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thatchickwiththecamera · 1 month ago

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Bad Omens M.C. | Chapter 1

Pairing: Nick Folio x OFC

Tropes: Enemies to lovers.

Warnings: death, murder, attempted murder, graphic violence, attempted sexual assault, physical assault, alcohol use, smoking, swearing/foul language, smut, torture.

Summary: When Charlie Parker witnesses a high-stakes deal gone wrong between the notorious Bad Omens M.C. and a rival organization, her life takes a dramatic turn. Now a target, she is forced to seek out protection only the club can provide and is introduced to the gritty, high-octane world of the SoCal criminal underground.

Author’s Note: Decided to turn this isn’t a series instead of posting as one long one-shot. Enjoy! THE MEMBERS OF BAD OMENS MC

Taglist: @foliosgirl, @moonsleep, @jilliemiw86, @dsireland86, @collidewiththesavannah, @alwaysfightforwhoyouare, @klutzy-kay24, @lacy1986, @pullfromtheghostx, @tosoundlessdarkistare, @xmads-omensx, @dontwantthemoney, @heyyoplayer, @shayeanna-ashlie,

Charlie wiped down the last of the sticky wooden table tops inside The Silver Spur, closing out her nightly ritual and ending her shift. Her boss and the bar’s owner, Marty, had left hours ago. The little dive bar was nestled on the edge of sleepy Caine Valley, California and now sat silent, save for the faint buzzing of the neon beer signs that hung along the walls.

She flicked off the lights locking the door behind her and stepped out into the alley for a smoke. The warm southern California air soothed her skin as she leaned her back against the cinder block wall covered in layered patches of peeling paint.

She took a deep drag from the cigarette nestled between her lips. A noise caused her to pause before she slowly and tiredly exhaled. The muffled sound of voices echoed from the direction of the old warehouse nestled behind the bar. A cloud of smoke ballooned in front of her before quickly dissipating with the shifting breeze.

As she peered around the corner of the old building, she half expected to see Frank sitting there by his usual burn barrel holding a meeting with himself again. The ornery old homeless man liked to claim ownership of the bar’s back alley from time to time and he proudly and stubbornly refused and sort of help from anyone that tried to offer it.

Instead of seeing Frank holding court, the alley sat empty. Her eyes were instead drawn toward the shadows that danced across the dirty windows of the dimly lit warehouse. A building that she had long thought was abandoned now seemed busier than ever. Curiosity now piqued and nosey nature unchecked, she moved closer to investigate.

Peering through the cracked pane of a dusty window, she saw what looked like a scene straight out of a crime drama on television.

At a large wooden table sat a group of bikers with tattoos and worn leather kuttes. The men’s appearance contrasted heavily with that of the group of men dressed in finely tailored suits and shiny italian leather shoes that sat opposite of them.

She had stumbled upon some type of meeting and from the varying expressions that adorned the men’s faces, there was history between the two groups and no one seemed very fond of being in the other’s presence.

"You think we're fucking stupid?" one of the suited men sneered, his voice laced with arrogance. "These guns aren't worth half of what you're asking."

One of the bikers leaned forward, his tone dangerously calm as he spoke.

"We upheld our end of the deal. You pay up or you can tell Mariano we're out."

Mariano? Why does that name sound familiar? Charlie wondered.

The biker wore his dark hair gelled back on top of his head with the sides tightly cropped. Hints of stubble peppered across his sharp jawline. A cross earring dangled from his left ear and a tattoo of Jesus with a crown of thorns peaked out above his collar on the side of his neck.

She watched as the biker sat back, clenched his jaw, and cut his eyes sharply at the man across from him before continuing to speak.

“Little birdy told me Matsumoto is expanding his reach across the pacific…something about a new operation out of San Francisco.” He stated, the hint of a threat carefully woven into his words.

The suit's face flashed a hint of disgust at the mention of the name.

“Didn’t know the Omens fucked with Yakuza?” He spat.

The stone faced biker ignored the question and continued.

“Now tell me…if they control the north and we control the south…where exactly does that leave you?”

The man in the suit seethed as the reality of the bikers words sunk in.

Charlie shifted her weight in an attempt to get a better view but felt her foot slip. Before she could re-adjust the toe of her boot had already connected with a discarded metal trash can lid. The noise echoed loudly through the quiet alley as it skittered across the pavement.

