Unprepared Prologue/Ch. 1

A/N: Okay, since I can't post 'Books' on this site, I'm going to post these in two-chapter blocks.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
PROLOGUE
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I flopped down on my bed and stared at my ceiling. I was SOOO bored! Honestly, school was out and all my friends lived in different states! Well, two in different countries, but still!

The only person that DID live near me was Sabina (who I had a variety of nicknames for- Bina, Bambina, Bambini, Bambi, et.c) and she was going to see a musical with her father.

“Stupid rich fathers who take their daughters away from bored best friends,” I mumbled vindictively.

I wasn’t really mad, of course- Bina hardly ever got to see her father and, unlike MY father, hers actually wanted to see her. As for the rich part, well, my family was probably just as wealthy. They had to be, for me to go to school I did.

Sabina and I both went to Arlingtons’ Institute of Education, a high-class boarding school where only rich and privileged could afford to send their children. It had also been mine and Bina’s home for the past six years (not counting summers). It was there Bina and I met.

You see, we both live in New York, and not even that far apart, but New York is a big city, and it would have only been pure coincidence had we met before. But, anyhow, it turned out that both of our rich-ass parents had decided to send us to the same school, and we became best friends.

We weren’t roommates at first, and that was most likely a good thing, because we probably would have killed each other. Instead, we gradually became friends. But in 8th grade (our fourth year there) Bina’s roommate was pulled out of the Institute and we requested to be put with one another.

And from then until this year we had lived together practically all year long, and were like sisters. Me and her. Asha and Bina. The crazy one and the equally crazy. We were like sisters- really close, twin sisters- we dieted together, ate most of our meals together, did a lot of stuff together- you get the idea. Well, except for double dating, because of an incident that I’d rather not mention.

Anyway, APPARENTLY all of that amounted to NOTHING because I was alone in my room, doing NOTHING! I didn’t have a pet, mostly because I wouldn’t be here to care for it for the duration of the year, and I didn’t like going shopping or going to the movies alone… Grr.

I sighed, and then brightened as I remembered the books that I had dragged home from the library at school- there had been a new shipment of books from one of my favorite authors! There were eight- I picked one and ran to my Reading Room- a little cozy room with a big comfortable chair- I only had about two and a half hours before my father’s chauffeur came to pick me up for my marksmanship lesson.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Hi, James!” I said as I slipped into the car. I was wearing a pair of jeans, and an older gym T-shirt. I had learned a long while ago that if I wore something heavier than that I would sweat MUCH more than I would ever like to.
I had started the classes the first year after I came back from The Institute- my father had insisted that since he was an important person, people might try to hurt me to get to him (Which, granted, sounds conceited, but is kind of true). After I had mastered the basics (I was mediocre), my father bought me my own Beretta Model 87 to practice with at home (we had a shooting range at both of our houses, since my father was also a marksman) and when I was at school.

Yes, at school, and no, neither myself nor my father are terrorists of any kind. I practiced in the woods behind out school a good mile out early on Saturday mornings (because, face it, who would get up Saturday mornings when they didn’t have to?). My father just wanted me to keep practicing since I wouldn’t be able to receive any lessons during the school year. I do expect that some money exchanged hands for me to actually be in possession of such a weapon on school grounds. I had, of course, only ever told Bina.

James (my chauffer, in case you didn’t get that) dropped me off a block away from the shooting range where the classes took place- I had requested that my father not make it known that I was his daughter- I would be immediately pegged as rich and snobby, as it had happened before.

You see, most of the kids that took lessons here were children of cops, who weren’t exactly rich, and I was picked on for the first year I went here. By the second year I was in a different class entirely, so it didn’t really matter.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“ASHA! How many times have I told you, if you lock your arms, you’re going to hurt yourself!”
I sighed. Even after all these years, I STILL did that. My instructor, Dan, said it was because I thought too much.

Stupid Dan.

I watched mournfully as the other kids in the intermediate-advanced class hit ridiculously near the target every time. Seriously, though, they all had the whole year, while I had about two measly months. Blech.

I set my jaw and got into position again. Until I got it right, this girl was gonna work her ass off.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


A/N: And there you have your into. to Asha.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: So here's the second chapter... enjoy!

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER ONE
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I was coming back from my lesson, again in the back of the black Volkswagen, the least conspicuous among a Rolls-Royce, a red Mustang, and two other cars whose names I could seriously care less about.

Anyway, back on topic.

