“You lost or something?” A gruff voice shouts from over by the entrance to the barn, and I’m halfway toward the steps leading up to the front door when a familiar figure strides in my direction. My ex-boyfriend’s father is kitted out in a rugged weatherproof jacket, with a faded ball cap on backward. His hands and side of his face are smeared in blood, and those hazel eyes of his are burning. But that’s not what makes my heart stop in my throat. It’s the sight of the bloodied carcass slung across his shoulders.