All heads turned toward the direction of the sound. She stood frozen and held her breath.

“Go check it out.” The suited man ordered a lackey with a tilt of the head.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.” She whispered to herself, as she ducked behind a stack of crates trying to make herself as small as possible.

Panic seized her as she watched the goon exit the building through the gaps in the crates. His cheap suit fit awkwardly over his lanky frame and the stiff heel of his patent leather shoe echoed loudly across the asphalt with each step as he drew closer to her hiding spot.

Charlie held her breath, her thoughts racing, pondering her next move. She couldn’t just stay there and hope he simply missed her curled up in her terrible hiding spot. She needed to do something and fast.

As the man passed where she was hiding, she lunged forward and delivered a swift kick to his knee, catching him by surprise. He grunted in pain and stumbled backward. She scrambled to get away, but didn’t get far as the man managed to grab hold of the sleeve of her jacket and yank her back.

"Shit!" Charlie cursed, struggling against his grip. "Let go of me, you freak!"

The man's grip tightened, his face contorted with anger.

"Oh, Little mouse has claws," he growled, his other hand coiled back ready to strike.

POP POP POP

Before he could land a blow, the sound of gunfire erupted from within the warehouse. The man froze for a moment, both of their heads turning towards the sound of the chaos. The meeting was over and whatever deal that was previously on the table had officially gone sour.

Any sense of professionalism and diplomacy was replaced by bullets whizzing through the air, sending shards of shattered glass and splintered wood flying.

THWACK

She took advantage of the distraction and sent a right hook flying toward the man’s face, her fist connecting squarely with its target. Pain shot through her hand at the contact.

The force of the hit caught the man by surprise and he stumbled a bit but still somehow managed to maintain his grip on her arm. The shock of the punch quickly wore off and the man angrily charged forward, the side of his face red and showing signs of swelling from the impact. She felt a sharp flash of pain shoot through the back of her head as it connected with the cold metal siding of the warehouse.

Panic crept in as she felt his hands snake their way around her throat. She fought to find some semblance of leverage against the side of the building as she felt his grip tightening. Her head grew dizzy from lack of oxygen and as her vision started to blur she threw her hands out in front of her. She felt around for the man's face in the dark before forcefully jamming her thumbs into his eye sockets.

“Ah, fuck!” He yelped, releasing her and grabbing his face in pain.

She felt her body collapse as she gasped for air and quickly grabbed hold of the stack of wooden pallets next to her, using the to pull her body back up to a standing position. She paused for a moment, still fighting to return her breathing to normal.

She needed to get out of there.

The man was slightly hunched over in pain, hands grasping at his face and tender eyes.

She hauled her leg back like she was on the pitch again in high school about to boot in the winning goal during the state championship match and sent a forceful kick right into the suited man’s groin. He cried out in pain once more and fell to his knees before falling over into a groaning heap on the wet asphalt.

She ran as fast as her feet would carry her around the backside of the building, her lungs burned, head slightly spinning still desperate for oxygen. As she turned the corner she collided directly with a solid form of another suited goon that had been patrolling the perimeter.

“Where you runnin’ to, little rabbit?” he said with a sneer

She backed up and turned to run in the opposite direction. He reached out and quickly grabbed a fist full of her hair, yanking her back against his chest. She thrashed against his grip. He yanked her around to where she was face to face with him, forced to look up at him as his fist knotted tighter into her hair.

“I like it when they fight.” he said venomously, mouth disgustingly close to her ear as he quickly and hastily looked around to see if anyone else was there to serve as witness.

“Let’s have some fun shall we?”

She struggled against his grip as he tried to pull her deeper into the shadows of the warehouse.

She felt her vision blur as she screamed in rage and fought like hell against his grip.

CRACK

The sharp sound of a gunshot pierced through the darkness.

She heard the man give a grunt before his grip began to loosen. Eventually disappearing completely as his body fell into a heavy heap on the pavement. His weight forcing her to the ground as well.

She pushed herself away from his limp form and watched a thin rivulet of blood trickle down his face from the hole that now dotted the center of his forehead. A pool of blood began to form on the pavement under his skull from the exit wound.

