The Checkpoint, Berlin Detective Series Box Set

by Michele E. Gwynn

  “He didn’t say any of that.” She laughed more and tried to wipe the tears away and catch her breath. “You’re wonderful!” She leaned over and kissed him full on the lips. It went from sweet to sizzling in seconds as he deepened that kiss and took her breath away all over again.

  Someone cleared his throat. They broke apart and realized the waiter still stood at their door, looking discreetly away.

  Anthony suddenly came to and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He handed the guy a ten euro note.

  “Will there be anything else, sir,” he politely inquired.

  “No, it’s all good. Thanks.” Anthony laughed as the door slid closed. “Now, where were we?” He reached to wrap his arms around Sarah, leaning in to kiss her again, then stopped.

  “Wait. What did that fucker actually say, anyway?” He had trouble letting it go. He knew he had a few issues where Christiansen was concerned.

  Sarah giggled, then got serious. “He said thank you. He told me to tell you to take good care of me, and also, Bon Voyage.” She traced his lips with her fingertip.

  “Well, I guess that’s okay, then.” He kissed her deeply. Sarah felt her body respond as it always did when Anthony touched her in any way. He pulled back and looked down at her. “And I will, you know.”

  “Hmmn? Will what?” Confused, she whispered the words.

  Anthony chuckled at seeing his lady befuddled by his kisses. “Take good care of you, princess.”

  Another knock interrupted their moment. Anthony blew out a frustrated breath. “Are you kidding me? What the fuck?”

  He got up and slid the door open. The car conductor stood there, a stern expression on his thin face.

  “Tickets, please.” He waited as Anthony handed over his and Sarah’s tickets for inspection. The conductor noted the names.

  “Miss Brown?” He looked at her.

  Sarah was surprised to be singled out. “Yes?”

  “One moment, please.” The conductor walked down the aisle, and then returned two minutes later with a package in his hands. He handed it to her. “I have instructions to deliver this to you.”

  She looked at the nearly two-foot long rectangular box. “Who’s it from? I don’t see any name on it.” She flipped it over, and Anthony looked about ready to pop a blood vessel as his first guess was, of course, Christiansen!

  “I’m not privileged with that information, ma’am. The instruction simply said to deliver it upon your arrival.” The conductor turned to leave. “Good day, ma’am. Sir.” He moved down to the next car.

  Anthony closed the door, finding the lock, and then pulled down the shade. He was tired of being interrupted and wanted some alone time with his woman. She had train fantasies he was ready to fulfill.

  “So, what’s in it?” He sat down across from her to give her room to open the box while he took a deep breath and counted to ten.

  “I have no idea. I can’t think of anyone who’d send me something on a train. Paul, maybe? But he didn’t mention anything about another present in his card.” Sarah began to rip the brown wrapping paper from the box.

  “Great. Another present from Paul.” Anthony wiped his face with his hand, trying not to overreact. That prick and I need to have a little talk about boundaries!

  The box inside was plain and unmarked. Sarah popped the tape on the side and lifted the lid. Inside were layers of tissue. She moved the wrapping aside and reached in, locating a handle. She pulled it out.

  “What the fuck is that?” Anthony looked at the red leather riding crop. Christiansen sent his girl a fucking riding crop. What does that mean?

  Sarah turned as red as the leather and sputtered with laughter. The sound grew louder when she looked at Anthony’s face.

  “Okay, what’s funny this time?” He was losing patience with another man trying to impress his girl.

  “It’s not from Paul, Anthony. It’s from Elsa. No wonder she was laughing so much when we talked. I just thought she was excited about us coming to visit.”

  Relief eased the tight lines around his lips. “I don’t get it. Why would she send you a riding crop? You ride horses back home in Texas or something?” His confusion was priceless.

  The box fell off her lap and as she bent down to pick it up, Sarah saw a card fall out. It was addressed not to her, but to Anthony.

  “Hmmn. It’s for you?” She handed the card over. Anthony opened it and sat reading. A slow smile spread across his face, getting bigger and bigger. One eyebrow came up, and then he chuckled.

