by KJ Dahlen
PHOTO Credit: Photo 29732001 © Andrei111 - Dreamstime.com
Timor
Bratva Blood brothers #13
Copyright © 2019 KJ Dahlen Books
Editor: Leanore Elliott
Book Design & Cover: Wicked Muse
Also by Kj Dahlen
Bratva Blood Brothers
Yuri
Mikial
Barshan
Sazon
Roman
Brothers United
losif
Kosta
Nikoli
Nicky
Sergi
Misha
Timor
Bratva Enforcers-Nomads
Viktor
Ivan
Adrik
Devil's Advocates MC
Jackal
Beast
Devils Trifecta MC
Gage
Joker
Sledge
Hell's Bloodhounds MC
Barron
Hell's Fire Riders MC
Pappy's Shadow
Betrayed
Trigger The Storm
Birth Of Hells Fire Rider
Lost Sons MC
Creed's Return
Jack
Tate
Payback
Ghoster
Princes Of Hell MC
Talon
Rogue
Falcon
Rivers Foundation
Cade
San Francisco Steel
Slammer
Satan's Spawn MC
Spawn & Spitfire
Revenge and Retribution
Babies & Bastards
Sin's Bastards MC
Silk & Bones
Karma's Bite
No Regrets
Hell's Fury
Lies & Liars
Stone Cold
Sin's Bastards Next Generation
Raine
Chance
Gambler
Bowie
Judge
Byron
Hound
Dante
Wiley
Vengeance Is Mine
Bane
WarLords MC
Truman
King
Whiskey Bend MC Series
Lucifer's Woman
Demon's Stand
At All Costs
Out Of The Shadows
Jinx
Shadow
Standalone
Hell's Fire MC Series Set
Satan's Spawn & Sin's Bastards Collection
A Life For Luke
Chasing Eve
Saving Sebastian
Shadows Of The Past
Never Forget Me
The Cartouche
A Wrath Is Born
The New Brotherhood
Slade
Zipper
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Timor (Bratva Blood Brothers, #13)
www.kjdahlenbooks.com
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Conclusion
About K. J. Dahlen
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Prologue
Iosif Vlad Salazar felt a loss when his father finally went back to Russia. No, the man had never been truly affectionate as a parent, but he did the best he could. He’d raised Isoif to be tougher than other men. Yes, he knew his father wasn’t like most men. Timor had told him that his own father had been a harsh man. Yet, he did not seem to realize himself that he, Timor had turned out to be just as severe.
He’d ruled the Bratva in his region and he was known as a fair man but you should never cross him. He, himself had killed men with his own hands for doing so. They had deserved it, as Isoif had secretly looked those incidents up over the years. His father wasn’t a bad person and he at least knew this.
Isoif had grown up with everything at his fingertips while his older brother, Roman had scrambled and had to steal food in order to fill his belly. He grew up under the watchful eye of his father’s bodyguards while Roman grew up with no one to watch his back, except for the men he called his brothers. Isoif had never really known this fact and it had been unsettling when he finally understood what had really happened when he was an infant.
Timor Maxim was as tall as Roman and just as stubborn as he knew his brother was. Roman had gotten that much from their father but while Roman was more giving, Timor had grown rigid in his outlook over the years.
Iosif had seen this rigidness time and time again while growing up with the man. He could accept it because it had always been part of Timor as far back as he could remember. He very seldom changed his mind once it was made up... about anything.
Yes, Timor knew and accepted that Roman had another kind of life in America but Timor thought Roman would just give up what he worked so hard for and come back under his father’s thumb without question.
One of the two men had been in for an unwelcome surprise and Iosif knew it wouldn’t be Roman.
He thought about the house he grew up in. It was just outside the major city of Astana, where Timor’s office was but they also had two other houses, one out by Tengiz Lake and the other further west near Shalqar. They stayed in all of them over the years and visited them when Timor had business in the area.
Each house came with its own security men, men who would take a bullet for Timor. But this was something Iosif had grown up with as normal. It wasn’t until he got older when he realized exactly what the Bratva really was and really meant to the people.
Bratva was a form of organized crime in Russia and its nearby countries. While they did many things the people they ruled over feared, they had learned to live peacefully under the rule of the Bratva. As with any group, there were good leaders and bad. These men had the power of life and death at their fingertips and they answered to one man...Timor Maxim.
But Timor didn’t rule the Bratva alone. Even the Bratva had to answer to someone higher than themselves. They answered to the High Council and Timor held a high seat in that council.
