Disclaimer, etc., in part 1.

Part Five

He found that he wanted - rather badly, actually - to throw something. Of course, at the moment, he most wanted to throw things at Jeff Hardy's head, but that wasn't exactly in the realm of possibilities now since he had no idea where the older man was. They hadn't passed any burning wreckage on the way to the next city, so he figured that, wherever Hardy was, he'd probably made it to town. As long as he hadn't been so drugged out that he'd ended up going in the wrong direction or something... Which really wasn't outside of the realm of possibilities, actually. If Eve was to be believed - and Punk found himself thinking she was far more believable than Jeff Hardy would ever be - then the guy had been high as a kite when he'd driven off without her, and Punk figured that being under the influence of something probably didn't do much for a person's ability to read a map. And while he might, under other circumstances, find it amusing to think of Hardy accidentally heading off to the wrong town, he found nothing about what had happened today even remotely funny. He kind of figured that Eve didn't, either.

Shaking his head, Punk made his way across his hotel room and flopped back on the bed, a frown on his face as he thought about the events of the day. Eve had been quiet for the rest of the trip after he'd gotten her moved to the front seat, almost eerily so, and he couldn't help but wonder what had been going on in her mind. After all, while he kind of felt like he'd had a bitch of a day, Eve was the one that had really gone through it all. She'd been the one left by the side of the road. She'd been the one hurt... And she'd had to know the reality of what could have happened to her out there. Eve was smart. She had to know what could have happened, what kind of situation Hardy had left her in. She'd been alone, with nothing more than her purse, no cell phone, not even her shoes, and if the wrong person had been the one to stop...

The thought sent a shudder up the man's spine, and he rubbed a hand over his face, forcing himself to remember that the worst hadn't happened. He'd been the first one to see her there, he'd been the first one to stop, and he knew that all he'd done was help her. He hadn't hurt her, would have never even dreamed of hurting her. He'd cleaned up her injuries and bandaged the worst of them, and he'd done his best to make sure that she was okay. Or as okay as anyone could be when they'd been put through what Eve had gone through. After all, she managed Hardy. Until today, she'd probably trusted the guy. Or at least thought he wouldn't pull the type of shit that he'd pulled.

Letting out a breath, Punk jerked his hands through his hair, fingers tangling in the dark strands as he stared at the ceiling and tried to push away the images of Eve that refused to leave his head. It wasn't his problem, right? He'd found her, taken care of her injuries... They'd eaten on the road and, in the end, he'd taken her to her hotel so she could check in. She'd had her purse with her, so she had her ID and credit cards and all of that, and he'd bought a pair of flip-flops for her at the dollar store when he'd bought stuff to clean up her injuries, so she'd had shoes. That was the end of it, right? He'd made sure she was okay, helped her out, and now it was over. The end of it. He'd done the right thing, and now he was out of it. What she did now was up to her.

And yeah, somehow he thought he was going to have a bit of a problem with that.

"Not my problem," he muttered, though he didn't really believe that. Not deep down. Not when he'd seen first-hand just exactly what a drugged-out Jeff Hardy's actions could do to a person. The thing was, he didn't hate Jeff Hardy. Or, he hadn't before today. Before now. He'd known the guy had problems. Hardy had suspensions in his past. Everyone knew that. Rumor had it that he'd left the company the first time because he refused to go to rehab like the company wanted him to. Obviously, he still had the same problems. Maybe worse ones, now, since back then he'd never heard a story about Jeff leaving someone that was supposed to be his friend on the side of his road. Or maybe he had, and it had just been covered up. He didn't know, couldn't know. All he could know was what had happened today. What that asshole Hardy had done to Eve. Maybe when he wasn't on drugs, he was a decent enough guy, but when he was high...

