“You haven’t?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Mina. We’ll have dinner in the dining room,” he said into his phone. Then, with his eyes on me, he added, “In thirty minutes.”
“I’ll give you a tour,” he revealed as he put his phone back into his pocket.
“That sounds interesting,” I commented, taking the hand he held out for me.
We left the rooftop, and he pointed at a small door opposite the landing to the right.
“That’s the door to the attic stairs,” he revealed. “We only keep weapons there. It’s an alternate storage house.”
“Show me, then,” I prompted.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Lobanov?” he asked, raising a brow.
“You’re not the only one allowed to explore your partner’s world, dear husband,” I retorted, grinning.
“I love the sound of that,” he rasped, his voice low and rough against my ear as he grabbed my butt and squeezed.
“Say it again,” he demanded, kissing my neck and making me weak in the knees.
“Dear husband,” I whispered before he planted a kiss on my lips.
I smiled up at him, and he gave me one of his own in return.
He took my hand again and turned the doorknob with his other hand.
It was dark inside, but I could make out the few tiled stairs ahead of us.
“Careful,” he uttered as he led me to the first stair. “The light bulbs and switch are hidden. It was an intentional design.”
The lights suddenly came on, and I realized Viktor had leaned down to the side of the stairs.
“Wow,” I couldn’t help exclaiming as I took in the unbelievably wide attic to the right.
The hardwood floors were almost completely covered in wooden boxes of different sizes and heights. Viktor went forward and opened the rectangular boxes lining the wall. My eyes grew wide as he brought out a brutal-looking gun made of dark metal that glinted in the light.
“The whole place is full of this?” I asked, pointing at the gun.
“Not just guns. There are explosives and some other heavy machinery,” he answered before beckoning to me with his hand. “Come.”
“Looks like something from the movies. War movies,” I disclosed, chuckling as I joined him beside the box.
“It would be a bummer if you were referring to any other kind of movies,” he answered, making me laugh.
“I think I once heard somewhere that the weight of a gun is what flings the victim away, not the bullet itself. Is that true? Is it heavy?”
He came behind me and brought his hand around me.
“Take it.”
I took the cool metal from him.
“It’s not as heavy as it looks,” I declared, turning sideways to face him. “It’s not heavy at all.”
“It’s true that the bullet itself isn’t what throws people off balance. But it’s not the weight of the gun, either. It’s the pressure, the force of the gun. Think of it as throwing something at someone. The size of the object is secondary in importance; the force with which you throw is the primary factor- it’s what can make the person stumble and fall. And that force is different from one gun type to another,” he explained, and I nodded in understanding.
“The bullet type, which is the object, determines what kind of harm is inflicted. Some guns release a number of bullets at once. The bullets can scatter across different organs in one go. Some other guns release single, mostly larger, bullets. They tend to cause fatal injuries to whichever organ they touch. There is also the risk of bleeding out faster since they break the skin and cause large, gaping wounds.”