Her head whipped toward the direction of the gunshot and she saw one of the bikers lowering his gun. His long brown hair was secured under a black ball cap embroidered with a grim reaper. His gun remained trained on the lackey as he approached, nudging the dead man with his foot.

"Fuck!" the biker muttered, his eyes then flickered to Charlie’s form still sitting on the pavement and turned the gun in her direction.

"What the fuck are you doing out here?" he yelled.

Charlie's heart hammered in her chest. She was in deep shit.

"Woah! Put the fucking gun down, I didn’t plan on getting jumped by Sonny Soprano today, much less shot by you!" she frantically replied.

She slowly got up to her feet, arms raised, palms facing toward him to show that her hands, skin now scuffed from the pavement and slightly bruised from throwing the punch, were in fact empty.

He let out a frustrated sigh before lowering his gun and returning it to the holster hidden under his kutte.

He stepped forward and seized her by the arm.

“What is it with you fuckers and grabbing my arm today?!”

She resisted his grip as he dragged her around the side of the building where a van and a number of motorcycles were parked.

The back of their kuttes read ‘Bad Omens’ and ‘California’ with the image of a grim reaper holding a scythe in between.

Shit. She thought.

Bad Omens were well known in Caine Valley. The notorious motorcycle club pretty much controlled the whole of southern California. They owned the automotive repair shop off of Route 3 along with a few other businesses scattered about town. But almost nothing happened in the Valley without the Omens either knowing about it or having a hand in it.

“Matt! Who the fuck is that?” A voice belonging to a tall man barked out as they drew closer to the group.

The tall man had tattoos covering his arms and neck and stood next to a shorter man with slicked back hair.

The shorter man glanced at her with a mix of frustration and concern. He was the same man that spoke during the meeting.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. "This complicates things a bit."

"Zivo got his hands on her, had to put him down," Matt stated, addressing the other man and ignoring the taller man’s question.

“I had it handled.” She shot back, ripping her arm from his grip.

“Sure you did sweetheart.” Matt scoffed, stepping toward her, face so close she could smell the mint toothpaste on his breath, “I bet he would’ve had a lot of fun with you if I hadn't been there to save your ass.”

Her jaw clenched as he looked her up and down with a smirk.

“Enough!” The shorter man barked, “How much did you see?”

He shot Charlie a hard look, his expression unreadable, brown eyes piercing.

The look made her heart almost skip a beat, his gaze was cold and sharp. Under any other circumstance she’d find the man before her insanely attractive. But right now she was too pissed off and scared to care.

“Too much apparently” She bit back, trying for the life of her to hide any hint of fear that might peek through. “I got attacked by another guy too, but I was able to get away before I ran into…Zivo was it?”

“Shit.” stated the long haired man next to her, running a hand down his face. “Folio, we can’t just let her go.”

The shorter man she now knew as Folio paused for a moment, expression unchanging before cutting his eyes to the man next to her.

“Matt, she’ll ride with you in the van,” he ordered. "We'll figure this out back at the clubhouse."

Before she could protest, Matt grabbed her arm again and lead her over to the passenger side of a white Chevy Express van and ordered her to climb inside. He slammed the door shut behind her and she heard the sounds of motorcycles roaring to life one by one.

“Put your damn seatbelt on.” He mumbled after climbing into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition.

He grabbed the shifter by the steering wheel pulling it down into drive. The van pulled out onto the main road into town behind the rest of the club members riding two by two. She watched as the shape of the Silver Spur got smaller and smaller in the passenger side mirror.

Her mind replayed what had just happened on a loop as she watched the street lights pass by through the windshield. Matt remained silent for the entirety of the ten minute drive before they eventually pulled into the backlot of Sumerian Automotive.

Behind the shop was a large storage lot. At the very back of the lot stood a dimly lit clubhouse with a large Bad Omens reaper painted on the front facade.

To the right of it was an area scattered with miscellaneous pieces of gym equipment cast to one side and what looked like a fire pit in the middle. To the left, a number of bikes were parked all lined up in a row. They were all backed in and ready to roll if one of the boys needed to leave quickly. The members who had attended the meeting were one by one adding their bikes to the long line of chrome and rubber.

Matt drove past the row of bikes and parked the van under a metal carport. He hopped out and escorted Charlie inside.

