Page 3 of Reconditioning the Wolf

“We’re here to shut you down,” Ryan replied coldly.

As the computer guy spun in his chair, gasping as he did so, the janitor dropped his mop. He reached into a pouch attached to his bucket cart. A second later, the man yanked out a gun and began lifting it, clearly intending to point it at them.

Ryan squeezed off a round, hitting the panel directly to the left of the janitor’s head. “Don’t even think about it,” he ordered.

The man’s fear must have intensified his scent, for it wafted over Madagascar’s senses. “Fuck,” he whispered, his bear roaring in his mind.Mine!“Please don’t hurt him.”

While Ryan didn’t lower his rifle, he commented, “If he continues to lift that gun, I won’t have a choice.”

At the same time, Sam asked, “Why?”

Staring in shock at the huge man before him, Madagascar whispered in a strained voice, “He’s my mate.”

Chapter Two

Ishmael didn’t know who the guys were or what they were doing there. The fact that they had guns and talked about shutting down the facility meant one thing, though. The men were bad guys—people averse to scientific advancement or environmental terrorists or some shit.

The people who’d saved Ishmael had warned him about such people—namely, Doctor Kaylie Meyer. She’d helped him so much. That was why she and the others working there had trained him on how to use a weapon. Everyone who lived and worked there had to be able to defend themselves at all times from people like these men.

I was too slow to respond. What do I do now?

Guilt flooded Ishmael, and he felt like a big fat failure. He’d failed those who’d saved his life, who’d helped him relearn everything, who’d given him a purpose. These men obviously wanted to stop the good work Doctor Meyer was trying to do, and he should have found a way to stop them.

Of course, there were more of them than me, and Simon is zero help.

A fresh wash of guilt flooded Ishmael upon his uncharitable thoughts. Sure, Simon was a total dick, but he was super smart, too. He was way smarter than Ishmael. Simon manned the computers, and Ishmael cleaned... things.

“Put the gun down, buddy, and we won’t hurt you.”

Snapping his attention to where it needed to be—namely, the guys who’d slipped into the control room while he’d been deep in thought—Ishmael nearly jerked the gun up on instinct. There were five men standing just inside the door. Two of them were really big, two medium, and then one little guy.

All of them were armed. Two were pointing their weapons at Simon, who had his hands raised in the air as if that would help. The first guy still had his rifle pointed at him, while a big guy with a scar had his gun pointed at the floor.

The last man caught Ishmael’s eye... and not because he had a gun pointed at him. Instead, it was because he had his hands raised in placation and was easing around the side of the room, out from behind the others. Ishmael also thought he was damn gorgeous.

The guy had deep brown skin and warm, dark-brown eyes. His goatee accentuated his strong cheekbones, and there was the smallest of smiles curving his full lips. The black shirt he wore seemed to stretch across his broad chest, accentuating his well-muscled torso.

“Can you put that down for me, man?”

The soft deep voice came from the dreamboat, and Ishmael snapped his attention back to the man’s eyes. The man really did have the most gorgeous eyes—warm and friendly with a hint of something else there. Ishmael figured he just might be able to stare into them all day.

“Please, handsome?” The man sounded so entreating. “Can you do that for me?”

Do what?

I wanna do anything for you...

Wait. Did he call me handsome? Naw... that would be weird. Guys callin’ other guys handsome. Except—

“Please, big guy?” The handsome guy sounded so coaxing. “I don’t want to see you hurt.” To Ishmael, he actually sounded pained as he spoke. “But these guys really gotta secure this room. Ya know?”

Ishmael didn’t know, and he didn’t really understand. That didn’t stop him from slowly lowering his gun as he responded to the gorgeous man’s urgings. Plus, Ishmael couldn’t think of a damn thing he could do against five men.

Simon doesn’t count.

“No, damn it,” Simon shouted. “Shoot them!”

Ishmael froze with his gun hovering over the floor.

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