Leather and Lace (Black Diamond Ranch #1)

Chapter 1

Most people recognize our name instantly.

Even in a city like this, the Shaw family name commands respect and carries a weight of its own.

The truth behind it is like the elephant in the room.

Everyone knows its meaning, but it remains an unspoken truth that only lingers in whispered conversations.

The Shaw family legacy stretches its influence far and wide, inspiring fear and unwavering loyalty among those who hear it.

That’s why it’s surprising that the slip of a girl seated across from my father is seemingly unaware of our identity.

She sits there, her small frame almost swallowed by the oversized chair, with a nervous expression and fidgeting fingers.

She is genuinely oblivious, or she’s a masterful actress like her mother.

It’s hard to image her mother, whose family has served ours for generations, hadn’t passed down the knowledge of who we are and what we represent.

“I don’t understand what’s going on.” Her voice is soft with a hint of a southern drawl, hardly noticeable. Most likely picked up from her mother’s own drawl growing up. “How did you even know where to find me?”

If she’s faking, she deserves an academy award for her performance of wide-eyed naivety and innocence.

Her act tugs at the heartstrings effortlessly.

I sit back on the plush armchair, gazing out at the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows of the opulent penthouse, where the city’s skyline stretches endlessly.

My father, seated near the unlit fireplace a few feet away, leans forward in his chair, carefully choosing his words as he tries his best to explain who he is and gauge what she knows.

His voice is calm but guarded. Aware he can’t reveal too much. She nods occasionally at the things he says, her expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. He knows better than to trust her, especially if she is truly oblivious to our family’s complex history and secrets.

She also happens to be the daughter of a traitor.

Two days ago, my father received a notification from the local police department.

It seems Sadie Masterson overdosed and caught herself a case of the deads.

Personally, I think it’s no great loss, but her daughter clearly doesn’t share my feelings.

Her eyes are red and puffy from crying. It’s not surprising.

I highly doubt good ‘ole Sadie ever explained to her dear daughter how she landed herself in Los Angeles, California.

Throughout the years, my father’s fixer diligently provided him with updates on Sadie’s whereabouts, ensuring he was always informed of her latest moves. However, the revelation she had a daughter was unexpected twist which caught him off guard.

“One of the officers who responded to your mother’s emergency called to inform me of her death,” my father tells her.

His voice lacks sympathy, a monotone devoid of warmth or emotion, as if each word is carefully measured and delivered with precise detachment.

“He found several things with your name on it, including a school yearbook with an expired I.D. card.”

Pursing my lips, I struggle to suppress the urge to chuckle.

The explanation falls short, offering only a sliver of truth.

Sawyer, our resourceful hacker, had skillfully breached the city’s network of street cameras on the day Sadie met her untimely end, to track her daughter’s movements.

His digital trail led us to one of the more rundown homeless shelters in the inner city, where we eventually found her.

Owing to the gravity of the crime, the girl had been barred from returning to her apartment, and with no other refuge in site, the shelter had likely been her most viable option.

“I still don’t understand,” she sighs, her mousy tone growing impatient.

I let my gaze drift over to where she sits, nervously twisting the frayed him of her worn-out sweater with her fingers.

Her right knee bounces restlessly beneath her, a steady, anxious rhythm underscoring her unease. “Do you want something from me?”

My father settles back in his chair, his eyes piercing and unflinching as he scrutinizes her intently. His gaze is cold and unyielding as steel. He is a man carved of stone, my father. Forgiveness is a foreign concept to him, and second chances are as rare as a blue moon.

In our line of work, the head of the family must embody strength, unwavering determination, and a ruthless edge.

His upbringing was a crucible of hard labor, instilling resilience into his very marrow.

From a young age, he grasped the harsh lesson that, if you’re not vigilant, everything you’ve toiled for can be snatched away in an instant.

“We are waiting on one of my men and a doctor,” he admits. The girl furrows her brows in confusion, her plump lips parting slightly.

“Why?” She stutters the word slightly, her quiet demeanor shifting as fear seeps into her blue eyes.

“Did your mother tell you where she grew up?” my father asks.

“She said her parents owned a cattle ranch in Texas,” the girl murmurs. “She never talked about it much. Not unless she was feeling particularly nostalgic and that only happened when she was sober.”

So not a lot I take it.

“Your mother grew up on Blue Skye Ranch,” my father explains patiently. “A subsidiary of Black Diamond Ranch. The Masterson’s have worked for Black Diamond for generations and are considered family.”

Damn, the expression painted on her face reveals everything I need to know.

It’s clear she genuinely has no idea who we are or where her mother truly from.

Not fully. Her wide eyes, full of hurt and confusion, lay it all out.

Fuck Sadie Masterson and her deceitful bullshit.

Without our vigilance, her own daughter might have ended up homeless, wandering the streets with no place to go. Anything could have happened to her.

“It makes you family,” he continues when he sees her confusion. “I’m not one to punish the child for the sins of the parent.”

“Can you please tell me what the hell is going on?” She scowls at him. The girl has balls. There are very few people who dare to speak to my father without respect, even if they don’t know who he is. “You’re beating around a bush I have no interest in trying to climb over.”

My father smirks. “Alright.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers forming a thoughtful steeple as he fixes his gaze intently on hers.