I was trying to call Bina…. And SHE WASN’T FRIGGING PICKING UP! I mean, HONESTLY, could a Broadway show and dinner really take nine effing hours?

I THINK NOT!

It was 8 o’clock now and it was disturbing me. I wanted to know how the Broadway version of Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang measured up to the movie!

I flipped my cell phone open again. Okay, I’ve waited five minutes. Time to call again!


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Grr,” I growled, looking away from the screen of my laptop to check my cell phone again. Was it BROKEN or something? Because it was friggin’ 10 o’ clock! Bina had PROMISED to call by 9, and she ALWAYS did things exactly on time, if not EARLIER! And I had checked- she wasn’t on AIM either!
I huffed my annoyance and turned back to the computer. The book I had been reading before my marksmanship class lay abandoned in favor of choosing a birthday present. He said I could choose the specific gun, but every two years since my marksman class started he got me one of these- a new handgun, to be exact. I suppose I could get a rifle if I wanted, but honestly I had never really held any interest in them.

I had about twenty days to decide, because in twenty days was my birthday.

Usually it would take a lot longer to obtain a firearm for a citizen, but not for my father. You know all that yellow tape? Paperwork for owning a gun? Um, no. My father gets anything he wants, WHENEVER he wants it. And, yes, that is a direct quote.

So I was searching for handguns, and I’m pretty sure I had decided- the Colt.25. She was just the right size, and suitable for my needs. Plus, she was pretty.

This would be my first year I actually got to choose which one I’d get- the first time had been a total surprise, and the next time my father got me my (now) favorite; the rare and beautiful Colt Lady, with gold accents. He may not exactly be the warmest father in the world, but my god, the man knew how to pick a girl’s handguns.

I had tried to get Bina interested in marksmanship or guns in general, but she really wasn’t one for that type of thing. She just looked at me with those goldish-brown eyes of hers and stated that anything related to violence wasn’t her thing. It was true, I guess.

I wonder if when whoever said ‘opposites attract’, well, said it, I wondered if he meant friends. Because me and Bambina certainly are opposites. Whereas she’s more passive, I’m more aggressive, and quicker to take offense. Where she’s always on time, I’m always late. She’s neat, my room, locker, et.c, looks like the Tazmanian Devil has tried to clean it. Where I like action movies, Bina likes romance. Where I take marksmanship and martial arts (even though they technically WERE forced on me), she takes ballet. But we love each other; understand each other. And if you say anything about 'that' kind of love I'll set a Siberian Tiger on you. Why a Siberian? Because they're prettier that regular tigers.

Anyway, I sent the page with the Colt .25 to my father’s e-mail account and logged off of the computer.

I sighed again as I looked at the clock- only fifteen minutes had passed; it was now 10:15.

Alright, if she hadn’t called by now, she probably wouldn’t. I resolved to call her tomorrow, or be driven to her house if calling failed.

I went downstairs to watch TV- they had an X-files marathon running – and took my cell with me, holding on to the slight possibility that she’d still call.

And thank the big tuna fish in the sky that I did.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was about 11 o’clock when my Back in Black ringtone for my cell phone rang.
I flipped it open on its second ring.

“Hello?”

I checked quickly and didn’t recognize the number.

“Asha?” a voice asked shakily, but quietly.

There was only one person who this could be- Bina. I would have chewed her ass off for not calling me earlier if I hadn’t noticed how scared she sounded.

I furrowed my brows and sat up a little, worried.

“Bina? Bina is that you?”

“Yeah- Asha, I’m in the hospital, please-”

A chill ran through my bones and I was off the couch and heading to my room for a pair of sneakers.

“Where?”

“Brighton Hospital, I was just moved from ICU. Asha, listen, I’m scared. I was… attacked. Someone… erm, stabbed me in the neck with a fork. A big fork. And he..." she paused for a second, where I was almost sure I heard a sob, "he said that he would 'see me again'. I'm so scared, Ash.”

Oh my god. I felt goose-bumps on my arms, and, strangely, felt a shot of adrenaline. I’d kill the bastard.

“I’ll be right there, don't worry, I'll be there, it's all right Bambi.”

I used the most soothing voice possible as I said this, then I again told her I'd be right over. I hung up, and got my shoes, and my worn leather jacket that had, long ago, been my fathers. I pulled out my phone and called the taxi service I always used when my father’s driver wasn’t available.

And then I went to the garage and got my Beretta Model 87. Whoever this guy was, if he came back tonight, he wouldn’t be going out alive.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N: So how'd you like? Review please- every little bit helps!
-Angel