A.N. - All the characters belong to Kurt Sutter. I own nothing. I came up with a back-story for Ima when I wrote "Walk of Shame," explaining how she became the narcissistic porn star a lot of people love to hate, but it didn't fit in that one-shot. Strangely, I couldn't let the back-story go. This should be a short fic, maybe 2-4 chapters at the most getting into what makes Ima tick. Apologies for having stalled out on my Jax/Tara fic if any of you read that one and are wondering where the heck I've been. I need to get this out of my system before I can finish that one.

Author's Warning - This story is fairly dark and base. It contains instances of physical and sexual assault, and it also contains a whole lot of Ima, who isn't all that happy with Jax at the moment.

The door clicks shut. Ima pulls herself up a little more and her head spins, the room sliding sideways. She needs to go lock that door so Jax can't get back in. Ima can taste her own blood like warm pennies sitting on the back of her tongue. She thinks if there wasn't a couch behind her propping her up, she would fall backwards and slip into unconsciousness, wonders if maybe that would be best. The pressure builds as the busted ruin of her face swells. She's not sure she can get up yet and she's not ready to face the full truth in the mirror.

Ima brings one cautious hand up, her fingertips oh so gently examining the damage. Ima tries not to scream as she feels around. Her cheeks are wet but these aren't tears she feels mixed in with the blood and the spit. The deep choking noises hiccuping out of her mouth are not sobs because Ima doesn't cry. Crying is useless. There's nobody Ima would ever let wipe away her tears. Everybody's eyes water when they take a shot like that to the nose. She's not weak. He didn't win.

He will tear you in two and spit on the pieces if you ever let yourself trust him.

Ima knew this about Jax. Thought it over a year ago when his teasing grin, the one that promised all the slow and filthy things he could do with her, slipped off his face to reveal a flinty pointed stare. Why did she let herself do it again?

She knew it was Jax pushing up against her before she turned around. Heard the jingle of his wallet chain and felt his hand, the pads of his fingers rough and calloused, rub against her lower back and slide around her hip. His fingertips dipping down past the waist of her shorts, kneading her stomach, pulling her ass back to grind against his crotch, while his lips nestled against her ear.

"Anybody in your dressing room right now darlin'?" Jax asked and Ima tried to keep the smile off of her face. Moved his hand and turned out of his grip with a flounce, feeling coy and thinking about turning him down just to make a point. But she didn't. She let him lead her somewhere private, feeling like she'd won… something. Why did she let herself trust the smooth music coming out of his mouth and the dirty, delicious curve of his lips?

This isn't the first hit Ima's ever taken, though it might be the hardest, and she thought something like this might happen. Thought somebody might have something to say about her working for Georgie and his goons after what happened to Luann, but nobody has proof it was Georgie who bashed in her head. That's a convenient assumption, and with Cara Cara burned to the ground, she needed an income and a way to rebuild. Ima's skill set is somewhat limited. Besides what loyalty does she owe SAMCRO? They don't give a fuck about her, which is why Ima bought the gun in the first place. Well that, and she was done getting schooled by biker bitches. Whether they were shooting up her car or smacking her in public, she was done. Ima protects herself, and she learns from her mistakes, so how did she end up blindsided by Jax?

Jax didn't want to talk about Georgie, or her gun, Ima thinks. He wanted to talk about sex.

"Whore"

Fuck Jax Teller and his self-righteous fucking finger. She's not a whore. Her job is legal, unlike his criminal ass, and the tricks he found her turning on the side were for good money. A saint would have fucked those guys if they were staring at a wad of cash that big. Everybody has a price, Ima's no different.

And if he's looking for some delusional high ground, that's a real joke because Ima knows there's an army of chicks up and down the California coast who have seen his cock.

"Rancid pussy."

Ima shakes her head, sending lightning bolts of pain straight to the tip of her nose. Fuck him. She's not buying that. He couldn't get enough of her pussy when they hooked up. She keeps her shit immaculate. Ima feels like she could run a seminar on grooming, because other chicks wish they had the time to take care of themselves the way she does.

"I'll kill you. You got that?"

The door opens and Ima flinches. She pulls her legs up to cover her soft bits, thinking Jax is coming back for more. Ima hides in her knees, unable to stare him down a second time and trying to protect her nose, but the blows never land.

"Jesus..." A soft voice says from the doorway. Ima looks up and desperately wishes she could suck her own small, panicked, whimpers back into her throat. Lyla's standing there, her eyes round, a fifth of vodka held in her hands. "Who did this to you?" Lyla asks. She's the last person Ima wants to see, and Ima doesn't have the energy to be flip and nonchalant.