The air inside was thick with tension following the night's events. Every eye in the room was trained on her as she followed closely behind Matt.

“Church in twenty minutes.” Folio announced to the group before he gestured for Charlie to take a seat at a worn down table in the corner.

Some of the club members gathered around them, their expressions ranging from suspicion to curiosity, while a few others headed straight to the bar on the far side of the room and poured themselves drinks. Glasses of amber liquid and beer bottles clinked together in celebration of them making it back in one piece.

Charlie hadn’t heard anything about the club losing anyone, but the other side evidently hadn’t been so lucky.

"What's your name?" Folio asked, his gruff voice drawing her attention away from the tired men at the bar.

"Charlie," she replied, too tired to hide her annoyance.

He assessed her carefully.

She took notice of the word ‘President’ written on one of the name tapes stitched on the front of his kutte.

"You stumbled into some dangerous shit tonight, Charlie," he said finally, his tone serious. "You saw and heard things you shouldn't have."

Charlie rolled her eyes, her attitude showing through despite the situation.

"Yeah, so I’ve gathered.”

Folio's brow furrowed, his patience wearing thin.

"This isn't a joke, sweetheart."

"Yeah, no shit," Charlie retorted sharply, crossing her arms defiantly.

"So what's the plan, huh?” She asked with smirk. “You just gonna keep me locked up in your little clubhouse forever?"

Folio leaned forward, his voice a dangerous whisper.

"Watch your tone."

Charlie scoffed, but a brief flicker of fear danced in her eyes.

"Look…I won't say anything..," Charlie replied, defiantly staring down the man across from her.

"You better fucking not," another biker with long hair and a goatee growled, his accented voice low and menacing.

Folio raised a hand, silencing the man. Eyes never leaving her.

"Listen," he said, a hint of venom in his voice. "The men you saw tonight will more than likely put a price on that pretty little head of yours. So you're under our protection for now. But if you even think about talking to anyone about anything that yo…”

“Save the intimidation tactic, I’m not stupid.” She interrupted.

His jaw clenched.

"Take her to one of the spare rooms," he ordered, still looking at her, his voice was firm.

"She doesn’t leave until we sort this shit out."

—

In the main meeting room of the clubhouse, the members of Bad Omens gathered around a long scarred wooden table for “church.” Their tired faces etched with varying degrees of concern. Folio sat at the head of the table, his features illuminated by the dim glow of the light fixture overhead.

"We can't just let her go," voiced Nick, his Sergeant at Arms, who sat to his right. His voice was low but insistent. "She's seen too much. If she talks..."

"We're all fucked," Noah, his Vice President interjected from where he sat to Folio’s left, his tone tense as he leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. "We gotta do something."

Folio leaned back in his chair, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"She may have stumbled into club business," he said finally, his voice gravelly yet commanding. "But she's not a threat."

"So what are we gonna do then?" asked Matt, his intelligence officer, from where he sat next to Noah, nervously tapping his fingers on the table before he continued.

“At least one of Mariano’s men knows she was there and has seen her face. You know he’s going to want this wrapped up tight with the election coming up. It won’t be long until they try to come after her.”

"We can't just get rid of her," Folio replied flatly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "That ain't who we are."

Silence descended upon the room, the weight of the decision hung heavy in the air, each member contemplating the possible repercussions of their next move.

"Maybe we can use her," suggested Jolly, from where he sat beside Nick, his Swedish accent pronounced as he continued. "She's gotta work somewhere. Why not at the shop? Keep her close, keep an eye on her."

Folio mulled over the suggestion.

"We’ve talked about needing an office manager for a while now," he murmured in response, more to himself than to the others. "And it’d keep her on a tight leash."

A murmur of agreements rippled through the room. It wasn't a perfect solution, but it offered a compromise between their code and the necessity of the situation.

"Okay then," Folio declared, stubbing out his cigarette in an overflowing ashtray. "We give her the chance to work for us. She keeps her mouth shut, stays outta trouble, and we keep her safe."

The others nodded in reluctant accord, a sense of uneasy resolution settling among them. They knew the risks of bringing an outsider into the fold, but they also understood the consequences of letting her go free.

"Matt, go get her," He ordered, his voice firm. "We'll lay out the deal."

