Page 28 of Going Down Smooth: Part Two

“My story is the complete opposite to Mercy’s, she ran, deep down she was meant to be an Alpha. Yet, biology laughed in her face and made her an Omega. Me, well, fate kicked me in the ass and made me a Beta. I was disowned.” I hang my head, only hearing the growls of their disapproval as I continue. “My father said I was‘an embarrassment, a disappointment, a weak Beta had no place in a family of Alphas or useful Omegas’. So, they called off the mating ceremony and made me disappear. I left for Chicago, with my college education paid for and nothing else. I met Mercy, who was on the run as well and the rest is history. I changed the spelling of my name because I didn’t want anyone to question who I was. I know there are a lot of people with that name, but I wanted to disappear. They probably struck me from the family records, so I decided to do the same. I should have said something, but honestly, Dez, I didn’t think it was important until now. Until some unknown person said they’ve always had eyes on me,” I finish, my voice weak, exhausted as I cradle my face in my hands.

“You’re my true mate, Freeya. You were meant for me, for us. You are not a disappointment. You are mine.” Omari stands and circles the table, pulling me from Avion’s lap. Placing me on my feet, he kisses my tears and wraps me in his arms.

“I’m not upset, baby,” Dez says softly. “But there are pictures of you and Mercy from what I am assuming is years ago. Recent ones from outside Vic’s shop, our high rise. Whoever this person is, they know you personally. I can only assume it’s a male.”

“So, not a recent stalker from all the media attention then,” Avion says, lost in thought as he reasons it all out, grabbing my hand, he squeezes it in support. God, I love this man. But I can’t and won’t confess that here and now. Not like this.

I turn in Omari’s arms and face Dez. Vic has moved to stand behind him to look over his shoulder. “How do you know it’s a man?” I ask, so afraid of the answer that I’m shaking.

He turns the phone and holds it up for me to read. I gasp at the sight, stumble back into Omari’s arms.

UNKNOWN: You belonged to me long before you ever belonged to them. I will make you forget them.

UNKNOWN: Look how much you’ve grown, butterfly. I’ve missed you so.

UNKNOWN: See you soon. ??

SIXTEEN

TREY

Ihit the final note of “Knocks Me Off My Feet” by Stevie Wonder then adjust myself on the bench, taking my hands off the keys and placing them in my lap. The crowd is thrumming with electricity as shrill whistles and applause breaks out all around me. Of course, my glasses choose that moment to shift on my nose, making me have to push them back in place.

I live for this feeling. The roar of an audience is like nothing else, as I let myself get lost in the music. I’ve missed this. With Mercy recovering these past few months and the obvious threats being thrown at us from the left and right, M. Bar has been closed. But with Christmas and New Year around the corner, Knight was determined to have one big Pack Night show.

There are so many packs here tonight that Dane has had no choice but to turn people away. We are at capacity; everyone wants to get a glimpse of the famous Mercy Smooth. She hasn’t been seen publicly since the day we walked inside Smooth Bourbon for the board meeting all those months ago. She’s kept a low profile, holed up behind the closed door of our pack house and away from the media frenzy surrounding the fire.

In the past two months, protests and calls for change have been happening in every state. And that’s just in America. Omegas all over the world are crying out for the ability to make a life of their choosing, and all eyes are on my songbird.

The lights from cellphones shine all around me as I reach for my mic and swing it closer to my mouth in preparation to bring her out.

“How are ya’ll doing tonight?” I say with a smile. It’s such an easy question, a call from me and answer by them, causing more cheers and claps in response.

I look out over the crowd; my eyes catch sight of my parents. My mother is beaming proudly up at me as my father wraps his arm around her protectively. Sitting at the table next to them are Edward and Seneca. Christopher, of course, is nowhere to be found. He’s been absent from any family activities, and I wonder if Seneca is the reason for it. I doubt he would miss a chance to be out in the crowd in an attempt to grab some media attention for himself. His followers have been out in droves, speaking against Mercy and the cries for change in the community. I incline my head slightly in Seneca’s direction, she studies me, arms crossed over her chest and offers me a nod of approval in return. Considering this woman taught me everything I know, the reason why Mercy and I play in the first place, I will accept it with pride.