"Who do you think?" Ima says and covers her face with her hands, trying to work the tremor out of her lips.

"Opie didn't do this." Lyla says with certainty, stepping further into the room. "He wouldn't, ever, so don't even try that bullshit." Ima rolls her eyes and is annoyed to find even that small movement aches through her nose.

"It wasn't him. It was Jax." She answers.

"Really… Jax? That doesn't seem right…" Lyla says but she sounds less certain than she was about Opie. Ima looks at the bottle Lyla's still holding. It's upside-down and she's got a hold of it by the neck.

"What's with the vodka?" Ima asks her and Lyla looks down at it almost absently.

"Well I was thinking about hitting you with it." Lyla admits. There is no heat in her voice as she says it, as if the sight of Ima sitting busted and bleeding on the floor has cured Lyla's own rage and bloodlust. She holds it out to Ima. "But at this point, you could probably use a drink." Lyla doesn't wait for Ima to respond. She walks over to the table and grabs a tipped over glass off of it. Something catches her eye and she pauses examining the edge of the table. "Your blood is over here." She whispers and turns to look at Ima with something close to pity.

Ima looks away. She can't deal with other people's pity, especially not Lyla's, not after today. Lyla's been knocked around before, has had her nose broken. Ima knows all about Piper's father and how he was to Lyla. Knows Lyla left him before Piper could walk because she wasn't having him grow up in all that. It's not like either of them are new to this. Ima wishes Lyla would take her swing, get her pound of flesh, and then leave her alone. She wants to regroup, pick her humiliated ass off of the floor in private. Not have Lyla stand there staring with those big doe eyes of hers.

Lyla hands Ima the fifth and the glass and lets her pour her own drink. Ima fills it half full and takes a swallow, looking for warmth wherever she can get it. Lyla walks silently out of the room while Ima takes another drink.

She thought Lyla would be pissed about Opie. Hung around a little longer than she had too, hoping Lyla would show up looking for him, the way Tara came looking for Jax. She needed a way to pay Lyla back for the smack to her face, and for throwing her over completely for the fucking doctor, but she thought Lyla would take it on the chin. Lyla's still working in the business, refusing to stop if the stories are true, so Ima didn't think she would care all that deeply if her man found pussy in other places? The tears surprised her.

Before she got his pants off, Ima didn't get Lyla's attraction to Opie. He wasn't a mountain she ever wanted to climb. She likes her men a little prettier than him. Thought Lyla should take a lawnmower to his beard and burn that fucking knitted cap of his. But after a night with him, Ima sort of understands Lyla's need to lock that down.

He wasn't too soft or sweet with her, which is good because "sweet" men make Ima's skin crawl. His serious expression, the intensity in his eyes made Ima smile as she undid his belt. He was so angry. But she's fucked a lot of dudes and she can easily tell when a guy is used to knocking a girl to her knees and gagging her on his cock and when he's used to taking a little more time and coaxing the blowjob out of her, and Opie was definitely in the second category.

Betraying his woman wasn't something he did often. She could feel it in the way he moved and the way he'd deepen his kisses before pulling back and flipping her over, as if he needed some distance to remind himself who he was fucking, and that it meant nothing. It amused Ima, both the reek of monogamy that poured off of him and the intensity he was trying to keep in check. She wondered if there was a way to let that loose, if she could get the silent biker to make her scream. So she taunted him, fought him for control of their rhythm, and gave him the little shove he needed to unleash his anger and find the pounding ferocity she was looking for, and fucking hell, it was worth it.

It was good enough, Ima wanted to keep him a little bit herself. She stayed the night, was surprisingly okay with his heavy arm around waist, and threw a little extra sugar his way in the morning. He still bounced her as soon as he was dressed, which bothers her more than Ima cares to examine.

Lyla walks back in with an ice pack and she tosses it at Ima's feet. "Here, put this on your face, or you won't work on camera for weeks." She says and grabs the vodka to pour herself a glass. She pulls a chair around to sit and face Ima. Ima presses the pack gently to the bridge of her nose. "Can you get up?" Lyla asks her.

"I'm fine." Ima lies, ignoring the woozy nausea stumbling down from her head and heading for her stomach. "You don't have to sit here with me. You can go."

Lyla tilts her head and narrows her eyes, her innocent face growing shrewd as she measures Ima. "Oh but that would make this easier for you." Lyla bites out. "And we need to get a few things straight."