—

Charlie rested her head back against the wall next to the bed. Close to an hour had passed since they had arrived at the clubhouse and her thoughts swirled between panic, annoyance, and tired resignation.

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped her out of her trance. The door creaked open, and a figure entered, barely illuminated by the dim light filtering from the hallway.

"You awake?" a voice asked. It was Matt.

Charlie muttered a quiet “Yeah” in response, unsure of what to expect next.

"Good," he grunted. "Prez wants to talk to you again."

Her heart sank. She hadn't anticipated another interrogation so soon. Rising slowly, she followed him back up the main corridor of the clubhouse, every creak and murmur seemed to echo her fear along the way.

In the main room, the atmosphere had shifted. A tension remained, but now it mixed with an air of deliberation. Folio stood leaning back against the battered pool table, his eyes taking note of her form as she approached.

She was short, barely a few inches over five feet. Her dark brown hair was still slightly messy from what she had been through earlier that night. It fell a little past her shoulders and framed her round face. A set of soft cerulean blue eyes cast a piercing glance as she looked in his direction.

She wore a black tank top with the Silver Spur logo tucked into a pair of high waisted straight leg Levi blue jeans and a pair of well worn Doc Martens. A black belt cinched her waist and he couldn’t help but notice the ways the denim accentuated the curves of her hips and ass.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to a rickety chair opposite him. Charlie hesitated for a moment, but obeyed.

"We've talked," Folio began, his voice rough but steady. "And we've come to a decision."

Charlie felt anxiety build in her chest. Decision? What decision could they have made about her fate so quickly?

"We can't just let you walk," he continued. "But we're also not in the business of harming innocents."

She nodded, careful to keep her face neutral as a small wave of relief washed over her.

"So, here's the deal," he said, his gaze piercing. “You’re going to work for us. Officially."

Charlie's brows furrowed. Work for them? The idea felt like a cruel joke.

“Work? For You?” She questioned as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back against the chair. Her voice was laced with amusement, defiance flickering in her eyes.

Folio eyes momentarily roamed to her breasts, more pronounced from how she sat, before flickering back to her face. She raised an eyebrow at him, a faint smirk playing at her lips. He’d been caught.

His jaw twitched as he grew more annoyed by the boldness of the woman in front of him.

"We own the auto shop," Folio stated bluntly, his tone brooking no argument. "You'll have a job there. We need an office manager.”

“Thanks…,” she scoffed. “but I already have a job.”

“Not anymore,” He replied with a smug grin. “I already called Marty and told him you quit”

She stood from her chair and crossed the short distance toward the man.

“You can’t fucking do that!” she said anger seeping from her as she got in his face.

Matt stepped forward ready to grab her, but Folio shot him a look telling him to stand down. He leaned down until his face was level with hers. He stared at the women in amusement.

“I can…and I did,” he sternly replied before returning to full height.

Flames of anger flickered in her eyes as she stood defiantly in front of him. She wanted nothing more than to slap the arrogant look clean off his face.

Folio found her intriguing as hell. He was so used to how the sweetbutts and hang-arounds acted. How they would do anything he or one of the boys would say in hopes of earning a night in their beds and the chance to brag about bedding an Omen.

But not her.

There were grown men who wouldn’t dare try and stand toe to toe with him like she currently was. This woman either had balls of steel or was completely out of her mind. Or both.

“You'll be paid properly…don’t worry…we’ll take good care of you.” His words were menacingly soothing, but the hint of an underlying threat hung in the air like a storm about to break.

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” She shot back, fists clenched at her sides.

"It means you keep your little mouth shut about what you saw tonight, do your fucking job,” he added with a sneer, face now dangerously close to hers, his already thin patience waning even more. “And we make sure you stay alive."

They stood like this for a moment, neither wanting to yield. The smell of worn leather and cigarette smoke clashed with the scent of her floral perfume.

"Fine," she finally managed to spit out, her voice tinged with resentment.

"Good," he bit back in reply, before turning and swiping a pack of Marlboro Reds off the rail of the pool table.

She noticed the glint of a nose ring in the light as he lit up the cigarette between his lips. Tipping his head back and exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Something stirred inside her, making her mentally kick herself.

Dammit, why’d this asshole have to be so fucking hot?

"We'll get you settled in at the shop tomorrow. Tonight, you stay here. Go get some rest.”

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