“There is a lot about my mate,” I say with another silly grin, and the crowd loses it once more.Mine.They all settle down and I continue, especially when I see Nate and Knight with Mercy at the top of the stairs. She’s probably rolling her eyes at the fact that I am drawing this out. “Yes, there’s a lot about Mercy Smooth that many don’t know. She is a complex woman, my Omega, our Alpha,” I say. I hear a few gasps of surprise at my declaration. My brothers and I had all agreed that we had no problem with telling the world just who she is to our pack, so I call her Alpha. She is the head of our pack. “But tonight, she is going to come down here and play with me, aren’t you, songbird?” A spotlight comes on, shining down on the second piano in front of mine as another one shines down on Mercy at the top of the stairs.

She smiles, waving shyly as everyone in the room gets to their feet. Knight and Nate escort her down through the crowd, weaving through tables like her personal bodyguards to raucous applause. The sight of her takes my breath away as she takes the steps one at a time.

Her hair is wild, corkscrew curls frame her face, almost shielding her protectively as her brown eyes meet mine. With minimal makeup, her face glows a shimmering gold, and her favorite wine-colored lipstick makes her look radiant. If she’s nervous, I can’t tell. She rolls her bare shoulders back and stands straight as she approaches her piano.

She wears a champagne-colored strapless dress that falls to her ankles, with a split exposing her entire right leg as she walks. I shift in my seat, unobtrusively adjusting my cock at the sight of her silky brown skin on display. But the most noticeable change in her appearance is the striking black and green vine tattoo which runs up and down her right arm, bright pink, purple, and blue lotus flowers bloom strategically over each of the burn scars she received from the fire. Striking and beautiful, she was determined to show off Vic’s work to the world tonight. Although the tattoos are still healing, Vic said they should be fine by tonight. Well, Mercy is definitely pulling off the classy, ‘rock chick’ look tonight.

The applause dies down as she takes her seat and slides closer to her piano. I feel like I am floating in an alternate universe, this can’t be my life. The woman I have loved for as long as I can remember, my mate, my songbird, is sharing the same stage as me. It used to be something we talked about as kids. Of course, Seneca only taught Mercy to play to make her more appealing to a mate, even though Mercy fought her every step of the way. To Seneca, Mercy was only meant to play behind closed doors, oh, and church, of course. Those ideals are archaic and have no room in the world today. My songbird was born to shine, and everyone will finally see her for the spectacular woman she is.

“Ready,” I mouth to her, and she nods her head slightly. Honestly, when I approached her weeks ago, I wasn’t sure she would be up for this. Her anxiety had gotten so bad she barely walked outside. But here she is. Hell, it was her idea that we play together.

“I’m more than happy to sit back and watch you play, songbird,”I said to her as she sat at the piano, poised to play.

She took one look at me; her reply was all it took to convince me.“No, we should do a duet. Isn’t the point of all of this to aim higher?”

“Yes, baby, yes, it is,” was the only answer I could give.

I adjust my glasses and count to three in my head, my fingers begin to play the haunting melancholic notes of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata.” A few seconds later, Mercy begins to play the second part of the music, while I maintain the background melody. Our pianos work seamlessly together, as if only one of us is playing. With the spotlight only on us, the audience seems to disappear, and for a moment it is only us. I can make out Knight’s large frame at the bottom of the steps and I can almost feel his eyes locked on Mercy. Her head is down as she concentrates, leaning into every note with such practiced ease it would appear she does this professionally.

Then, like we practiced, a striking key change shifts the mood as we transition from classical to jazz with a skip of a heartbeat. My head snaps up, our eyes lock and Mercy pounds out in quick succession Duke Ellington’s, “Take The ‘A’ Train.” I counter with my piano, following her lead as we hit each note in a quick synchronized dance. Pure joy erupts on her face, her smile is so bright as she winks at me, as if this is our little secret.

I don’t have to see Seneca’s face to know she’s smirking knowingly at us. She treated playing like this as a test, and Mercy wanted to show her mother she still has it. Hell yeah, she does. I hold back my laugh as my mind wanders, letting those childhood memories of mine in, how I used to bite my lip in concentration as I stumbled over the notes that at the time seemed impossible. I blink, only to be brought back to the present by yet another shift in Mercy’s playing.

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