a hui hou

➸ Ginger ☆

A week into the renovation, I ask Oz to meet me at my townhome. The kitchen floor remains covered by protective plastic, and the countertops are missing. When I arrive, I’m hit by the stink of the fresh, beige paint on the walls. I open the back door to air out the home before setting up a folding table and chairs for my makeshift dinner date.

By the time Oz arrives, I have paper plates, and the Chinese food containers set out. I add a can of beer for him and one for me.

“Dinner’s ready, dear,” I announce as he enters the kitchen wearing a black shirt and blue jeans. “Dig in.”

“Smells good, but I’d rather have you spread out on the table with your pussy as dinner.”

“You say these things, but I don’t think you realize how low in nutrients pussies are. Shouldn’t you eat healthier for your kids?”

Oz smirks before yanking the chair away from the table and sitting down. I wait to see if it gives out under his weight. When he doesn’t hit the ground, I sit across from him and start spooning food onto my plate.

“Work should be done soon,” I say and hand him the container. “Hiring more than one crew was a smart move.”

“Smart for you, but my guys could have used the extra work.”

“Quit your bitching.”

Oz snorts. “That’s what I tell my mom when she wants me to move closer to town.”

“You live on Route 7.”

“Nice stalking there.”

“Well, I needed to know where to send my sniper.”

Oz loses his smile. “Let’s pretend you never did that.”

“If you want me, you’ll need to accept my ugly baggage,” I say and open my beer. “Of course, we could have a hard fuck and then promise to stay away from each other.”

“My dick insists on nothing less than full access to your body for more than one fuck. We’re talking dozens. A hundred even.”

“Then you’ll have to deal with me, warts and all.”

“Warts are foxy.”

“Then accept I sent a sniper to your house.”

Oz’s dark eyes flash with anger I’d find scary if I wasn’t me. “Fine, but I still don’t believe you would have made the call.”

“Believe what you want.”

Oz eats quietly and drinks half of his beer before leaning back into the chair and nearly killing it.

“Will you tell me how you became Ginger Snaps? Unless you’re afraid to share.”

“My past doesn’t own me, so, no, I’m not afraid to share. If anything, my fucked-up childhood might scare you off and prove you’re not man enough for me.”

“Then share,” he challenges.

“Are you sure because the details aren’t first date material. Don’t you want to start with slightly less nasty stories?”

“Eating in a place reeking of paint fumes isn’t first date shit either. Let’s embrace your warts, so you’ll get around to showing me your juicier parts.”

Rolling my eyes, I marvel at how this man can keep so entirely focused on getting laid. Yet when I offer to fuck him this very moment with no strings attached, he refuses because he can’t bear agreeing to the idea that I’ll say no to him in the future either.

“Both of my parents were junkies. My dad was a piece of shit with a horrific criminal record including preying on young teenagers like my mom. She was fourteen when they started fucking, and she got pregnant soon after. Who knew eighth graders weren’t good at remembering to take their pills?” I say sarcastically. “I was a year old when Mom OD’d on heroin. We were living with my grammy at that point, and Child Services left me with her rather than putting me in foster care.”

I gulp down two mouthfuls of beer before freeing the memories of Grammy from the vault where I keep what I’d rather forget.

“My grammy was mentally ill. I think she was bipolar but never knew for sure. She had wild mood swings, and she took pills to help her, but I don’t think they worked very well. I just remember she cried a lot when I was little. Once I was older, I noticed she took a lot of risks with men and booze. Not like she was a sloppy person who just did whatever, but she craved the risks when she was in a certain mood. Once when we were walking home from the store, Grammy decided to play chicken with cars. It was so random, but I thought she was just really happy that day and wanted to play.”

Grammy’s face lingers in the back of my thoughts, unable to become fully realized as if I’d forgotten her so fully that she will always remain a ghost.

“She never abused me, though she’d forget to make food or misplace money for school. Sometimes, she’d sleep for a few days straight. We lived on welfare, and she had SSI for her disability. People knew she was sick, and sometimes, they’d take advantage of her. So bad things happened at times, but Grammy never hit me or was cruel in any way.”

Even after all these years, I can’t stop defending the fragile woman I viewed as my mom.

“The first time I blew a guy for money,” I say, not really seeing Oz now that my mind returns to the nasty memories I’d long stopped worrying about, “I was eleven, and some asshole had stolen our food stamps. Grammy was like most people in Little Memphis, and she never called the police. She did call the welfare office. I don’t know what they said or what she only thought they said, but we were out of luck for the rest of the month.”

The face of my old landlord floats to the surface, and I’m startled by how pathetic he looks now that I’m an adult.

“The guy who ran the apartments we lived in was always asking if I wanted to make any extra money to help out my grammy. I knew what he meant, and I’d avoid him the best I could. That part of Little Memphis is a minefield for women and kids. You never know what seemingly nice person might turn predatory. With the landlord, I didn’t think he’d force me, but I played it safe by staying away from him.”

