacker at the Superbowl but I will not smell like a funky pig while I workout perfume.

Faith wearing Cle De Peau Beaute's Rose Synactif ensured we were going to have so much fun we literally might get arrested. And then there was the Roja Danger it was the smell Isabeth despised to sniff, it was the oils that sat on the nape of Faith's neck that meant tonight was not the night to be fucking with her. You could tell what Faith was up to by the scent that triggered your olfactory, a trick only Isabeth knew about. Isabeth had her own system but it was foolproof, no one has cracked that code.

Egan lazily buttoned his wrinkled dress shirt underneath his suit coat. He dug his fingers through his wiry hair smoothing every misplaced strand. He glared at Isabeth bitterly. Who did she think she was kicking him out? She didn't own the house but she stood with authority with her back towards him, folded arms with her head cocked to the side as waves of onyx hair dangled down her back.

He liked this white and gold room infused with luxury and elegance but Faith didn't ask him to stay. He watched her in the pale teal painted bathroom dragging the floss through her perfectly straight, purely white teeth as steam from the shower poured around her. She didn't give him a smile or glance of assurance as she turned around opening the fogged shower door.

Egan wanted to stay, needed to stay but Isabeth spoke as if she had an army waiting to bust through the front door and drag him out by his pubic hairs. "Give her my card," He tucked the sharply cut rectangle paper in Isabeth's hand.

Isabeth opened her eyes, loosely grasping her hand around it.

Egan took one last look at the room he spent all night in. His face glared red from the thought of wrestling on the bed with a sex goddess like Faith. They're hanging on the crystal floor lamp was Faith's purple lace bra. She took it off herself revealing her delightful mounds of soft flesh he laid his head on most of the night, the only pillow he required. Her blouse that he ripped channeling his inner Hercules lay in strips scattered along the floor leading to the bed where the skirt he peeled off her like the tough shell of a juicy orange sat.

Isabeth stroked the little black ridge each letter made on the card. She smiled widely, not knowing where a beam that bright came from. It was coming back, her skills from before, her talent for deception. It was warming up like an old Compaq preparing for a day of work, a battle of psyches, melting down the cobwebs that collected after months of hibernation.

"You do look better clothed, nothing an iron and a good shower won't fix." She stared straight into his fuming eyes. He was pissed. She knew it. He radiated it through his pores; she just...didn't care.

Egan refused to smile, he wasn't happy. He didn't want to smile at the girl that ruined his plans. He tucked his hand in his pocket and fondled his little memento, the lace that covered the paradise he entered last night. So what she would be one less panty short, she didn't seem like the girl that would just have two. He walked away from a night of fantasy hoping to regain entry in her wonderland of sensual carnality. 

What do you think? Was Isabeth right for kicking out Egan? Will Faith be mad?

We shall see!