Iosif had been training all his life to someday take his father’s place on the High Council as his family had done since the time they’d formed the council. Several generations of Maxim men had sat at the council and if Timor had his way, many more generations would do so.
Iosif’s thoughts went back to the stories he was told about the way Roman grew up. Little more than a street urchin, he ran the streets with no one caring whether he lived or died. While his brother had slept in an abandoned warehouse and shivered through the winter season, Iosif had slept in a comfortable bed and had plenty to eat.
Running his hands down over the lower half of his face, Iosif wondered why Roman hadn’t hated them both when they first got together. He wasn’t so sure he wouldn’t have.
Then he remembered the bond Roman had with his “brothers.” The fou
r men he chose to call his brothers. They had lived through the hell Roman called his childhood, side by side with him. They had also made it clear from the very beginning that they would stand beside him or even in front of him if he wanted nothing to do with his true brother and father.
In a way, Iosif could understand this, but rather than push his way closer, he’d been taking it one step at a time. The same couldn’t be said for Timor however. He had just bulldozed his way in and caused more problems than was needed.
Not only that but when they did finally meet and Timor and Iosif met someone that meant a great deal to his Roman, Timor had dismissed her without even giving it a thought. It had been his second mistake. His first had been not waiting for Sergi to tell Roman about his family. He could have cause irreparable damage there but Sergi had forgiven him, barely.
That alone could have caused a great deal of upheaval within the Bratva. Having two very powerful men going head to head like this could have been a disaster and caused a civil war within the ranks. Lucky for them, Timor had backed down.
Iosif realized that while Timor might have backed down to the National leader he wasn’t going to back down to his son. He still thought Roman was coming home with them one day, Roman and his sons. He still had dreams of Roman taking his rightful place and one day replacing him with the Council.
Iosif should’ve felt resentment over this fact but he didn’t. He knew it was Roman’s place and he didn’t mind standing aside for his older brother, maybe that should have been his first hint that there was more to this story than he realized. Maybe this was the cause for the restlessness he was feeling now. Whatever this feeling was, he was unsettled by it. His father had gone home, alone and Isoif feared this would make him an even more bitter man.
While Kazakhstan was its own nation recognized by the whole world as such, it was still part of mother Russia. Iosif hadn’t realized it until this very moment but the fact that it should be Roman not him who Timor was thinking of, didn’t bother him so much.
All his life, there had been a shadow standing beside him. He hadn’t realized it growing up but Roman was that shadow. Not in a bad way, he was just there. Almost as if he was protecting him. He hadn’t known until he saw the picture that day in Sergi’s office. It was then he realized what had been missing all these years. He had a brother out there somewhere.
When they came face to face with Roman, Iosif felt he was home. He actually remembered him all at once. He hadn’t said anything then and he still hadn’t acknowledged it to anyone but himself but deep down in his soul, he recognized being with Roman was like being home. He had memories of Roman caring for him and taking care of him when it had been scary and hard. The teen that kept him safe and fed was in his heart still.
He now remembered the last conversation he and his father had before all of it went to hell and Timor was told to leave. He had wanted to get through to his father and he had sat across from him at the table at Yuri’s hotel restaurant to try one last time to get through to him.
Timor had caught his stare and turned to smile at his youngest son. “It will be good to have babies in the house again. I can’t wait to hear the echoes of them running down the hall. I missed that with Roman but got to hear it with you. I miss that sound.”
Iosif frowned. “Father, I doubt you will hear Roman’s sons running down the halls of your home.”
“Nonsense, of course I will. When they move over here, they will live with us. That big old house has plenty of room.” Timor glanced out the window and smiled.
Iosif’s eyes widened as the meaning of his father’s words sank into his brain. He didn’t say anything but instead looked out the window at the passing clouds. Iosif was worried now. He realized his father hadn’t given up on Roman returning home with them.
He so wished his father had done the right thing. Instead, he had made a mess of it and Roman along with Sergi had turned away from Timor. Disgusted that he couldn’t see beyond what he wanted for himself and his heritage. Instead, Timor Maxim held to his old ways and refused to alter any aspect of himself.
Isoif felt badly for the man who’d raised him, but what could he do? He couldn’t change him. He just hoped that someday soon, his father would see the light as they say. He was missing out on seeing his grandchildren grow up or getting to know Roman, the son he never saw until he was a grown man.
Iosif hadn’t gone back to Kazakhstan with him on the return trip. He had another future to think about now.
Chapter One
Timor Maxim’s footsteps echoed in the empty halls of his home in Kazakhstan. It had been this way for the last six months now, and he was tired of the sound of only one set of footsteps. He’d come home alone after visiting his oldest son, Roman after his babies were born.
