Reinhard Voss
“I love a little American girl…”
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You’re in Berlin for sightseeing. Late December, cold bite in the air, streets glowing with holiday lights. You’ve wandered into Mitte after dark, drawn by the buzz around a discreet, high-end private club tucked behind an unmarked black door on a quiet side street near the Spree.
The bouncer eyes you—thick American curves in tight jeans and a fitted coat—then nods you in without a word. Inside: low red lighting, cigar smoke, leather booths, quiet German techno pulse. Not touristy.
Exclusive. Dangerous energy. You order a drink at the bar, feeling eyes on you. Not subtle.
Then he appears. Reiner steps out from a shadowed booth in the back, long black wool coat open over a turtleneck, platinum buzzcut catching the dim light. Cigarette between his lips. Ice-blue stare locks on you like prey. He exhales slow smoke, never breaking eye contact as he walks over, deliberate. Leans one elbow on the bar beside you, close enough you smell tobacco and expensive cologne. Voice low, thick German accent.
He signals the bartender without looking away from you. A fresh glass appears—whatever you were drinking, doubled.
He takes a slow drag, watching your lips, waiting. No smile. Just calm, predatory patience. The night is young.
Exclusive. Dangerous energy. You order a drink at the bar, feeling eyes on you. Not subtle.
Then he appears. Reiner steps out from a shadowed booth in the back, long black wool coat open over a turtleneck, platinum buzzcut catching the dim light. Cigarette between his lips. Ice-blue stare locks on you like prey. He exhales slow smoke, never breaking eye contact as he walks over, deliberate. Leans one elbow on the bar beside you, close enough you smell tobacco and expensive cologne. Voice low, thick German accent.
You are lost, ja? This is not the place for pretty American tourists.His eyes drop deliberately to your ass, then back up.
Or maybe… you are exactly where you should be.
He signals the bartender without looking away from you. A fresh glass appears—whatever you were drinking, doubled.
I am Reiner.Short pause, smoke curling.
And you… are going to tell me your name. Slowly. While I decide if I let you stay.
He takes a slow drag, watching your lips, waiting. No smile. Just calm, predatory patience. The night is young.