Chapter 1: The Choice Is Yours, Audrey.

Audrey Watson.

“A shot of whiskey, neat,” a deep voice pulls me from my reverie. Without looking up, I ditch the towel in my hand and whirl around to get a bottle of whiskey from the shelf. 

After pouring a shot, I place the glass in front of him and he downs it in one gulp before sliding the shot glass my way with jeweled fingers.

“Another,” he demands. I pour and he downs that one too and requests another.

After the fourth shot, he drops the glass in front of him and stares at it with his head hanging down.

“Rough day?” I ask as I pick up the towel from where I dropped it earlier, and start wiping down the counter.

“You have no idea,” he replies in a gruff voice. 

I sigh dramatically and reach forward for his hand. Clasping it in one of mine, I squeeze gently and say, “It'll get better.”

It's a routine I've picked up over the months that I've been a bartender. 

Sometimes, people come in to drink away their sorrows and most times, the sorrows always come back the next day and then, they're back the next night—drinking away their sorrows again. Most people in this category are alcoholics.

But I've realized that some people just need comfort—someone to talk to—and as long as they sit at the bar, I try to offer that comfort. 

And when presented with that opportunity, most of them go on and on, talking about what went wrong. 

Which is why I'm surprised when the stranger in front of me asks, “What about you? Rough day too?”

“More like a slow night,” I gesture to the empty bar and he scoffs, making me laugh. He joins in and I stop wiping for a minute and look at him. I mean, really look at him. 

His hair is ruffled, like he had run his fingers through them multiple times. A handful of hair falls over his face and it's long enough to cover his eyes so I move on to his lips—cherry red. It almost seems like he uses lipstick. 

My eyes continue my movement to his neck where I see the glimpse of a tattoo but unfortunately, the rest is covered by the black round neck on him. 

He takes in a sharp breath and that's when my eyes shoot up. He has moved away the hair covering his eyes and is now staring at my wrists. 

I immediately pull on my sleeve while cursing under my breath. I already have enough problems to deal with, without anyone poking their nose into my business. 

His eyes leave my arms and make contact with mine. I gasp as I stare into his gray eyes. His face is scrunched in concentration and it feels like we're playing a staring game—one that I'm not about to lose. 

Well, hold that thought.  

A hand slams down on the far end of the counter and it effectively snaps me out of my daze. I glance sideways to see Brandon there, his eyes fixed on me with an unnerving intensity and my stomach twists into a knot. 

I scurry as fast as I can, towards him but that doesn't stop him from backhanding me. 

“Stupid cunt. What do you think you're doing with my client? Planning on seducing him too?” He growls. 

Keeping my eyes on the counter, I cup my cheek with both hands, anger coursing through my veins as I ignore the sting in my cheeks. 

I should have known better. That's the mantra I repeat in my head over and over again to stop myself from retaliating. 

“Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?” I hear the stranger from earlier get up as he makes his way towards us.

No, no, no, go back to your seat. 

I yell at him in my head but I don't dare make a sound. I keep hoping that he's some sort of mind reader so he would hear me, but of course, he's not. 

He finally gets to Brandon but he doesn't address him. Instead, he turns to me and gently pries my hands away from my cheek. 

“Are you alright?” He asks as he scrutinizes me with furrowed brows, trailing his fingers down my cheek. 

I look at him but immediately divert my attention to Brandon who's standing beside him. 

Moving back a bit—just out of reach—I nod vigorously. Then I smile and ask, “Would you like another shot of whiskey?”

But he's not listening to me. Instead, he turns to Brandon and grabs him by the neck, “What the hell was that?”

Brandon laughs even as his breath is cut off, “That was a reprimanding from a boss to his employee.”

My heart leaps in my throat as the stranger slams Brandon against the counter, his face already turning red. I immediately run out from behind the counter and grab onto the stranger's arms.

“Please, just let him go,” I beg. 

It's nice to have someone defend me but I already know I'm going to pay for it one way or the other. The only option now is to try and reduce my punishment.

The stranger stares at me in disbelief but he probably sees the desperation in my eyes, because he lets go of Brandon. 

“Get out of my bar!” Brandon yells when he finds his voice. His face is still red and I'm sure he's livid. 

I close my eyes and draw a trembling breath. Tonight is going to be really bad.

“I said, get the hell out of my bar.”

I open my eyes to see Brandon brandishing a pocket knife in front of the stranger, but the man doesn't even seem fazed. He's looking me over, his jaws clenched. 

Making eye contact with him, I mouth a ‘please’. Furrowing his eyes at me, he turns, slapping some bills on the counter on his way out.

“And you,” I turn to face Brandon as he speaks. Now that we're alone in the bar, he's pocketed the knife and is facing me. I brace myself for what's about to come but it still hurts me the same when he hits me across the face. 

The force is so great that I fall to the floor, tasting blood in my mouth. 

“Close up the bar and meet me in my office. Don't keep me waiting.” That's all he says before walking out and I immediately get to work, wiping down the counter. 

When I'm done, I remove the trash bag and take it outside to the dumpster at the back. 

Once outside, tears stream down my face as I slump against the building, my body shaking with sobs. The cool night air envelops me, carrying the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves. 

I wrap my arms around my head, letting the darkness envelop me. The sound of crickets and distant traffic fills the silence, a constant reminder that the world is still moving, even as my own world feels like it's crumbling.

As I sit there, lost in my tears, I'm suddenly aware of a presence beside me. I look up to see the stranger squatting in front of me, his indifferent eyes fixed on mine. He's tall, with broad shoulders and a strong jawline, his features illuminated by the faint moonlight.

“What's your name?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly. I quickly scramble to my feet, but he grips my arm, holding me in place. I brush away tears, my eyes stinging from the effort. 

“Audrey Watson,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

He extends his hand to me and says, “I'm Xavier. Just Xavier. Now let's get out of here.” 

His hand is warm and strong, his fingers wrapping around mine like a vice. I feel a shiver run down my spine as he pulls me closer.

“What? No. Brandon will find me and he'll kill you. I can't.” 

Xavier's eyes glint with a cold intensity as he leans in, his face inches from mine. 

“You can come with me willingly, or...” he pauses, letting the implication hang in the air. “The choice is yours, Audrey.”