A/N - Hello...me again...with something new. I know, I know, but rest assured this only has 3 parts. I guess I should give a warning that this is considerably darker than usual and the third chapter is going to contain some pretty heavy smut, drugs etc. It's a party! But we're not there yet so you can enjoy a different take on one Triple H with this chapter. Enjoy...


Paul

A faint mist rose from the ground like dry ice from the friction between hot rubber on wet tarmac. It disappeared into thin air as soon as it appeared as the sleek black sports car zipped through the streets, never faltering despite its intoxicated driver. A broad hand clung to the top of the steering wheel, squeezing the worn leather unnecessarily. Its mate loosely hung onto an open bottle of whiskey. The driver was hunched in his seat, fully aware that he should not be driving and absolutely not giving a damn. His large black shoe pressed harder on the gas. He wanted to drive until the ends of the earth. A heavy sigh reverberated throughout the enclosed space of the car. If it were possible to disappear he'd buy that magic trick. It's not like he couldn't afford it.

Through squinted eyes and bleary vision, Paul Levesque was on the road to nowhere. In the blink of an eye his life had turned upside down. What was the answer? He didn't know. Speeding into the night seemed the best solution at the time so that's what he did. Forty minutes ago he had been standing in his office overlooking the bright city lights. And then the phone rang, changing everything.

"They caught, Martinez. Cops turned him…..it's over, Paul. If you have a way out, I suggest you use it. It won't be long before they come looking for the rest of us."

His mind recalled the words of his partner. They had stung his ears and caused his stomach to drop. It's over, Paul. Deep down he knew it would come to this but there was no time to cry over spilled milk. His thirst for money and power had led him down a dangerous path. The risks were obvious when he bought in.

It didn't stop him.

The whiskey burned his throat as he took another long pull, sucking the dregs of the amber liquid. Throwing the empty bottle on to the passenger seat, he brought his now free hand to wipe over his face. When he opened his eyes again it was easier to focus. Where the hell was he? In the rear view mirror those same bright city lights mocked him. He'd made his fortune in the high rise buildings and sterile boardrooms. Then he'd squandered it on the streets, in back alleys and secluded back rooms.

"Fuck," he muttered to no one. His voice wavered. He was shaken. A lesser man would have buckled under the overwhelming sense that his life had been destroyed. Not him. The car sped along the slick highway until the road tapered into what appeared to be an industrial suburb. Several streetlights were broken but one seemed to shine brighter than all the others. It stood next to a dingy looking building. Outside the door hung a sign in neon red.

Bar.

"Yeah, right," Paul spat, his eyes spying the equally neon red figure of a woman. A strip joint. "Perfect." If he wanted to disappear then there was no better place.

The expensive Mercedes looked ridiculously out of place parked next to the beaten pick-ups and sedans scattered throughout the small open garage a few feet away. Paul swayed as he stepped out of the car, locked it and stuffed the keys in his pocket. His thick fingers flicked over the wad of bills in his wallet. He didn't carry ones. Instead a series of twenties, fifties and hundreds stared back at him. Who cares? It would all be meaningless pretty soon anyway. Shrugging his shoulders, Paul placed the wallet back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, right next to a small sealed bag of white powder, and strode powerfully towards the door. Drunk or not, a powerful man never lost his swagger, no less in a place like this.

The sweaty stench hit him like a ton of bricks when he stepped inside. It was almost enough to make him sober. The place was surprisingly packed and he ignored the inquisitive stares thrown his way. This was obviously somewhere a lot of regulars came. Paul couldn't give a shit. The fat, greasy and overworked men were staring at him in wonderment while every fucking hooker was staring at him like he was a walking dollar sign. And he was. He arrogantly slowed his walk on purpose, allowing everybody to get a good look. It didn't matter what happened now. He was a dead man anyways. If the men wanted to fight him for showing up at their measly gin joint, he'd fight them. If the strippers wanted to fuck him for being the first non inbred loser they'd ever seen, he'd fuck them so hard they'd forget this shit hole of a place ever existed.

Paul slowed to a stop and quickly decided on a private booth to the right of the stage. Already several girls were thrusting towards a pole under the dim red lights. The bar was on the far left of the stage and right next to it, a set of stairs that obviously led to rooms. At the top of the stairs a drunken fool was slobbering all over a working girl. Paul could tell she had as much interest in taking this guy to bed as he had in fifteenth century literature. But she was doing all the right things, her body moving in all the right ways, to make this idiot believe she wanted him. A smile tugged at his lips. She was earning her money that was for sure.

Before he even got to sit down an older haggard looking woman appeared out of nowhere at his table. Paul tried to hide the sneer on his face. "Yes?"

"Get you something to drink?"

"Courvoisier." She obviously didn't get it. Paul rolled his eyes. She'd probably never heard of it in her life. "Johnnie Walker. Neat. Bring the bottle, would ya?"

The bar lady rolled her own eyes as she turned on her heel and headed for the bar. It was more than a surprise to see a man like that in a dump like this but lo and behold, he was an asshole just like every other piece of crap in here. All her life these losers looked at her with such contempt. At least she had the luxury of not being looked at like a piece of meat which was more than she could say for the girls. A few minutes later she returned to the assholes booth and couldn't resist lightly slamming the bottle on the table. "Johnnie Walker neat. Can I get you anything else?"

Paul could tell he had pissed her off. He laughed smugly and shoved a hundred in her clumpy hand. "You just keep the whiskey coming and there'll be more of that for you at the end of the night, sweetheart." Her glare only intensified when he told her that she'd earned it without even having to spread her legs. When she was out of earshot Paul quickly downed the glass and clicked his teeth sharply. "You could do something with that fucking face of yours too. Ugly bitch." He poured another. He drank another. The lights flickered and everything went black. "The fuck?"

Suddenly a single blue beam of light shone on the stage. It highlighted the floor to ceiling pole. Paul felt the atmosphere in the room change. Obviously whoever was coming next was the main attraction. He only hoped she had more to offer than what he had seen already.

The lights flashed blue.

Only blue.

The music built to a crescendo.

He could feel it in his throat, beating harshly.

The rhythm was strong, drawing his attention to the lone figure that slowly started to appear from a haze of smoke. Paul anxiously shuffled in his seat, his eyes wide and completely fixated on the meandering body that moved before him.

She was mesmerising and he couldn't look away.

Her hips swayed to the music, her arms above her head as her body ground forward. The royal blue thong and bra she wore accentuated her creamy skin and was enhanced by the sheer blue lighting.

Paul sat there in a daze. He watched her every move and felt his leg start to bounce under the table as she drew closer and eventually reached the pole. In a flash her bra was gone and her long legs wrapped around the solid steel, anchoring herself so she could swivel around, making her breasts easily visible to all. He unknowingly licked his lips and sat forward. This woman was affecting him in all the right places. She continued her deadly routine on the pole for several agonising minutes until releasing her hold on the bar and starting to work the stage.

Paul's eyes were focused on nothing but her and when she finally reached his booth, his stomach dropped and his groin grew tight. The woman dropped low and spread her legs, giving him an eyeful, before rolling her hips and standing back up again. Their eyes locked and in that moment everything else disappeared. He found himself staring into the most incredible sapphire blue eyes he had ever seen.