Page 72 of No Surrender

“More steaks and shrimp—come and get ’em,” Vic announced, carrying a tray from the grill to the tables set up in the blue bungalow’s backyard. A wealth of side dishes had been brought by their guests—appetizers, salads, and desserts. Everyone chipped in on the entrees, preferring to hold a private celebration instead of going to a restaurant. Vic happily volunteered to do the grilling, and Simon teamed up with Tracey and Pete to organize everything else.

A white triangular canvas awning protected the side yard from sun or rain. Strands of café lights created a festive atmosphere, while a propane deck heater took the chill off after the sun set. A beach-themed playlist streamed from speakers. In the distance, Simon heard the roar of the ocean, and from where he and Vic stood, they spotted the waves through the gap between the buildings across the street.

Ross and Sheila traded stories with Tracey and Shayna over a pitcher of sangria. Pete and his boyfriend Mikki laughed uproariously at something Michelle’s girlfriend said as they knocked back shots of tequila. Captain Hargrove and his wife were deep in conversation with Miss Eppie and Gabriella, fortified with glasses of Merlot.

Simon slipped an arm around Vic, who leaned into him. “We made it,” he said, pulling Vic close. They were both still dealing with the aftereffects of the fight with Judd—as if they didn’t already have enough PTSD to last a lifetime.

“We all did,” Vic replied, angling his head against Simon’s shoulder.

The Slitter trial was over, and William Fischer drew a sentence of life in prison without parole for his crimes. The members of the court targeted by Judd’s cursed objects made full recoveries, and thankfully no one except Vic, Ross, and Simon knew the fanboy’s darker plans.

Judd’s death had been officially reported as a massive heart attack. A few favors with the coroner’s office ensured that the reports matched that diagnosis, since a full explanation was out of the question.

“Tomorrow, let’s lock in a date at the Train Depot.” Simon treasured the way it felt to have Vic, alive and healthy, at his side. This case could have gone wrong so many times. Simon offered up a prayer of gratitude to any higher being who was listening.

“Works for me. I’ve got my work calendar on my phone, and Hargrove will make sure we have off on whatever dates we need,” Vic replied. “Assuming, of course, he’s on the guest list.”

“Of course,” Simon answered.

They and their friends had survived, despite the odds. A killer had been locked away, and another murderer received the rough justice his soul deserved. Two groups of victims—recent and long ago—were avenged, and their families could now move on.

And Bert Judd would never graduate to the next step of his hero worship and become a copycat killer himself.

“After the crime scene is cleared, I hear that the owner of the building wants to tear it down—‘get rid of bad juju’ as he put it—and build another haunted attraction on the site,” Vic told him, mellow from the whiskey he’d finished not long ago.

“Good for him,” Simon replied without enthusiasm. “I think I’ll pass on visiting.”

Vic laughed. “I figured you’d say that.”

After everything that had happened, this was what Simon treasured most. Good friends, good food, good times—and Vic at his side.

“Go easy on the Jack. I’ve got plans for later. Whiskey dick is a cockblocker.”

Vic gave an insulted snort. “As if.”

Simon arched his eyebrow. “Just ’cos it didn’t happen at twenty-two doesn’t rule it out at thirty-two.”

“Party pooper.”

“Which would you rather? Getting ‘overly mellow’ now, or—” Simon’s voice dropped to whisper an obscenely detailed proposition only Vic could hear.

“Easiest choice I’ve ever had to make,” Vic assured him, draining the last of his whiskey and setting his glass aside. “Getting buzzed or having you ride my—”

Simon jokingly slipped a hand over Vic’s mouth. “You don’t have to share that with the class.”

Vic playfully bit Simon’s finger and shot him a flirty glance. “We’ve already established that I don’t share.” The gravel of his voice sent a delightful chill down Simon’s back.

“Neither do I.” Simon accepted the shiver that ran through Vic’s whole body as tacit consent.

He pulled Vic in for a kiss, long and slow and full of promises. “Good thing we’re getting married then, huh?”

“It’s the best thing.”