Page 68 of Chased

She stopped and stared. “Look at that. It’s my absolute favorite color.”

Cisco cocked his head. “What do you even call that color?”

Madison was still looking at the mannequin. “My paintbox calls it Ocean Teal.”

“It’s a stupid name,” Cisco said. “But it’s a pretty color.”

Sanchez moved up next to her. “You like that?” he asked. “We can get it.”

Madison looked dubiously at the store. “This place looks really expensive.”

It was an elegant boutique with one side devoted to women’s clothing, and the other to high-end accessories and artistic children’s toys that were made to be looked at rather than played with.

The kind of place where the sales staff sized up your net worth in five seconds and ignored you if it didn’t have enough zeroes on the end.

But Sanchez was already on his way inside, shoving the door open and striding in like he owned the place. With his cousins right behind him.

Exchanging an ‘oh shit’ glance with the other girls, Madison hurried after him. Up at the Ridge, everyone was used to the Sanchezes’ size, their attitude, and their sheer scariness.

Regular humans were not prepared.

By the time they got inside, Sanchez was halfway across the sales floor. The front line shop assistant had obviously seen him coming and retreated to the other side of the store, needlessly straightening one of the clothing displays. The other one had found something urgent to do in the toy department.

Sanchez went right up to the sales counter, banged the pretty little bell that was sitting there, and stood back, arms folded.

Matéo and Cisco were a pace behind him, one on each side, feet apart and arms also folded, like freakin’ concert bouncers.

Sanchez rang the bell again. The salesgirls made no move in their direction.

A slightly older woman in a simple, elegant dress came out of the back room and walked up to the counter. She was clearly the manager. Sanchez announced, “We need clothes.”

She saw the woman’s eyebrows go up, saw her snooty gaze take in Sanchez’s tattooed arms, his scruffy two-day beard, and the rips in his jeans that had obviously not been put there in the factory.

Not to mention his bullet scars.

Madison stopped, glancing back at Michelangela, Breanna and Jaeda. They were standing just inside the doorway watching avidly, like there was an incredibly entertaining movie about to start.

The manager said, “I don’t believe you’re in the right place.” Everything about her dismissive tone, and the way she looked at them like they were barely more evolved than grasshoppers, said that as far as she was concerned, they were definitely in the wrong place.

Sanchez said, “You sell clothes here.”

The woman replied, “I would suggest you try Target? Or perhaps Wal-Mart?”

That was supposed to be a complete burn. Madison knew Sanchez really didn’t care what anyone said—much less a saleslady in Lake Placid—but she cared. No one tried to humiliate Sanchez and got away with it.

Madison had spent years being trained up by the Renards, the snootiest people on earth, and she’d been in plenty of shops like this in Denver and Aspen. It was time to channel Aunt Solange.

She stepped up next to Sanchez, raised her eyebrows disdainfully and said, “I’m sure we can find better shops than this… place.” She waved her hand dismissively around the store. “With better service. It’s so hard to get good help nowadays.”

Sanchez didn’t budge. “We want to see that blue thing in the window. And anything else she likes.” He jerked his head at Madison.

The manager looked down her nose at Madison. “I don’t believe we have it in her size.”

Sanchez pulled out his wallet, took out a card, slapped it down on the counter and said, “How about now?”

Madison hoped like hell it really was a Platinum card—and that they could stuff it up this woman’s nose. Then he lifted his hand, and she almost had a heart attack.

Not Platinum. Pure black. The shiny black card that sports stars and billionaires carried.