Disclaimer, etc., in the prologue.

Part Three

She needed to be alone.

She had enough experience in the WWE to know the places that people rarely went during the show, and that was where she had headed, finding a more or less deserted area that she could be on her own with her thoughts and her anger and her pain. She knew that everyone that was there had heard her tirade, and Eve was smart enough to know that pretty much everyone in the WWE would know the truth about what had happened by Monday Night RAW... Keeping a secret in the WWE was never easy, and she'd had her blow-up in front of more than a dozen people that had been milling around backstage. Humiliating, of course, to have her relationship problems hashed out so publicly, but she'd been too angry and upset to wait. Now she would just have to deal with the consequences.

Shaking her head, the woman lashed out, her fist hitting the wall hard enough to hurt, Eve taking a step back and shaking her hand out... The diva whirling around at the sound of a voice behind her.

"If you want to hit something, I suggest hitting something that isn't quite so hard," the man said, leaning calmly against a wall several feet away, and Eve couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been there... How long he'd been standing there without her even noticing his presence.

Taking a step back, Eve cradled her aching hand; she was pretty sure she'd scraped up her knuckles on the hard surface of the wall. "What do you care?" she asked, not even really caring that she was potentially antagonizing the man that was standing there. A man that didn't really look any happier than she felt.

He smirked at her. "I guess I don't... Maybe I do. I don't know. But I'm thinking that there's a few things you'd rather be punching than a wall."

"Yeah, well, the wall's what's available to me right now, so I'm making do," she tossed back, watching the man as he pushed himself away from the wall. His hair, usually slicked back and wet for the shows, was drying now, some of it falling down over his forehead, a slight curl to it. He was still wearing the black pants and combat boots that made up part of what he wore for the shows - whether he was wrestling or not - but the tight black top he'd taken to wearing over the past couple of months had been replaced by a black t-shirt.

"I suppose you are," Dean Ambrose replied, taking his hands out of his pockets as he approached her, and Eve arched a brow as she saw the marks on the knuckles of his right hand.

"Looks like I'm not the only one that hit a wall tonight," she said, and he shrugged at that, looking down at his damaged hand.

"Guess you're not. Guess you're not the only one that's pissed off," he stated, and Eve nodded slightly at that. She supposed he was pissed off about the Shield's loss that night, even if he hadn't been in the match. Dusty Rhodes had, after all, actually hit him with a belt, which couldn't have been pleasant, and she kind of figured that Triple H wasn't taking the Shield's loss too kindly. Even so, she was of the opinion that she had a better reason to be pissed off right now than he did.

"I guess the story's already out. Everyone knows-"

"That you fucking flattened Tamina and AJ out there? Hell yeah, everybody knows. There were several people in the back that openly enjoyed it. Ziggler might have even made mention of a shrine. Supposedly, anyway," Ambrose said, giving her a smile that somehow managed to look dangerous... The smile of a predator, she supposed. But for some reason, she didn't feel like she was in danger right now. Maybe she was being foolish, but she just didn't think he would hurt her... Though she wouldn't make any guarantees that he wouldn't hurt anyone else that happened by.

"That's not what I meant," Eve said, jerking a hand through her hair, and Ambrose shrugged.

"Then I'm guessing you're talking about the reason why you did it. Yeah, people know. I figure you knew that would happen... But let me tell you... If CM Punk fucked around on a woman that looks like you with a little twit like AJ Lee... I gotta figure that he's been hit in the head a few too many times lately, and somebody ought to check that man for some brain damage," the Shield member said, and Eve rolled her eyes.

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

He stepped closer to her, the man suddenly in her personal space. He smirked at her, something dangerous in his eyes... And something more. "Who says it's flattery? Maybe it's just the truth according to Dean Ambrose... I'm not a liar, and I'm not into flattery. I say what I mean, and I mean that CM Punk is seriously fucked in the head to do something as stupid as that when he's got you in his bed," the man said, and Eve couldn't help it... Her thoughts flashed back to just a few days before, when she *had* been in Punk's bed... But then those thoughts were quickly pushed away by the memory of the night before, when he'd been in a hotel bed with another woman on top of him. Her hands clenched into fists at the thought of it. Yeah, she still wanted to hit something, and she wasn't above hitting the wall again if that's all that was available.

Ambrose smirked at her. "You know, you're fucking hot when you're pissed. You're gorgeous anyway, but yeah... You're fucking amazing when you look like you're about to do some violence."

"If you don't back off, maybe I'll do some violence to you," Eve tossed back before she could stop herself, the woman forcing herself not to react to her own words... Words that she knew could set Ambrose off. She'd basically just threatened the guy.

He spread his arms wide, taking a step back. "Go for it, if it makes you feel better. But I think we both know I'm not the one you want to be hitting."

"Well, you're here."

"That is true. And if you want to hit me in the face, go for it. I'll be your punching bag... Or, if you want, I'll be something else," he told her, arching a brow as he looked at her, something new in his gaze, and it only took Eve a moment to get what he was saying.

"What? So, because he screwed around on me, I should get him back by screwing around with you?" she questioned, though, for some reason, despite it going against everything she usually did... She wasn't exactly shocked or horrified by his suggestion. In fact, she was a little shocked by how horrified she *wasn't* at the suggestion.

"Who's talking about getting back at him? It's not like you'd be doing the same thing anyway. You wouldn't be cheating, because from what I hear, you told him it was over between you two. I'm just thinking about working off some of that angry energy. Far more productive than beating up the wall. And no one would ever have to know... Just between you and me and the hotel room."

"You're crazy."

"I've been called that before. But you can't tell me you aren't thinking about it. That you aren't considering it. I mean, hell... We're both pissed off about shit that's happened... I'm kind of horny already, and I'm betting I can get you that way, too... But hey, if you'd rather just use me as a punching bag, then you can do that, too," he said, and Eve bit her lip, then met his eyes.

"Okay."

"Okay to what? The angry sex, or the punching bag?" he asked, and the woman shrugged her shoulders.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Fair enough. Just let me know when you do... In the meantime, let's get the hell out of here."

As noted in a previous part, I had a poll up regarding the lead guy for this fic. It was up here, and also at my fic journal over at livejournal. For anyone curious, the final combined results between the two polls were as follows -

Dean Ambrose - 13 votes (46.4%)

Seth Rollins - 8 votes (28.6%)

Roman Reigns - 7 votes (25%)