  He tossed the card aside and looked across at his beautiful Sarah. “Well, baby. Some seriously sexy instructions have been delivered and I’m apparently under obligation to carry them out.” He slid the table back and dove across the space between the benches, scooping her up, causing her to squeal with delight. “Can’t wait to meet your friend now. I like her already!”

  She knew what the crop was for, and now, thanks to her very naughty friend, he knew too. At least it didn’t appear as if she’d told him the whole tale, and that was good. It would always be their secret—hers and Elsa’s. Still, thanks to her wonderful friend, it was going to be a very pleasurable ride to Berlin. A very pleasurable ride, indeed.

  Book II

  The Evolution of Elsa Kreiss

  Chapter One

  PSKOV, RUSSIA

  Present Day

  The bells of the church rang informing one and all it was time to begin Supplication. Congregants dropped what they were doing and walked to their rooms. Inside, they were all the same, a pallet for a bed, a small table next to it with a lantern sitting on top and a chest of drawers. The walls were cold concrete, and a dull, drab gray. One window with a cracked pane faced north over the courtyard below. The chill in the air permeated the thin glass and wind whistled through the crack. Gregor closed his door and went to his pallet. Beneath, he pulled out a length of knotted rope. It was thick and frayed at the ends. The color had turned from white to reddish brown over the years. Oxidation of the blood that covered it created the ghastly stained hue.

  He removed his robe and folded it neatly, placing it on his bed. Then, he kneeled on the gray stone floor and bowed his head. He began to pray. As he did, he lifted the rope in his hands and flung the knotted end over his shoulders one at a time, flagellating himself. Scars that had built upon themselves over the last ten years stood out stark white against his tanned back. With each prayer, he swung the rope. Skin split, and blood began to run in red rivulets down his backside soaking into his underwear. He knew he was supposed to clear his mind of all thoughts during Supplication. It was one of their rules pounded into his brain since he’d entered the Order of Rasputin at the tender age of sixteen by the will of his parents who could not afford to house and feed him anymore. The Order was an extremist offshoot of the Khlysty, a sect that practiced asceticism, or abstinence from worldly goods. It all bled from the Russian Orthodox Church, becoming more bizarre as it evolved into a close-minded, and sometimes brutal form of conservative Christianity. This particular Order revered Grigori Rasputin, the Holy man who was a favorite advisor to the Tsar and Tsarina of Russia during World War I. His death at the hands of those who viewed his influence over the Romanov monarchy as destructive was martyred in the inner-most sanctum of the Khlysty. Like Rasputin, all members of the Order were kept illiterate in his honor believing that worldly knowledge corrupted the otherwise sanctified vessels of God, his people. Religious teachings were handed down through verbal instructions and strict rituals. Questioning them was not allowed and doing so could end in a member’s death by stoning.

  Despite this, Gregor had difficulty clearing his mind and immersing himself in his prayers this day. Images of the young woman recently brought into the compound flooded his thoughts. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Her flowing blonde hair and big blue eyes had pleaded with him for help as she was marched past him while he tended the garden. The two elevated members who each had hold of one of her arms barely
looked in his direction as they forced the young woman through the doorway into the temple. One of them was Mikael, the guardian appointed by Holy Father Matteus. Mikael was beyond strict and seemed to revel in his role as guardian since it gave him the authority to administer punishment. Something he did on a regular basis and for the most minor of infractions. It boded badly for the lovely girl that she was in his hands.

  Out of Gregor’s sight, inside the temple, she’d been tied to a cross near the altar and stripped bare. They left her there during morning group prayer for all to see, stating her humiliation would help rid her of her worldly ways. She’d cried, and her tears caused a rush of heat to travel downward and settle into his groin.