“Your mother was forced off the ranch when she was in her late teens and warned never to come back. The decision was made without knowing she was pregnant. There is only one man I can think of who might be your father, and you look exactly like him. So, he is coming here to meet us with a lab specialist to run a DNA test so we can know for sure.”

Shock and surprise war for dominance as she processes the information my father dropped on her. I’m curious to know what her mother has been telling her all these years, because it certainly wasn’t the fucking truth.

“My father told her to leave when he found out she was pregnant,” she whispers hoarsely. “He didn’t want me. Same with her parents. They threw her out.”

Turning his gaze to me, my father fixes me with a disdainful scowl.

His eyes narrow slightly, and his lips press into a thin line, conveying unspoken disappointment with the woman he grew up with.

To deprive a child of their father is bad enough, but letting her believe her father didn’t want her?

If Sadie were alive, I’d kill her myself.

He pulls his focus back to the girl, Peyton. Funny she would be named after John’s mother, a woman Sadie never got along with. Another reason my father believes his best friend is the girl’s father. Sadie had harbored a fervent obsession with John Denver since they were children.

A fixation which intensified as the years went by.

Her obsession, originally rooted in youthful admiration, gradually morphed into something unhealthy and consuming.

The more John attempted to distance himself, the more frantic and unhinged Sadie became, her behavior spiraling into a chaotic dance of desperation and longing.

Until she finally crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

“No.” The sharp edge of my father’s voice makes Peyton flinch, her shoulders involuntarily tensing as if struck by an invisible force.

I clench my teeth tightly, feeling a surge of unexpected anger bubbling within me, an intense desire to land a punch squarely on my father’s face for proving such a reaction in her.

Where the fuck did that come from? I barely know the girl.

If anything, I feel sorry for her, but not enough to care if something so trivial frightens her.

So you say.

“I’m not going to tell you everything,” my father softens his voice. “That isn’t my story to tell. But know this—John Denver is your father, and the paternity will prove so. You are his spitting image, and if he had known about you, he would have kept you despite what led to you being born.”

It isn’t hard to see she doesn’t grasp the full meaning behind his words. She doesn’t need to. If he can help it, my father will never allow her to know the truth of what her mother did to her father.

Peyton parts her lips to speak, but the sudden, sharp rap of a knock on the door cuts her off.

Rising from my chair, I make my way across the penthouse.

When I reach the door, I pause to glance through the peephole, ensuring our visitors identity.

Satisfied, I turn the lock with a soft click and swing the door open, welcoming our guests.

“Thanks for coming out.” I shake John and Elias’s hands as they step inside. They’ve both been briefed on what we discovered and what is needed.

“It’s no problem.” Elias smiles as he strides toward my father who stands from his chair to greet them. “I’m always happy to help.”

“And you know we’ll pay you well,” my father jokes as he shakes Elias’s hand and leads him over to a small table where he can set up everything he needs.

John is slower to approach, but I can see from the way his shoulders stiffen as he catches sight of Peyton for the first time how much she looks like him. He sees what my father does. This girl is his daughter.

It is hard to miss. They both have the same dark hair and mesmerizing blue eyes. His skin is slighter darker due to working in the sun most days, but hers holds the same golden hue and curved jawline.

“Hello, Peyton,” he greets as he approaches her. “My name is John.”

Peyton’s gaze flickers to my father, who gives her a small nod of encouragement. Taking a deep breath, she gracefully rises from her chair to introduce herself.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she whispers, holding out her hand for him to shake.

When he doesn’t take it, she awkwardly lowers it back to her side, sadness at his rejection shadowing her eyes.

Jesus, the least he can do is shake it. John occupies the empty chair on my father’s right, leaving Peyton standing stiffly on her own.

He takes a moment to study her while she gathers herself and retakes her own seat.

John Denver may be my father’s best friend, but sometimes he can be a douche.

“Here is what is going to happen, Peyton,” John begins, his tone harsh and unforgiving.

I’ve heard him use this voice before. It’s the same one my father uses when he is giving an ultimatum to someone who has crossed us.

I don’t like how he is using it with his own fucking daughter.

An innocent in all this. “Once we’ve verified the paternity, you will come stay with me in Texas. ”

Defiance flashes like dynamite in Peyton’s eyes. So, she does have some fire to her.

“And what if I don’t want to stay with you?”

John sneers, his gaze darkening at her words.

“You have no job. You have no home. Your mother left you with more than a hundred thousand dollars’ worth of debt you cosigned and therefore become responsible for.

” He leans forward in his chair, eyeing her like a lion does his prey.

“Feel free to keep living in a homeless shelter, because it is the only place you’re going to be able to afford when the IRS and loans come due. ”

Peyton’s lower jaw trembles at his cruel but truthful words. Sadie Masterson left her daughter with a shitload of debt and from the look on Peyton’s face, I’m wondering how much of it she knew about.

“You will live in my house and get a proper education,” John continues coldly. “Sadie may have been a traitorous bitch, but if you are my daughter, the past doesn’t matter and you will be taken care of.”

“John,” my father warns his best friend. Taking the hint, John leans back in his chair and motions for Elias.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Peyton opens her mouth obediently when Elias goes to swab her cheek. In less than twenty-four hours we will know the truth of her parentage. When Elias finishes, Peyton quietly excuses herself from the room, claiming a headache.

Nodding, my father lets her go.

And here I thought my summer was going to be dull. It looks like that is about to change.