Duty Bound

Chapter 1-1

Chapter 1Murphy

Not even the hard body pounding into him from behind managed to give him a reprieve from the constant barrage of images he’d been cursed with for the better half of a year. He’d bottomed before, hadn’t really enjoyed it, but he’d been desperately searching for anything to distract him. Men, drink, extreme sports, he’d even flirted with drugs, though thankfully that hadn’t taken.

Nothing worked. Maybe for a few moments, sure. But his treacherous mind soon dragged him back to the trial. The victims. The women and children who’d suffered. He’d thought he might be able to go back to his old life once the trial ended, but that had turned out to be a joke. He’d deferred his studies and fled the United States.

Here he was, halfway around the world with a gorgeous bronzed Aussie in his bed, and he still couldn’t find real pleasure, no true escape from the memories. He’d come, of course, a couple of tugs on his c**k and he’d shoot all over the sheets, but there’d be no real pleasure, just like every other time, with every other man since the trial.

Hell, he should have been thinking about how good he felt with the Aussie’s c**k in his ass, how deliciously full. But all he thought about were those f*****g images. Not even the half a bottle of Jim Beam he’d downed earlier managed to dull the visuals assaulting his mind almost constantly.

The court appointed counselor had advised them all to give it time, but eight months had passed, and the images were as solid as ever. He hadn’t checked in with the other jury members for a while. Had they moved on? Were they able to wipe the scenes of suffering from their minds? And if so, how? God, he hated that he’d been forced into this club of survivors. The bonds between him and the other jury members forged in a kind of hell were so strong. He both hated and loved hearing from them. They understood each other in a way nobody else could.

A strong hand gripped the back of his neck, pushing him farther into the mattress. Though in the past he would never allow the move, he let it happen, desperately hoping the feeling of being uncomfortable might give him respite from the horror which plagued his every moment.

“f**k, oh f**k,” a deep voice gasped. Murphy couldn’t remember the man’s name, barely recalled the details of their meeting. But the voice was nice, yet still not enough. He pushed a hand between his body and the bed, searching for his c**k. He found it flagging. Fisting himself tightly, he began to pull. The man atop him was close to orgasm judging by the harsh breaths and muttered oaths. Murphy just wanted it to be done. He’d finish himself off, hopefully soon after his lover and then he could kick the man out. He always needed to be alone when the nightmares came. He never let one of his conquests stay the night. Ever.

He came. Not with a roar of satisfaction but with a muffled groan he only allowed to escape for appearance’s sake. The man who’d just climaxed inside him deserved some show of appreciation, he’d put a lot of effort into this. Murphy would offer up some trite platitudes as he herded him toward the door.

“f**k. That was…fuck, mate, I’ve got no words,” the man muttered as he rolled off Murphy’s body.

He might have no words, but Murphy did. “It was damn good…ah, mate.” Damn, he wished he could remember his name at least. “I wish you could stay for round two—”

“I can be ready to go again in ten,” the man said with all the confidence in the world, though Murphy suspected it to be nothing but hubris.

Murphy turned away as the man began dealing with the condom—finding it too intimate for his liking. He didn’t turn to watch as he heard the man pad towards the bathroom. He could at least let the poor guy clean up before kicking his ass out.

“You know,” the man called loudly over the sound of the sink running. “If you plan to be here for a while, I’d be interested—”

“No can do,” Murphy cut him off. “Plan is to head out in the morning, early. It’d be great but it’s gotta be a one-time deal. In fact, you’ll need to head on out—”

“Yeah. I get it.” He sounded as though he did get it…all of the lies, at least. Had Murphy told him he’d be in town for some time? He couldn’t remember. “For what it’s worth, you’re a great f**k, mate, but a shitty liar.”

Murphy watched the man exit the bathroom, shorts pulled back over his hips, T-shirt in hand. He didn’t even bother to make sure he was fully dressed before he stormed out of Murphy’s hotel room, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Murphy exhaled a relieved breath. The man’s barb hadn’t stung him—not much got to him these days—but he was glad he hadn’t made a scene. He brushed a hand over his face and stood up. He needed a shower. He winced a little as he walked into the bathroom; the guy had been pretty enthusiastic once he’d gotten inside Murphy’s body. He let the water run hot, stepping under the showerhead, enjoying the burn. He scrubbed his body clean. He wasn’t ashamed of all the s*x he’d been having but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to clean any traces of the men off his body as soon as possible.

Christ, he was a f*****g mess.

Maybe he should rethink his parents’ offer of therapy. Whatever the f**k he was doing wasn’t working. He rested his palms on the tiles, dropping his head between his shoulders to let the steaming hot water sluice over his back.

Eight months and he was still a basket case. He’d gone into the trial a level-headed twenty-three-year-old whose plan for life he was firmly following. He’d been studying towards getting a veterinarian degree, working part time at the local shelter. He loved animals, all of them, but marine life was his thing. He’d spent all of his college breaks working for a team of scientists studying sharks. He’d been their equipment lugger, boat cleaner, note-taker. Whatever they needed of him, he’d done and happily.