  Remembering this brought about the same reaction, and as Gregor continued to offer prayer on his lips, his hips bucked with each blow from the heavy rope. His erection strained against his dirty underwear, and the rub from the tightened material stimulated him. He swung harder, trying to cleanse his mind of lustful thoughts, but nothing helped, and on his last round of verses, he climaxed. Panting heavily, he bowed his head and cried. Over and over, he begged God to forgive him for being weak. His bloody rope lay on the cold stone floor next to him, and his back bled freely. Rising, he picked up his robe and walked out of his room toward the communal showers. Taking a deep breath, he turned on the cold spray and walked beneath feeling the sting. He clenched his teeth, and with both palms flat against the tiled wall, he cried once again. He didn’t know how he would get her out of his mind, but he knew that after today, he was forever changed. He’d discovered pleasure, and knew that once discovered, he was now a corrupt vessel.

  The only other thoughts he could entertain after this experience were how to have more of these feelings.

  THAT NIGHT INSIDE THE temple, Irina Bromovich hung by her limbs. Pain wracked her entire body as the stress from being stretched and tied pushed her in and out of consciousness. She’d wet herself with no other way to relieve her bladder. She felt water being sponged onto her body and struggled to open her eyes. A young man was cleaning her legs. She could see the top of his dark head kneeling by her feet. His hand shook as he lifted the sponge to her thighs and squeezed the water out allowing it to wash away the urine. She whimpered.

  Looking up, the young man caught her eye. He gave her a look of such reverence and apology before dipping the sponge back into the bucket and lifting it once again to her body. This time, he reached between her spread legs and pressed his hand to her privates. He squeezed, and water gushed up and then ran down her legs. The feeling of being cleaner was cancelled out by the fact that a stranger, one who was an accomplice in her kidnapping, was touching her inappropriately.

  “Please,” she cried. “Please let me go.” Her blue eyes pleaded with him.

  The young man continued to wash her legs, then his eyes traveled up to her naked belly and breasts. He stood, and ignoring her cries for help, began washing her there, too. Irina struggled with her ropes and cried. The more she struggled, the more he touched her until he finally dropped the sponge and reached out with only his bare hands. Her cries grew louder so he clamped a large hand over her mouth. She couldn’t get away. He parted his robe and stepped closer. Fearing the worst, she began to scream into his hand. He pushed harder on her face, covering her nose, too, as he pushed himself on her. Not quite knowing what he was doing, he pushed his groin up against hers, remembering a day long ago when he’d woken late in the night and had come upon his father on top of his mother. He didn’t know then what was happening, but some part of his uneducated brain told him it was similar to this because his father seemed to enjoy it greatly. Her screams and struggles spurred him on and lasted only moments longer. Then, she went limp. Still, Gregor bucked until that feeling found him once again. He backed up and gave her a little shake. She didn’t respond. He shook her again, then slapped her face, but there were no signs of life. Her lips were blue and hung slack.

  Eyes growing large, Gregor backed away looking around the temple. No one was inside at this hour. Still, he had to make sure. He searched every corner, and once satisfied no one had seen what he’d just done, he snuck quietly out of the side door. He knew he would have to leave. Staying was not an option. Tears stung his eyes as he realized he’d killed her. He’d killed the beautiful woman. He hadn’t meant to, but her cries would have woken someone, and he would not have been able to touch her anymore, and he couldn’t resist touching her. She was all he’d thought about all day, and the obsession to see her again, to feel her skin, and experience that pleasure was too much to resist, so he’d succumbed to his dark desires. Now, those desires had killed. Strangely, the only thing he was sorry about was that he would not get to touch her again.

  He slipped into his room where he packed up the few belongings he owned. He’d have to find his way beyond the walls of the Order somehow. Staying meant certain death. He kept to the shadows until he reached the gate. There, he opened it wide enough only for him to fit through. He closed it behind him so no alarm would be raised. Down the road leading away from the compound, Gregor considered his options. He hadn’t been outside in ten years. He didn’t know if anything he knew back then might still be as it was. He had a cousin who lived five miles outside of Pskov, the town he grew up in along the river Velikaya in western Russia, and so he made his way in that direction. Ivan would help him. They’d once been close, before Gregor’s parents had committed him to the Order. Ivan’s parents ran a successful farm so ridding themselves of their child had never crossed their minds. He was lucky, Ivan. His parents loved him enough to keep him. Gregor’s parents, however, did not. If they had, then his father would’ve found a way to earn money, or maybe given Gregor the chance to find a job and help contribute to the family. Why his father and mother had chosen, instead, to hide him away in a religious Order was beyond him. He had little memory of his early years. Those that he did retain were of hardships, no money for food, his father drunk, and his mother taking in washing to try to earn a few coins. They weren’t worth recalling.

