Disclaimer: I still am not Victor Hugo, and I never will be.
Okay, I've been updating so much, but I can't stop writing at the moment - even though I really should because I have homework to work on, but oh well... So, here goes another chapter!
Thanks for the reviews and suggestions! More backstory on Marie will be coming in the next couple of chapters.
Grantaire was not a violent man, but hearing a sickening as his fist came in contact with the man's nose made him feel the closest thing to joy he'd felt all day. The image of his filthy hands intwined in Marie's hair and his hot breath on her face made him feel sick with anger. Pure adrenaline coursed through his viens, seeming to erase the effects of the large amount of alcohol he had consumed that evening. He had to get this man away from Marie - far away. Part of him wondered if he was the one who had beat her before, and he could only guess what else had happened this time. He aimed another punch at the man, his fist crashing into his stomach.
It should have been an easy fight. There were four of them and one of him. But somehow, he managed to maneuver out of Jehan's grasp, and all four froze when they saw the glint of silver. The man had a knife.
Marie had pushed herself up by this point, ignoring the searing pain in every one of her muscles. Her stomach twisted at the sight of the knife - though not from surprise. She knew he had it, he'd threatened her with it on multiple occasions. But something about him holding it out towards the four young men who were trying to help her made rage boil within her.
Grantaire didn't even seem to pay it any mind as he lunged for the man again, this time receiving a fist to the face himself. However, Enjolras was there to back him up - the revolutionary leader grabbed his arm and twisted it, rendering the knife useless.
"You work for Thénardier," he spat in the man's face.
Grantaire was confused as to how his leader knew this information, but as he nursed the forming bruise under his eye, he didn't even bother to question it. Joly had an arm wrapped around the man's neck now - using his medical knowledge in order to harm someone for the first time - putting just enough pressure that the man stopped struggling, knowing he had lost.
The man laughed, "How 'dyou know that, Bourgeois Boy?" the man asked with a smirk. Clearly, he was not all that concerned about losing at the moment.
Marie was equally as surprised. Patron-Minette was well known to street rats like her, but how would this man know about them? It wasn't like he'd have many run-ins with the group. But clearly, he must have known something about it, for she had never seen the revolutionary so angry in her life. Though, she really only had seen him in the café the two times she had been there before now, and at rallies in the street.
The blonde boy did not answer, except with a fist to the man's head. Confusion was obvious on the faces of all of the remaining Amis, though mostly because of the fact that he seemed to recognize this man.
His anger was matched only by Grantaire's, who now joined him, standing just in front of the thug.
"Get out," Grantaire spat. "If I ever see you back here again, I will kill you," he threatened. The alcohol was not even a factor in his words. Marie was far too important. He didn't care what the young woman said - he was not letting her go back out there.
"Oh, of course you will," Brujon just laughed. "Good luck."
Marie finally spoke up - she could not allow this to continue. "Please, Monsieur Brujon, leave him. I'll go with you." She took a few cautious steps toward the group, keeping her eyes glued to the ground so she didn't have to see Grantaire's face, or the leer she knew would be plastered on Brujon's.
"Mademoiselle," Enjolras spoke, "There is no need to martyr yourself, I've dealt with these men before."
Marie shook her head, "No, he'll find you... They'll find you all."
"The girl is right," Brujon said with a smirk as he backed away from the group. He was no longer a threat without his knife, though Marie knew better. He would be back if she didn't go with him, and he would be back with a vengeance. "Now come on, love," he said in a voice so sugary sweet that Marie wanted to vomit. But still, she attempted to follow him.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist before she could make it out the door, however. It was Grantaire. "I'm not letting you go!" he yelled, though not in the harsh way that made her want to cower away. "These last few days have been hell, Marie!"
"It's for your own good!" she cried, trying to wiggle free. She couldn't let him risk his life for her. They had more to worry about than just her - They had their revolution. She was just a whore off the street, this was only wasting time. Her life didn't count much so why were they going to such great length to protect it.
"Mademoiselle, you should calm down," Joly said, stepping closer to the struggling girl.
"No! He'll kill you all! And then what will your revolution be?" she cried almost hysterically. "Let me go!"
She was crying and writhing in his arms, but Grantaire did not loosen his grip. The man seemed to have given up for the moment, and was slowly backing away with a smirk still on his face.
"Fine," he said, holding up his hands. "Don't listen to her warning."
Marie thrashed even more, and Grantaire had to wrap another arm around her, pressing her back against his chest.
Brujon ignored this.
