When Grantaire awoke, it was at the chiming of the clock. The hands were barely visible in his just-awakening state, but he made out the time well enough.
Four o'clock.
Four o'clock? Grantaire sat up, glancing about the apartment for the blonde headed leader. Upon further investigation, it was obvious that Enjolras had not yet returned.
This was uncommon for Enjolras. Extremely rare, actually. Enjolras was the type of person to show up early to a meeting and pronounce everyone who was on time to be late. The fact he had not shown up at the time he said would worried Grantaire to no end.
There was no doubt that something was indeed very wrong.
Montparnasse had been prowling the streets for new victims, scoping out the weak and the certainly wealthy. He was not an idiot, not in the slightest. Montparnasse knew that to pull off a heist or a robbery, you needed the perfect victim.
You had to be cunning, to be a crook. Montparnasse was intensely cunning, and he knew the perfect kind of person to prey upon. They couldn't be too big, they might be able to fight back. Women tended to scream loudly, so you should avoid them for the most part. And never underestimate a large person. They might look slow, but they could heave a lot of weight into one punch. It was the weak you had to prey upon. The drunks, the prostitutes, the sick. Those were the ones you targeted. It usually got little reward, but it paid off in the end.
Now, as Montparnasse tucked himself into the shadows of shady establishments, he saw a young gentleman walking about with a stack of pamphlets in his hand. The boy was quite attractive, and strangely familiar. It took Montparnasse a moment to realize that this was the man who ran the revolutionary group in the local cafe.
And he was also the man who attracted the attention of that drunk, Grantaire.
Stowing away into the shadows, Montparnasse crept up along the cobblestone alley to the blonde leader, who had just passed out a pamphlet to a woman and her daughter.
Montparnasse seized Enjolras, hand now clamped tightly around his mouth. The revolutionary was caught by surprised and it took him a moment before he started to struggle. At the age of twenty-two, Enjolras was moderately strong and a pretty good fighter. However, Montparnasse was better.
"Your little friend is late with his money, didja know that?"
Enjolras squirmed and wriggled, yelling something muffled from behind Montparnasse's large hand.
"Now you're going to pay. With your body."
Enjolras' eyes got to be the size of plates. What did he mean, with his body?
The revolutionary soon found out. The two henchmen had bound Enjolras' wrists with rope as Montparnasse shoved him to the wall. Quick hands that were skilled in tying and untying were on his cravat, tossing his clothing to the side. A wad of cloth was shoved in his mouth, expertly silencing his cries for help.
Fear coursed through him. He had never felt such intense fear as he fought for freedom from the ropes, and possibly for his life. The ropes would not give an inch and Enjolras felt hot tears of terror and frustration begin to collect in his eyes. He was truly terrified.
And then Montparnasse plunged in and Enjolras nearly blacked out. The pain was intense, and he screamed into the cloth. Being a virgin, it practically tore him apart as Montparnasse ruthlessly violated him in the cold alleyway.
After a period of time of Enjolras struggling against the bonds and the disgusting violation, he blacked out. He couldn't figure out if he ever wanted to wake up again.