Before the trial he just knew he’d be working on the oceans one day, maybe even doing some docs for Shark Week. His mum always told him he had the looks and the brains. Discovery Channel or National Geographic were bound to knock on his door, she’d said. But since the trial, that life had been blown out of the water.

He’d used the robust shark population of Australia as an excuse to escape back Down Under. His mum had been born here and his family had lived in Sydney for fourteen of his twenty-three years. His dad was from the US and Murphy had been born there. Dual citizenship was working out well for him. He loved both countries equally, but Romulus Mazarin was not in Australia, his victims and their families weren’t. He’d hoped by fleeing to Australia, he’d escape the monster who’d ruined so many lives.

The theme music from the A-Team blared from his bedroom and he smiled. It had been almost two weeks since he’d heard from Josie. She’d always been good at giving him his space yet seeming to know exactly when Murphy most needed to hear from her. He flicked off the shower, grabbing a towel to quickly blot some of the water from his body. He shoved the towel around his neck and reached for the phone, not caring he was dripping water on the carpeted bedroom floor.

“Hey!” he answered with far more enthusiasm than he felt. He loved Josie; they’d been best friends since the first day they’d literally stumbled into each other at college. He always loved hearing from her, yet any interaction with anybody these days exhausted him, or made him nervous someone would figure out just how wrecked he was.

“Murph!” Josie exclaimed, real joy in her voice. “What’s up?”

“You called me.” Murphy visualized the eye roll Josie would be serving up right now.

“I know, dumbass. I called to see what’s up.”

He let a soft chuckle escape for her benefit before answering, “Nothing much. Heading down south in the next couple of days.”

“Port Lincoln?”

“Yep, gonna get in the water with those whites.”

“You gonna tell your mum?”

“Only after the fact.” His mother was not overly fond of his interest in sharks. It’d been hard enough getting her to accept his trips with the scientists to study makos and the occasional tiger, but she drew the line at great whites. Of course, his mum might not like him doing dangerous things, but she could handle it. His father, on the other hand, not so much.

“How’re you doing, otherwise?” Josie asked, her tone serious now. She knew, as did his parents, sister and a handful of others, how he’d struggled in the aftermath of the trial, but none of them knew how much.

“Keepin’ busy. Plenty of hot guys down here…you’d love it.” He kept his tone light, but Josie would likely see right through it.

Ignoring his comment about Australian men, Josie asked, “And the nightmares? Any ease up there?”

“Some,” he lied. “Hard to have horrifying thoughts when some hot piece of—”

“Murph. Stop. I know you’re strugglin’ really hard with this. I wish you’d see someone.” Josie knew more than most. She’d been the one to kick his ass when she’d found out about the drugs, and the one who’d stayed at his side night and day for weeks until she’d been convinced that he wasn’t heading down that path.

“Give me a bit more time, Jos. I can do this. I just need time to forget…everything about that f*****g trial.”

She didn’t answer him for the longest time. He thought about saying something else but waited silently instead. “Deal. But, Murphy, I’m putting a time frame on this. You’ve deferred for a year. One month before that year is up, if you’re still struggling you promise me, you’ll see someone?”

He could do that. That gave him three more months. “I promise.”

“Good,” she answered, a smile in the one word. “Now tell me more about these hot Aussie men.”

So, he did. They spoke for close to an hour. He described some of the men he’d been with, what details he was able to remember. He’d tried to imitate their accents—not so hard, given he’d lived here for fourteen years and only lost his Australian accent a couple of years back. He’d finished the call by once more promising he’d seek help a month before he was due back at college if he needed it.

He suspected he would.

Murphy slept better than many nights after his phone call with Josie, and yet still not good. He’d woken twice with a scream trapped in his throat, sweat soaking his sheets. But he’d fallen back to sleep both times reasonably easily—no mean feat these days.

When he woke for the last time, the sun broke through the narrow gap in his block out curtains. He glanced at the clock beside his bed. Six-thirty-eight. Time to get up and get going. His flight wasn’t until eleven, but if he got going now, he’d have time to stop at the little café on the corner that served the best bacon and eggs bar none. Their coffee was f*****g awesome too.

He showered again, figuring it’s always sensible to shower whenever possible while travelling. Not that he was leaving the country, but Australia was a big land and with stopovers the flight between Brisbane and Port Lincoln could take close to five hours, and that was just time in the air. If there was a delay somewhere along the line that time could blowout substantially. He liked to be clean and fresh.

Checkout took next to no time; the reception desk empty save for him and one other person. He had no mini bar or other incidental charges to fix up. He signed the slip, thanked the concierge, and walked out into a hot summer’s day in Queensland, Australia.

The café was pretty empty too when he arrived. He placed his usual order before taking his usual seat in the back of the café, facing out so he could watch the comings and goings of other patrons. His food arrived in minutes, following close on the heel of his coffee. He ate slowly, savoring every bite. There were no guarantees of finding food this good where he was going.