"Don't bother, sweetheart," he hissed. "Your friends already sealed their fate."
Marie shook her head violently. "No, no! I'll go with you!" she screamed. "Let me fucking go!"
"Oh, sweetheart, you'll be with me soon," Brujon drawled, "Montparnasse will see to it."
Marie was not the only one who tensed at the name. Enjolras did as well, though there was less terror in his eyes - more anger.
And with that, he was gone.
Marie struggled for a few moments more, ignoring Grantaire's pleas for her to calm down.
"Montparnasse? Who is that?" Jehan questioned.
"Give her a moment!" Joly said, inspecting the girl. "Mademoiselle, please," he said. His words didn't do much. Her gaze had drifted to Enjolras, who was still staring out the open door.
Finally, he slammed it shut and turned to face the others. "We'll need to be careful," he said simply. He was calm as always.
Enjolras did not offer much explanation, either. "He and that man are in the same gang," he said simply. Though, the three others could have easily guessed that. "We'll need to watch the doors. No more guests will be allowed in aside from those who are regulars," he informed them. "Keep Marie off the streets and out of sight," he ordered Grantaire, who nodded swiftly. "Keep yourselves out of the streets as much as possible."
Grantaire would never ceased to be amazed with the man. He was always a leader, it seemed. In everything. But the look in Enjolras' eyes unnerved him. Nothing ever seemed to effect the marble man, but this man did, whoever he was. And clearly, Marie feared him as well, the way she had frozen in his arms at the mention of his name.
Finally, the girl went limp in his arms, as if she had lost all will to fight. Her breathing was ragged, and Grantaire felt awful, but he hadn't had another choice. She couldn't go back with that man. He had no idea what had happened over the past few days, but from the looks of it, nothing good. The bright look in the young woman's eyes that he had grown accustomed to over the week that she had stayed with him was gone now.
"You should have let me go," she breathed, her voice deflated.
Grantaire shook his head, "No, Marie, you're not going back."
"But he'll never go away! He'll never stop," she tried to explain.
...
"Never seen you here before." Even then, his cold voice sent shivers down her spine.
Madame Fosse smirked, "She's new."
Marie felt sick, nauseous.
She didn't fit in with the rest, that much was clear. Her dress had long sleeves, and her skinny arms wrapped around her middle, as if trying to hide herself, to make herself invisible. But she knew that was not how this profession worked. She wanted out of there so badly, but she really did not have a choice. She had made the choice to leave home, but she had never thought it would come to this.
"Ah," he mused, an arm wrapping around her waist, "Perfect."
He paid more than she was worth that night. And he kept returning. Each time he did - he would ask for her. She had finally refused one night, and he screamed at her, asking her what sort of girlfriend she was. He was drunk and delusional, actually seeming to believe that the two of them were together.
She had run to the Café Musain for safety, realizing too late that he would follow. She realized even the safety of Grantaire's home could not last forever. Eventually, he would have found her there, and there was no doubt in her mind what he would have done to Grantaire. She could not live with that on her conscience.
...
Yet now, here she was back at the café. And thanks to her, the young revolutionaries were risking their lives to protect her.
"He'll follow you, he'll... He'll do whatever he has to to get what he wants. You should have just let me go."
Grantaire loosened his grip just a bit, to turn her towards him. He was too scared to let go completely, worried that she might run off.
He tried to explain that they would keep her safe, but she seemed to be in a state of shock, or panic... He couldn't tell, though he was sure Joly could.
"Mademoiselle." It was Enjolras who finally spoke. "I already told you, there is no need to martyr yourself. We are perfectly capable of handling him and his gang." Marie didn't believe a word of that. Though, perhaps they could. These young men were smart, much smarter than the average gamin. Perhaps Patron-Minette didn't have the same influence on the upper classes as they did on those who lived in the streets.
Grantaire met his gaze for a moment. His was calm and steady - Grantaire's was panicked, his eyes wide with concern for the girl he still held. Why did she insist on giving herself up to this man in order to protect he and his friends? Why couldn't she ever just accept the help he offered her?
"They're all like that," Enjolras commented after a moment, his eyes drifting to Marie, "Brave and foolish." He shook his head, seeming to be talking about someone else completely now, as he turned and made his way back to his seat, burying his head once more in one of the many books that lay open there. Grantaire couldn't even begin to make sense of his words. Ordinarily, the way he adressed him just then would have made him incredibly happy - for he was actually treated like he could stand to be in his presence for once - but his attention was already turned back to the girl.