Pausing, I take a bite of food. The silence allows me to distance myself from the memories rising in my mind.

“Then we were broke, and I didn’t know how to get food for us to survive for the month. I tried the church, but they started asking a lot of questions about my living situation, and I got scared they’d take me away from Grammy. She was a mess, and no one loved her except me.”

An unfamiliar heat threatens my eyes, and I blink furiously to remind myself that I don’t cry. The last time tears successfully spilled down my cheeks was when I got an innocent woman killed. That was years ago, and I had no reason to repeat the act now. Grammy was long dead. So is the little girl who protected her because she was too young to know better.

Oz reaches across the table and runs his finger along my chin. A simple gesture packed with a lot of meaning from a man normally focused on my T&A. I smile softly at his touch and then return to eating as if the ugly story is an afterthought.

“The landlord tried to lowball me with twenty bucks, but I told him I wanted forty or I’d ask someone else. Even then, I knew the power of sex and money. Afterward, he said anytime I wanted cash that he was around. I didn’t think I would ever want to do that again. Except when you’re poor, money is like a drug. Once you have a taste, you want more. Forty dollars for a few minutes of disgusting behavior felt more than worth it. That might sound horrible to you, but it made perfect sense to eleven-year-old Ginger.”

“No, I get it. Even before I joined the club, I knew they dealt with drugs and prostitutes. I knew they hurt people, sometimes, innocent people. I also knew they drove nice Harleys and had food for their families. Shit, half of the guys had second families with their side whores. They were rolling in cash it seemed, and I had nothing. So, yeah, I get the power of money.”

Oz sharing his past with me makes sharing mine with him a little less painful. I study his handsome face and notice waves in his dark hair. Would his hair be curly if longer? Do his kids have curly hair? How long can I think about hair before I’m forced to continue with my story?

“How did you go from the landlord situation to becoming a pimp?”

Exhaling, I take advantage of a big bite of broccoli to prolong the silence. Oz patiently waits for me to finish.

“I guess I should talk about Mitch for the stuff with the future pimp to make sense. Or maybe there’s no making sense of it, but I probably just want to brag about my first kill.”

“Who’s Mitch?” Oz asks in a dangerous tone as if ready to murder him if I haven’t already.

“Grammy brought him home one night, and he ended up staying. They met somewhere, but she didn’t seem to remember where. I think she’d been off her meds and using booze to self-medicate. When she got that way, everything became a blur and Mitch was right there to take advantage.”

“This guy is dead now, right?” Oz growls. “If not, you might want to give me an address and let me fix that for you.”

“Would you really kill him for me?” I ask, leaning back in the chair.

“Sure. Men like that are the worst fucking scum.”

“Everyone says that.”

“I killed the father of one of Alani’s school friends. He beat on the girl and her brother. Mom too. She would kick him out, and he’d come back and pound on them again. The cops didn’t do shit, so I took care of it.”

“How did you do it?”

“Beat him to death.”

Smiling softly, I find this man more attractive, which is not helpful considering how much I already wanted him.

“I like that story,” I finally say.

“I thought you would.”

“Did it take a while or did he die quickly?”

“He was a big guy and put up a fight. Took me a solid twenty minutes before he stopped breathing.”

“I really like that story,” I say, struggling not to yank off his pants right here and now.

“I could use a handjob if you’re looking to repay me for killing the asshole.”

“Tell you what. If you get through these dates, I’ll reward you in many, strenuous sticky ways.”

“Good thing I’m not wearing a cup.”

“Do you want me to stop sharing now that you’re sporting a hard-on?” I ask, having lost interest in talking about my childhood.

“No.”

Giving in to his desire to hear more, I remember Mitch whose face feels more concrete than many others. No forgetting my first kill, I guess.

“By that point, I was thirteen and had a few ‘customers,’” I say, doing finger quotes, “besides the landlord. I made a hundred a week. Nothing amazing but I had the cash for whenever I needed. Grammy didn’t know, and I certainly didn’t tell her. When she was in the wrong mood, she blabbed to untrustworthy people. I handled our money until Mitch came along and said he would buy food and pay bills.”

I bite down too hard on the fork and snap off the prongs. Spitting out the plastic, I reach for another one from the package I brought. Returning to eating, I crack my neck to keep my temper in check.

Through my entire display, Oz watches me while wearing a faint smile. His dark eyes smolder with hate, though. He still wants to kill the long-dead Mitch.

“A month after he moved in, Mitch came into my room and raped me, but don’t worry. He’s dead now.”

“Did he die slowly?”

“Not as slowly as I could manage now, but it was my first time, and I was sloppy.”

“How did you do it?”

“I fought him that night, but he was too strong, and I was unprepared. The next day, I acted as nothing happened. Grammy noticed the bruises on my face from where Mitch hit me, but I told her I was mugged the day before. I don’t think she believed me. I mean she had a black eye too, so clearly, she knew Mitch was a piece of shit. I just don’t think she knew how to make him leave. It’s not like she could call the cops, and no one cared about us.”

