"I would strongly suggest you refrain from making a sound... either of you," said a man's voice. Next, a knife was pressed against Grantaire's throat too. "Now, if you would be so kind as to comply with our orders, neither of you will be harmed." Grantaire was able to turn his head a fraction to see who had dared to threaten his Apollo and saw a total stranger standing by Enjolras. This man, dressed like a ridiculous dandy, had a pretty face, cherry-lips, glossy dark hair and the brightness of Springtime in his eyes. He seemed scarcely more than twenty.

After seeing this, Grantaire begun to wonder who it was that held a knife to his own neck.

"Who are you?" he asked with a frightened edge to his voice, wishing he could take a drink to calm his nerves. He was not frightened for himself, but for Enjolras who was breathing quickly with wide eyes. Though it only hurt him to imagine such things, Grantaire thought about how easy it would be for this assassin to slit Enjolras' throat and kill the single most wonderful man to ever walk the planet. The thought made him both scared and angry.

"Ha!" The man behind him scoffed. "What makes you think we'd tell you?" Grantaire percieved that there were two other men also behind him, shrouded in darkness.

"Oh come, let us humour them. It will not help them to find us if we see fit to let them go, will it?" the young man beside Enjolras said to the others with a smirk. Keeping his blade to Enjolras' throat, the man turned to Grantaire and said, "I am Montparnasse. This is Babet." He pointed to the man behind Grantaire, who Grantaire himself could not see. "And this is Claquesous, and this is Gueulemer. Together, we are known as Patron-Minette." Grantaire gulped. He had heard of Patron-Minette, after all, who in Paris had not? He had heard how they murdered without thought, never leaving behind evidence, never getting caught, terrorizing Paris as if it was their own deadly playground.

"So 'ow d'ya want to do this, 'Parnasse? We can do it right 'ere, but that'd be too risky. I say we drag 'em somewhere more remote and rob 'em there. We can dump the bodies down the Seine," said Babet with a gruff sort of voice. The word 'bodies' set off a panic alarm in Grantaire's brain. So they intended to murder Enjolras.

"Wait! No! Do not kill us! I mean, kill me, if you must, but spare Enjolras! Here, take my watch, take my clothes, take my shoes and my liquor, but for God's sake, spare Enjolras!" Grantaire rambled desperately, tears beginning to stream down his cheeks as undid his waistcoat with great difficulty, for the knife which held him in place was making it very hard, and flung it to the muddy ground. He did not even stop to see Enjolras' reaction to this sudden speech.

"Grantaire, don't you dare! I won't let you sacrifice yourself for my sake! I love you!" Enjolras cried, struggling against Montparnasse to no avail.

"Young love, how touching," said Montparnasse mockingly. He released Enjolras from the knife's metal embrace and circled him, trying to get a good look at his face. "I see why you like him," he said to Grantaire. "You have yourself a pretty young man here. It would be a shame to let such a handsome face go to waste, but still, it must be done." Montparnasse straightened his bow tie. "Let us bind there hands. Hurry, the police could happen upon us at any moment."

Grantaire felt the knife retract from his throat; if there was any chance of escape, the time was now. He felt a rough rope touching his wrists. He needed to save himself and Grantaire now, but how? How could he save himself and his love? There was no time to make a plan, no time to think ahead, he would just have to have faith, and try to believe that it would work. Taking a deep breath, he wrenched his hands away from Gueulemer, who was trying to tie his wrists together with rope. Gueulemer stood still, too shocked to say or do anything. Grantaire knew that he hadn't much time before the robbers would spring back into action, and yet he had no idea what to do next. He was without a weapon, and Enjolras was still held captive by Montparnasse.

"Grantaire, go! Don't you dare try to free me! Don't you dare! Run!" Enjolras shouted, struggling wildly against Montparnasse.

"Not without you! I cannot leave you at the mercy of these devils!" Grantaire replied, panicking as the other three closed in around him, armed with deadly weapons, ready to kill him and leave his body to rot.

"Dammit, Grantaire!" said Enjolras angrily. Grantaire looked around, wondering what to do. He felt so useless, and he wondered if it would be better to just give in, to let himself be robbed and murdered. It would be easier, and he knew his life was going to end at the ever approaching rebellion anyway.

"Enjolras," he whispered, thinking about his boyfriend. Suddenly, he felt renewed strength coursing through his veins, and he understood that no matter what, he had to save Enjolras. He looked around and tried to find a weapon, anything would do. But the only thing lying around on the floor was his waistcoat and his empty bottle of vodka. It would have to do. He made a dash for it and picked up the bottle. What he was going to do with it, he had no idea.

Babet let out a fearsome laugh. "What the hell d'ya think you're gonna do with that, boy?"

Grantaire frowned at Babet and smashed the bottle against the slimy, wet wall of the alleyway. It's edges were now jagged and sharp, perfectly capable of giving somebody a nasty wound. He brandished it at Babet.

"I always knew that my drinking would come in handy one day," he said with a smile. He had a chance of getting away and saving Enjolras, but it was a slim chance, a very slim chance; he knew it and so did his opponents. It was three against one (Montparnasse could not partake, for he was still holding Enjolras still).

Babet took a menacing step forward and swung at Grantaire's throat with his knife. Grantaire dodged it, but the knife still nicked his unshaven jaw. He gasped in surprise and wondered what to do. In a moment of unexpected courage, Grantaire hit Babet on the forehead with the murky green bottle. There was sickening crunch before Babet fell to the ground, unconscious but not dead. It was obvious that the others had not expected Grantaire to actually hurt any of them, because they all looked at each other uncertainly. They seemed scared, but they were angry too. They weren't going to let Grantaire get away with what he'd done.

"'Parnasse!" Cried a gravelly female voice from the other end of the alley. "I've been looking for you!"

"Eponine!" Montparnasse replied in surprise, releasing his grasp on Enjolras. Enjolras was free.