Iosif was only supposed to be a week behind him but he met a woman in America and now, he would never come home again. He had applied to be a representative of the Bratva in America. To add insult to injury, he’d taken the name he’d been born under back so now, Timor was left with nothing. Except maybe an empty house.
Looking around, he saw the trimmings of being wealthy but the objects he saw were only material things. He thought it was all he had to offer his sons but they didn’t need the things that once brought him happiness. Both Roman and Iosif had made that very clear to him.
Timor walked into his study and went over to the bar. Pouring himself a drink, he swallowed that and poured another. Sitting down, he thought about the past year. He found a son he’d been looking for, for the last four years and he had also lost the son he raised since he found him at the age of two living in a cold dump in Moscow.
He remembered the last time they were together in The U.S. It wasn’t a pleasant memory. When the woman Isoif had claimed for his own had finally found her true heritage.
Jaden’s hand reached for the collar of her shirt and brought out the necklace she was wearing. Slipping it off her neck, she handed it to Sergi.
Sergi felt the warm metal in his hand and he stared down at the heirloom he thought he’d never see again.
Misha got up and quietly stood at his father’s side as he gazed down at the necklace he held. Misha had only seen pictures of the heirloom. It was first worn by his mother’s sister then when her daughter was kidnapped, the family thought the priceless heirloom was gone, lost forever.
Sergi’s own father’s brother had married his mother’s much younger sister, a scandal in the family decades ago. Annika was born of that marriage and after she’d been snatched, the family never recovered from the grief.
Now at least a small part of Annika had been returned to them. Sergi gave her the necklace back and as she slipped it around her neck, Timor growled his displeasure at her act.
Sergi stared at the girl in front of him but didn’t say a word.
“Well, I for one am not happy about this whole thing.” Timor surged to his feet and took a step toward them. “You did your homework little girl, didn’t you? Bet you really had to dig deep to find a connection to worm your way into my son’s life, didn’t you?” he growled as he got closer enough to get into her face.
Jaden wanted to shrink behind Iosif but she wouldn’t.
He tightened his hold of her and wouldn’t let her go.
“No sir, I didn’t have to do anything. Iosif stood up for me against the likes of Billy Jo and his goons. I never asked him too nor wanted him to get involved but he did what he thought was right.” She turned to him and stared at the man who had changed her life. “I’ve never met a man quite like him before.”
“That’s because I raised him to be a gentleman.” Timor growled. “An honorable man, one that would keep his word, but also one that belongs to a world you would never understand.”
“Father!” Iosif interrupted Timor’s rant. “Zatknis.”
“No, I will not shut up!” Timor snapped. “This little bitch has you convinced she’s your woman. She’s anything but your woman and I will not allow this preten
se to go on. Can’t you see she’s playing you for a fool?”
“Maxim,” Sergi growled. “I suggest you shut your fucking mouth before I shut it for you.”
“Bah!” Timor threw his hands up in the air. “You’re falling under her spell as well. You should know better Sergi. She’s nothing but a whore and a con artist. She will do and say anything to get her foot in the door.”
“Timor,” Roman began. “This girl has asked for nothing from us. She had no idea she who she even was until we told her. And I don’t think she is a whore or a con artist.”
“She was not a whore, in fact she was pure until our first time,” Iosif admitted. “But even before that I claimed her in front of my brothers.”
“You only have one brother,” Timor reminded him cruelly.
Iosif glared at his father. “Now I have six brothers, as Yuri has accepted me as one of theirs. Because I belong with Roman and he belongs to them, they have accepted me as one of them. Whether you like it or not.”
“You and Roman are my sons and as such you belong to no one but me!” Timor roared.
Iosif rose to his full height and looked down at the man who raised him. “I was born a Salazar and I’m taking my name back. Your blood may run through my veins but like Roman, I am proud of who I am. I am Iosif Vlad Salazar.”
Both of his sons wanted nothing to do with him now, and Timor didn’t know if he could live with that. He wanted to know both his sons. He thought if he offered them part of his wealth, they would willingly come to him but they hadn’t. Roman had been on his own too long and Iosif? He grew up here in this vast house with everything he ever wanted, yet he found something over in America he could have had here without a problem. But he too, wanted the freedom away from his father.
Timor just wanted his sons to have the very best of everything. The women they chose to fall in love with were commoners. Poor women who would bring nothing into the marriage. Timor was from a proud family whose wealth was built on generations of wives bringing wealth and prestige into the family by their union.