I twirl noodles around my fork and think about the night Mitch took his last breath.

“I was at school the next day when I decided to kill Mitch. Math class to be specific. I always hated math, so my mind tended to wander. I knew where he drank every night and his route home. There were a couple places where he used alleys, so I hid next to a dumpster and waited for him. It was supposed to rain that night, and I told myself I wouldn’t do it if it started raining before I saw him. I’d see it as a sign.”

“And it didn’t rain, so...”

“No, it did. I sat drenched in the filthy alley and held a kitchen knife in my hand. A part of me didn’t think I’d do it, but then I saw him walk past me. I heard him humming the same song as the night he first raped me. I sometimes wonder if I imagined hearing the song since it was raining hard. Anyway, I came up behind Mitch and stabbed him in the side. He turned around, and I was on him like he’d been on me those nights. I stabbed him in the chest and face. Everything moving so fast. I don’t know if I said anything to him, but my face was the last thing he saw before I shoved the blade into his eye. I broke it off in there and shoved the handle down his throat. I wanted to tear him apart, but he was dead, and I was alive. That had to be enough. Staying in the alley was dangerous, so I trashed my clothes and ran home in the clean ones I brought along.”

Oz’s eyes glow with menace. I’m impressed by the amount of hate he can store inside himself. It’s especially impressive considering how much of him is filled with love for his family and club. Not to mention his seemingly insatiable horniness.

“The cops never even tried to solve his murder. They never came to the apartment to talk to Grammy. No one cared he was gone, and life went on. Grammy didn’t say anything about him after the first night he didn’t return to the apartment. Learning how easy it was to kill someone in Little Memphis both encouraged and scared me. Basically, I felt like I could kill anyone who fucked with me, but I also could get killed by anyone who wanted to.”

“But you didn’t get killed.”

“No. I did okay for a few years. I was fifteen and in high school when a pimp decided I was working his territory. I told him I wasn’t working at all, but he said I worked for him and needed to give him ninety percent. I thought he was fucking kidding. I mean, ninety percent would leave me with like ten dollars a week. What the fuck kind of deal was that?”

Rolling my eyes, I think back to the slimy fucker with his weirdly great lips on an ugly as sin face.

“I ignored his threat, which was a big mistake. Cris jumped me on my way home from school one day and beat me with a bat.”

“Is he dead?”

“It’s important to you for the bad guys to die, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

“We’re two sides of the same coin,” he says as if stating a fact.

“You really want to get laid.”

“You can never understand how much I want in your particular pair of panties.”

“Well, maybe soon you can help me understand,” I tease while licking sauce from my lips.

“Now that you’ve made my dick hard again, I want to hear what happened to the pimp fucker.”

“Beating the shit out of me was a big mistake on his part. I agreed to work for him. After I healed up, I brought him the money he expected. That was the day I became Ginger Snaps and when I met Clove, Cayenne, and Bay. They worked for him, and I remember they were all banged up. I also remember the expressions on their faces when I handed him the money and then reached for his bat and beat his skull to mush. Yeah, that was one of the best days of my life.”

I realize I’m smiling like a crazy person, but killing Cris was the day I accepted I’d never be normal. It also felt good to strike back at someone who hurt me.

“And you took over his territory?”

“Yes, and I had it easy for about two days before other assholes figured they could fuck with me. I killed a lot of bad people that year. No one would accept I was running anything. Rationally, I understood their reluctance. I was a teenage girl, and they were grown men. They didn’t want to die, though, and I didn’t give a shit at that point. That’s why I killed Cris. Not because I was taking a stand for womankind or fairness or something. I decided I didn’t want anyone fucking with me again, and I was willing to die to ensure he never hurt me again. I had so much built-up hate and disappointment at life, and I took it out on anyone who messed with me.”

“No one can blame you for feeling that way.”

“Wouldn’t care if they did. Once I chose to take the violent path out of my situation, I never cared about the opinion of others. I did what I needed to do to survive as Ginger Snaps. I could have chosen to give Cris what he wanted, keep my head down until I was finished with high school, and try to have a normal life with a job, boyfriend, and the rest.”

Oz’s expression is unreadable for once. Despite what I just said, some opinions do matter to me. His is one.

“And that’s how I became a madam and got the name Ginger Snaps,” I say, drinking down half of my beer.

“And that’s how you ended up in my life.”

Studying his face, I feel a painful craving deep in my gut. Sort of like what I felt for my only boyfriend, Madden, who I hadn’t been able to let go. Even though I knew early on how we made no sense.

With Oz, I can’t think clearly enough to tell if I’m chasing a lie again. All I do know for certain is if I kiss him right now that I won’t want to stop until he’s balls deep inside me. Once we fuck, I’ll suffer from the same obsessive need like with Madden. My common sense will disappear, and I’ll fall for a man unsuited for me.