"Fucking bastard," Punk said as he rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders like a boxer getting ready to fight... Not that he had anything or anyone to fight against at the moment. He could throw things, yeah, but that would just lead to him getting fined for damaging his hotel room. And he'd much rather throw a few punches - and kicks - in Hardy's face than pay for screwing up his hotel room. Of course, if he just walked up to Hardy and broke his fucking nose, then he would be the bad guy. Unless Eve spoke up and announced to the world what had happened... And he figured some of the sheep-like fans the Hardys seemed to draw to them would find a way to blame her. Like it was her fault that he liked to snort part of his paycheck up his nose in powder form or something. Like it wasn't his choice to get high. Like it wasn't his choice to just fucking leave her like he did. That, unfortunately, was something he saw as one of the biggest problems of the Hardy brothers - not just Jeff, but that self-righteous prick of a brother of his, too. People always made excuses for them, no matter what they did or how much they acted like immature douchebags that refused to fucking grow up, and the pair of them bought into their own hype.

Someone needed to teach them a lesson. Or, at least, given the current circumstances, someone needed to teach Jeff Hardy a lesson.

Of course, Punk already knew damned good and well who he personally wanted that 'someone' to be. He wanted to do it himself. He wanted to beat the shit out of Jeff Hardy, and more than anything else, he wanted Hardy to know that the beat down was coming because of what he'd done to Eve. Because of what could have happened to Eve if the wrong person had stopped first. CM Punk wanted, at least for the moment, to be the hero. Which was funny, really, because he never saw himself as the hero type. And he knew damn good and well that if he went after Jeff, then the fans wouldn't see him as the hero type, either. These people worshiped Hardy with the blinders on, and anyone that went after him would be the bad guy.

Punk frowned, an image of how Eve had looked when he'd found her passing through his mind again, and he shook his head slightly. Maybe, sometimes, it wasn't so bad to be seen as the bad guy. Especially if a guy knew that he had a damn good reason for doing what he was doing. But he couldn't just go up to Hardy and punch him in the nose. As fun as that might be, all it would do was bloody Hardy's nose and maybe break it. That wouldn't keep a guy down too long, and Hardy deserved to be down and out for as long as possible.

Shaking his head, CM Punk continued to pace back and forth across the length of his hotel room, a frown on his face, his gaze darting around as if looking for a clue as to what to do. As to what he could do to really make Hardy hurt. And then he saw it.

The briefcase. The Money in the Bank briefcase that he'd won at WrestleMania not so very long ago. It had become a bit of a tradition for the winner of the briefcase to carry it around with him until he cashed it in. Edge had done it, as had RVD, Kennedy had done the same until he'd been dumb enough to put it on the line in a match against Edge and Edge had won it from him. Punk himself had done it the year before when he'd won the briefcase for the first time, and he was doing it again now. A reminder that he could have a title match whenever he wanted one. All he had to do was head out there with the briefcase and a referee and cash it in. Last year, he'd cashed it in on Edge. The same man was the champion now, but he knew damn good and well that might not stay the same for long.

Because Jeff Hardy had a title shot at Extreme Rules. A ladder match against Edge, for all of Jeff Hardy's dreams. Hardy had held the title before, but he'd held it for barely more than a month thanks to the fact that his own brother had turned against him and cost him the title. Now, months later, he was going to get a chance at it again. All of Jeff Hardy's dreams all wrapped up in one match. Punk didn't doubt that Jeff could win the match. Well, when he wasn't high. If he was on something, he'd probably forget to climb that ladder or something. But that wasn't the point. The point was the match. The title. The one thing Jeff Hardy had worked all those years for. He could win that title in a few weeks, take it away from Edge. Jeff Hardy could become the World Heavyweight Champion.

And sitting in the corner, CM Punk had a briefcase that carried a contract that would allow him to take it away from Jeff whenever he wanted to. All he had to do was wait for his moment, cash it in, and pin Hardy for the three. Get Hardy where it would hurt him the worst.

Punk allowed himself the smallest of smiles. "Payback's a bitch, Hardy. And you'll never even see it coming."