The air at Port-au-Prince International Airport was thick with the scent of jet fuel and the chaos of a thousand voices clashing in Creole, French, and broken English. Marc stood near the arrivals gate, his skinny frame hunched as if he could disappear into the cracked linoleum floor. His cousins, Jean and Pierre, flanked him, their eyes darting nervously between the crowd and the trio of women who commanded attention without even trying. Michelle, Alice, and Simone—Marc’s aunts—stood like a fortress of curves and iron wills, their vibrant headwraps and tailored dresses a stark contrast to the drab airport backdrop. Each woman in her forties, they radiated a don’t-mess-with-us energy that made even the rowdiest travelers give them a wide berth.
“Stop fidgeting, Marc,” Michelle snapped, her voice cutting through the din like a machete. Her dark eyes pinned him in place, one hand on her hip, the other gesturing with a manicured nail. “You look like a goat about to bolt. Stand up straight. We’re representing the family here, not some backwoods mess.”
Marc mumbled a “Yes, Tante,” and tried to straighten his spine, though his palms were slick with sweat. He stole a glance at Alice, who was adjusting her gold hoop earrings with a smirk, and Simone, who was scanning the arrivals board with a scowl that could curdle milk. They were here on a mission straight from the former king himself—escort some foreign boy named Lucas, sent by the new overlords for reasons no one dared to question too loudly. Marc had overheard whispers of political games and power plays, but all he knew for sure was that his aunts were not thrilled about playing tour guide to some entitled outsider.
“Bet you ten gourdes this boy’s gonna be a pain in our behinds,” Alice muttered, her tone dripping with preemptive disdain as she crossed her arms, accentuating the swell of her chest in her fitted blouse. “These foreigners always think they own the place before they even step off the plane.”
Simone snorted, her full lips curling into a sneer. “If he so much as looks at me wrong, I’ll send him back to wherever he came from with my heel print on his backside. King’s orders or not, I don’t play with fools.”
Marc swallowed hard, already dreading the inevitable clash. He didn’t know much about Lucas, just that he was nineteen like him, white, and apparently important enough to warrant this kind of attention. The thought of some cocky stranger waltzing into their world made his stomach churn.
The arrivals gate buzzed with activity, and then there he was. Lucas strutted out like he owned the airport, his blond hair mussed just so, a smirk plastered on his freckled face. He wore a tight t-shirt that showed off his lean muscles and cargo shorts that screamed “clueless tourist.” A duffel bag hung carelessly over one shoulder, and his pale blue eyes scanned the crowd with a predatory glint. When they landed on Michelle, Alice, and Simone, his smirk widened into something downright sleazy.
“Well, damn,” Lucas drawled, his American accent grating on Marc’s ears as he sauntered over. “Didn’t expect to be greeted by three fine-ass queens. Haiti’s already lookin’ better than I thought.” He let his gaze linger on Michelle’s hips, then flicked it to Alice’s cleavage with zero shame. “Y’all here for me, or do I gotta beg for an introduction?”
Michelle’s face hardened, her eyes narrowing to slits. She stepped forward, towering over him despite his height, her presence alone enough to make him falter for a split second. “Boy, you must’ve left your manners on that plane, ‘cause I don’t see a single one on you. I’m Michelle, and these are my sisters, Alice and Simone. We’re here because we were told to be, not because we want to deal with some loudmouth who can’t keep his eyes where they belong.”
Lucas chuckled, undeterred, and reached out as if to touch Michelle’s arm. “Aw, c’mon, sweetheart, I’m just payin’ a compliment. You’re a whole lotta woman—can’t blame a guy for noticin’.”
Michelle slapped his hand away before it could make contact, her movement swift and precise. “Touch me again, and you’ll be noticing my fist in your face. Keep your hands and your ‘compliments’ to yourself, little boy.”
Alice laughed, a sharp, biting sound, as she stepped closer, her hips swaying with deliberate menace. “Oh, honey, you’ve got no idea who you’re messin’ with. We’re not your little playthings to gawk at. You’re in our country now, and you’d best learn some respect before we teach it to you the hard way.”
Lucas raised his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face. “Alright, alright, I get it. Y’all are feisty. I like that. Makes things… interesting.” His eyes slid to Simone, who had been silent until now, her arms crossed and her expression thunderous. “And you, gorgeous? You gonna chew me out too, or you savin’ that fire for later?”
Simone’s gaze could’ve melted steel. She uncrossed her arms and took a single step forward, her voice low and dangerous. “I don’t waste my fire on boys who think they’re men. You wanna talk to me, you earn it. Until then, keep my name outta your mouth and your eyes off my body, or I’ll make sure you regret ever steppin’ foot in Haiti.”
Marc watched the exchange, his face burning with secondhand embarrassment. He couldn’t believe this guy—did Lucas have a death wish? His aunts weren’t just strong; they were forces of nature. And yet, there was Lucas, grinning like he was enjoying every second of being torn apart. Marc felt a twinge of something else too—jealousy, maybe? Lucas had the kind of brash confidence Marc could only dream of, even if it was getting him nowhere fast.
Lucas finally seemed to notice Marc and his cousins, his smirk turning into a condescending grin. “And who’re these guys? The silent fan club? Y’all gonna say somethin’, or just stand there lookin’ scared?”
Marc opened his mouth to reply, but Michelle cut him off with a glare that said, *Don’t you dare.* She turned back to Lucas, her tone icy. “That’s Marc, Jean, and Pierre. They’re family, which means they’ve got more sense than to waste breath on nonsense. Now, pick up your bag and move. We’ve got a long drive, and I’m not in the mood to babysit your ego all day.”
Lucas shrugged, slinging his duffel higher on his shoulder. “Lead the way, boss lady. I’m all yours.” He winked at Michelle, who rolled her eyes so hard Marc thought they might stick that way.
Alice muttered under her breath as they started toward the exit, “This boy’s gonna be trouble. I can smell it.”
Simone nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Trouble or not, he’s gonna learn quick. We don’t bend for nobody, especially not some arrogant ass who thinks he’s God’s gift.”
As they pushed through the crowded airport, Lucas trailing behind with that infuriating smirk, Marc couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The tension crackled in the air, sharp and electric, promising a storm of clashing wills and forbidden sparks. He glanced at Lucas, then at his aunts, and wondered just how long it would take for everything to explode.
And, deep down, part of him couldn’t wait to find out.
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