  The night air hung heavily, chilling his bones. It was at least ten miles to Ivan’s home. He hoped he remembered how to get there. He kept himself company on his long journey with thoughts of the woman, how it had felt to touch a female for the first time. He knew he liked it and he wanted more. But for now, he needed to secure his most basic needs, lodging, food, and a job. After that, he could figure out how to indulge his growing desire for the female flesh.

  Chapter Two

  GREGOR DID INDEED REMEMBER his way to his cousin’s home. It was nearly dawn when he arrived. He sat on the doorstep and waited. He was exhausted and cold, so he wrapped one of his extra robes around his shoulders. He would need new clothing, he thought. A stray cat wandered by on its way back to wherever it lived after a night of hunting mice, no doubt. He leaned on the handrail and curled in on himself. In an hour, the sun would be up, and he’d knock on Ivan’s door. It would be rude to do so now. He thought about all that now lay before him. Life in the Order was the same thing every single day. He didn’t have to worry about where he would sleep, when he would eat, or what he would wear. Members were assigned a room. Meals were provided through their own hard work gardening and raising cattle. Everyone wore the same robes made by the women of the group who wove the wool on looms after they sheered the sheep each spring. Then they would cut the cloth and sew the robes. Each member had five robes and was responsible for cleaning and maintaining their own clothing.

  Now, he would need to secure a place to stay. He hoped Ivan would offer him lodging. It didn’t matter if it was within the house or out back in the barn. He’d work to earn his keep. He was a good gardener and could do lots of heavy lifting and hauling. After ten years of self-flagellation, he was immune to pain. If he could just work the farm, anyone’s farm, he could earn the money he would need to buy regular clothing. He wouldn’t be able to continue wearing the scratchy woolen robes. He’d stick out like a sore thumb, and after what happened la
st night, he needed to blend in to be safe. His stomach growled reminding him he was very hungry after all the excitement of the night and the ten mile walk in the dark. Despite all the thoughts running through his head, Gregor fell asleep with his head leaning on the wooden rail. The sun on his face, and a rough shake of his shoulder woke him.

  “Hey! Hey, you. Wake up. You need to move on, brother. You can’t stay here on my stoop.” A dark-haired, bearded man stood in front of him giving him an annoyed look. He wore a red checkered flannel shirt over a white T-shirt, jeans, boots, and a black coat.

  “Did you hear me, monk?” He snapped his fingers in front of Gregor’s face.

  “Yes. I heard you, but I’m not a monk. Ivan, it’s me.” Gregor felt a smile begin to spread across his lips. His cousin had grown up in the last ten years. He was now a bear of a man, and not the same skinny boy he remembered.

  “Do I know you?” Ivan asked, his eyes opening wider as he took in the stranger’s face.

  “Yes, cousin. You know me well. It’s me. Gregor.” Gregor started to stand but was stiff from the cold and sat back down immediately.

  “Gregor? Little Gregor?” Recognition lit up his face and Ivan smiled. “Cousin! Hello! Long time, no see!” He lifted his cousin up in a bear hug.

  Gregor answered in kind, trying not to lose his footing. “Da. Too long. Kak Dela?” (How are you doing?)

  “I am well. But you, ...you don’t seem well. Let’s get you inside and warmed up. Nina has just made hot porridge and bread. You can break your fast, and then tell me where you’ve been all these years. Your mother and father simply moved and told no one, not even papa.” Ivan helped Gregor gain his feet and assisted him up the steps and through the door.