The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 250 Ch.249 The Woman in the Brothel
Roland had no business dealing with Ram Fiennes' illegal behavior. When they resolved the case, Fernandez would be reported to the court, and Ms. Enid would decide whether he stayed or left, and what the final punishment would be.

Now, he has more important things to do.

"Wait for me in the carriage, Shandel."

Roland said casually as he looked at Ram Fiennes, who was staggering and running to another house in a dashing manner.

He was intrigued by Fiennes's lover - the woman he had just embraced and who sold the invisible arts for him.

"Do you need me and..."

"It's better for ladies not to go to that place." Roland brushed the gray hair off her forehead, opened the door and got out of the car.

Bristol is bright with stars at night, much brighter than the dark grey smog that obscures the sun in London.

Roland lit his lacquered cane and, like countless other men who came here to have fun, walked briskly among the fragrant girls. Amidst their teasing and attention, he turned into the small building where Fiennes's lover lived.

For a moment, the women couldn't help but sigh in unison, causing the gentlemen around them to laugh.

"Your Excellency, please have mercy on me too?"

'When I was young, I warrant, I had the same thing as that young man—a cane.'

'Ha ha ha ha--'

Opposite the loft.

Arched windows.

A dark room.

Ram Fiennes stared at Roland expressionlessly as he disappeared through the building door.

…………

……

The building was hot and stuffy.

Even in winter.

Ram Fiennes's lover looks like he's just come out of the shower, his hair is wet and he smells like cheap soap.

She was wearing a semi-transparent white nightgown and a light red blanket, with her bare feet on the blanket.

She heard from her mother that someone was looking for her, but did not know her name, only mentioned 'Fiennes'.

Ram Fiennes.

Her toes, which had been pampered by hundreds of people, scratched the blanket and she coughed lightly.

"Please come in."

"I'm already in, sir." The woman licked her lips. When she saw Roland's appearance clearly, she thought she shouldn't take a shower in advance - the room would be damp.

"Good night." She greeted him, rubbing her legs and striding across the room - as if she was showing the smiling man in the seat some charm that could only be revealed under the moonlight: she rarely opened a bottle of red wine that was only used by high-class guests, and her slender fingers like scallions and milk pinched two crystal glasses.

She refused to sit down and insisted on bending over to put the cup on the table.

This angle is even more subtle.

"Don't blame me for being rude, sir. I did the best I could."

Pry open the cork, pour the wine, and clink the glass.

During the whole process, her legs were standing straight, but she only bent her soft waist, as soft as a looming boneless snake.

"Take a look."

“That’s called professionalism.”
-
She made me very uncomfortable.

"Are you really uncomfortable or are you just trying to bear it? Please tell me clearly."

Then Roland blocked it out.

"I heard from my mother that you were looking for me, right?"

The woman in the nightgown refused to sit on the sofa, but chose to lean lazily on the padded armrest, sitting halfway with her legs crossed and twisted, rubbing them slightly impatiently.

"I am Collins, Roland Collins, executive officer of the Inquisition."

Roland took the lead in revealing his identity, in an attempt to inform the woman opposite whose legs were still itchy after taking a shower that he might not be able to do what she wanted.

as predicted.

She raised her eyebrows for a moment, but said nothing. She reached out and picked up the cigarette box from the side table next to the round table, smoked a cigarette, and lit a match.

It wasn't until she blew the first puff of minty smoke at Roland that she asked, "Can I?"

Roland touched the lining and finished his cigar.

When he looked up again, a long cigarette was already placed near his lips.

As soon as Roland raised his hand, the girl in nightgown stood up, half-knelt in front of him, and handed him a cigarette and matches.

"Taste my..." Her eyes were full of moisture: "...smoke."

Roland blinked, bit the cigarette holder with his teeth, lit it, swallowed it into his mouth, turned it around a few times, and spit it out.

This made the woman holding a cigarette laugh sweetly.

"My dear, this is not like your 'thick stick'. You have to swallow it solidly to enjoy it... I'm talking about smoking." She curled her lips slightly, as if teaching Roland, and let him see it clearly in the moonlight.

Roland took the cigarette, held it between his fingers without smoking, and asked her:
"Do you know the Inquisition?"

"How could I not know? Since you came to me because of Fiennes, shouldn't you have confirmed that I have a relationship with that person?" The woman laughed sarcastically: "Do you want to work first and ask later, or ask first and then work?"

Roland asked if he could ask while working, but the woman teased him, "You are a 'new stick', don't think I can't see it - what's the use of using force with your mouth? You should at least have a clever tongue."

She spoke bluntly and smiled revealingly. This flamboyant animal with a keen sense of smell seemed to be able to smell the males' bones through the scent on their bodies, and smell the ripe, choking heat in their stomachs.

She understands men, just like a maid who has worked for a long time knows the secrets behind every door.

"When you get your blood on you, you'll understand the beauty between us."

She bit her lip and tilted her head, running her wet hair through it.

The temptation seemed to grow on her body, not clothes, but skin.

Roland lowered his eyes. The thin cigarette in his hand, which was stained with water, had gone out at some point, leaving only a black cigarette butt.

He threw the cigarette into the ashtray.

"Speak of Fiennes, ma'am, if you please. I am not a local bailiff, but I want to get some truth out of you - three shillings, I suppose?"

The woman stared at Roland for a long time.

Gradually, the smile disappeared.

The charming maid in white robes, holding soft fruits, gazed into the clear amber glass of the visitor's eyes: what he had in mind was not the waltz, but the sambadrome.

His instincts and nature were calling out, but something else was pricking his skin like a thorny collar around a dancer's neck.

He is not the owner of this suit.

At least not originally.

"You're from London?"

The woman slid onto the sofa like a snake, crossed her legs, and smoked elegantly: "But you are different from the gentlemen I have met... I mean, you are the most different executive I have ever met."

The most different executive?
“You’ve seen quite a few.”

"Of course, the Inquisition... I know quite a few people from this Inquisition and nearby - oh, they don't seem to wear black robes anymore."

Those who were transferred to the church, of course, wore white robes.

"You are different from them. This is the first time in the past three years that you are different."

"Younger and prettier."

"More 'executive'."

Roland smiled and thanked him: "Then can you tell me about Ram Fiennes——"

The woman tapped her lips, interrupting Roland's words.

"My name is Rebecca."

She looked at Roland.

"Rebecca Fiennes."

The room fell silent.

"That person you said is my..."

"Father."

(End of this chapter)